A PRIEST, A MONK, AND A MISSIONARY
Ellie
By the next morning, I’m eighty-two percent unpacked. Efficiency is kind of my thing. The entertainment industry is chock-full of unknowns and uncertainty, so staying on top of my daily life is necessary for my sanity.
Granted, I didn’t lug much stuff cross-country from New York for my relo, partly because I rented a furnished home here. When I left my cute walk-up in Greenwich Village, I gave away my beloved purple couch to my neighbor and bestie, Veronica, and my bed to an actress friend. Then I shipped most of my clothes and books. As well as sex toys, overnight and fully insured, of course. Then I flew to San Francisco with my little lady on my lap. Gigi insisted on first-class travel, and I would never deny her. Or me, to be fair. After visiting my brother in Pacific Heights for a few days, I picked up my new electric wheels at a custom car shop, then drove the rest of the way here.
The little one-bedroom has plenty of space for Gigi and me, and I survey it happily. “I see you’ve already taken custody of the couch,” I tell my critter, who’s stretching out on the soft gray cushions. “You do know you were descended from wolves? Then you discovered couches.”
She closes one eye, unamused.Chihuahuas were descended from royalty, not wolves,I imagine her saying.
She makes a reasonable point.
Everything looks good. I’m ready to hit the ground running. I have a slew of meetings later this week, with show production beginning next week. Today, though, I have all the time in the world to get to know my new hometown. The best part? Veronica is in LA for a client event, along with her sister, so I don’t have to go into friend withdrawal yet.
After I shower and do my makeup, adding sparkly eye shadow because…why not, I tug on a little black cotton dress and lace up my pink Converse high-tops. Then I hop in my convertible to motor off to Santa Monica and meet my gal pals for breakfast.
When I find Veronica and her sister, Hazel, at a sidewalk table at The Tree House, the Pacific Ocean crashing majestically far on the other side of the street, I greet them like it’s been years.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” I tell Veronica, octopussing my arms around her.
“Ahem. You left me,” Veronica corrects when we finally separate. “You revisionist historian, you.”
“I’m the worst,” I agree, then I wrap Hazel in a hug too. “Maybe you should move to Los Angeles. Join me here, Hazel. Do it, do it, do it.”
She shakes her head, her red locks swishing back and forth. “New York suits my cold, black heart.”
“Truer words,” I say with a wink, then slide into the booth. After we order—tofu scramble for this aspiring vegan—I turn to my brunette bestie, squeezing Veronica’s hand. “For the record, it’s been less than a week and I miss you terribly. I don’t know how I’ll survive without living across the hall from you. I might start a GoFundMe to move you and Milo here to Los Angeles, ideally Venice Beach, and preferably to the house next to mine.”
“You’ve already picked out a new home for them in Los Angeles?” Hazel asks with a huff. “Great. Just great. Now I’ll never see my sister again.”
Veronica shoots me a curious smile. “Tell me more about this house next to yours. Does it have a balcony? A pool? Any other amenities that would lure me away from New York? Though, there is that little matter of Milo’s shop being in, you know, New York City.”
Yeah, that’s the flaw in my plan—her beau’s burgeoning bike and flower shop located smack dab in Manhattan. “Then please consider learning teleportation. It would make my life easier. Or try to land as many Date Night for One parties in Los Angeles as possible,” I suggest, since I’m helpful like that. Plus, I’m a huge fan of Date Night for One’s subscription boxes for sex toys, since, well, I like toys.
Veronica’s green eyes pop. “Oh! You should come to my party this week. The woman hosting it runs a jewelry shop in Venice Beach full of local female artists. Her name is Rachel, and she and some of the other women-owned businesses are throwing the party for their customers.”
I wiggle a brow. “Girl, you had me at sex toys.”
“Ellie’s easy like that,” Hazel chimes in drily as the server arrives with our coffees and teas.
We thank him, and Veronica shifts moods shooting me a serious look. “How are you doing with theFabio’s Listnews?”
I cringe. “I was hoping to bury my head in the sand. But since I can’t, I’m doing okay. Though, Mama Snowhoundedme hard about my dating habits yesterday. She wants to set me up with all her friends’ sons. She thinks that’ll help me”—I sketch air quotes—“break the bad boy habit.” Then I sigh, resigned. “She’s probably not wrong. Dexterisin prison.”
Veronica smiles sympathetically. She’s too nice to agree, but her silence says I need to go to reform school. Then, she clears her throat. “Maybe you could turn over a new leaf in Los Angeles?” she suggests.
Oh! And she’s not too nice after all! But I need a kick in the pants. “I know,” I admit, then take a sip of my coffee. “But how? How the hell do I just find a nice guy? It’s hard enough to date these days. The whole premise of my TV show is the games people play when dating.”
Hazel hums, a sure sign the romance novelist is planning a plot twist for me. “I have an idea,” she says, sounding deliciously clever, which she is. “I was listening to a dating podcast, and it’s all about turbo-boosting your dating life with different challenges. It reminds me of your show a little bit. And one of the ideas is if you’re seeing someone, you try three dates where you come up with new places to go—pickling carrots, kite flying, candle sniffing.”
Veronica arches a brow. “Candle sniffing is a thing?”
“Everything is a thing,” Hazel says, then zooms on down Idea Lane. “And there are other challenges. Like, challenge yourself to swipe right on three guys who are out of your comfort zone.”
“So, for me, that’d be a priest, a monk, and a missionary?”
Veronica laughs. “Ellie, why do I suspect you’ve already defrocked a priest at some point in your life?”