Free No Need to Ask by Margo Candela Page A

meeting you at airport hotels for sex when you fly in? Or that I have to remember to keep an extra change of clothes in the trunk of my car so I don’t show up for work in yesterday’s outfit?”
    “You want me to get you pregnant?” Owen asked. “I can’t promise anything beyond, you know, child support, but I’d be willing to do that for you.”
    “Would you?” She turned to look at him, her face arranged in an expression of exaggerated gratitude.
    “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to fuck a pregnant woman, but not too pregnant,” Owen yawned. “So when do you want to do this thing?”
    “Hmm, let me see… How about never !” she said, and slammed the bathroom door on his smirking face.
     
    ****
     
    The new Center Studio security guard waved Jillian through. She smiled at him as she passed, grateful that he knew her by sight even though she wasn’t sure if his name was Don or Ron. She pulled her car in her designated spot and waited for Trudy. They’d only known each other a couple of years, but had become instant best friends. Jillian couldn’t imagine life on or off the set without her.
    They’d bonded their first day on the set of Untitled Maisy York Project where Trudy was the wardrobe mistress and Jillian the set decorator. Since the producers weren’t sure if their yet-to-be titled series would be picked up beyond the initial pilot, they asked them to share an office until the future of the show was secure.
    By the time the show got an official name, Maisy York , Jillian and Trudy decided they wanted to keep sharing a workspace even if it meant they had to stagger staff meetings and sacrifice some of the cachet that went with having their own offices.
     “Sorry I’m late, Ms. Winters,” Trudy said, slightly out of breath. She’d quit smoking a few months ago to ready herself to get pregnant, but hadn’t taken up anything more strenuous than the occasional lunchtime walk, and only then when Jillian nagged her into doing it. “The line at Starbucks was mega long and I had to send your latte back because it had foam.”
    “Thank you, Ms. Ortiz,” Jillian said, using their familiar greeting. She inhaled the scent of hot lattes, muffins and Trudy’s subtle floral perfume. “I had sex with Owen last night.”
    “Owen is a hot piece of ass and if I wasn’t happily married, I’d do him, too.” Trudy handed Jillian her latte. “Then I’d take a nuclear hot shower and go to a hypnotist to erase the memory.”
    Jillian was about to speak when the screech of tires caused both her and Trudy to duck down as a cherry red BMW shot past them. Jillian peeked out the window and watched as it parked crookedly in the spot closest to the exit and out emerged the lithe, graceful figure of Maisy York, screaming into her cell phone.
    “I don’t give a Haitian orphan’s ass!” Maisy’s cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the shade of her carefully-dyed hair. “I will not share a table with that woman!”
    Trudy sank down into the passenger seat, but risked reaching up to adjust the rear-view mirror so they could both watch the actress pace back and forth as she continued her rant.
    “It’s none of your business why! You work for me and that’s all you need to know.” Maisy whipped her sunglasses off and flung them to the garage floor.
    “No,” Trudy moaned. “Those were loaners for a promo shoot.”
    “Make her pay for them,” Jillian said, even though she knew full well that the quarter-million-dollars-per-episode actress had an almost allergic aversion to paying her bills.
    When Maisy had asked her to decorate her Hollywood Hills Spanish-style home six months ago, Jillian had immediately said yes. A chance to branch out from set decorating to choosing linens and wall coverings for a real person, even if that person was Maisy York, was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
    Even with all the headaches—color scheme changes, bickering over how much mid-century modern was too much in a