The Extended Afterparty

By Julia Knox

When Christy Hunter finds herself on a massive oil tanker for hot-shot A-list movie star David Price’s birthday party, she expects the only excitement she’ll encounter that night is the $2,000 check she’s getting for her gig as a hired “Chick.”

David Price is used to the yes-men in his life, and he’s used to everyone wanting something from him. That’s why a film student’s honest words about his most recent movie leave him immediately hooked.

Their unexpected night of romance on a nearby yacht takes a turn, though, when they awake the following morning, bobbing alone in the middle of the ocean, the tanker nowhere in sight. Can this thrown-together duo come together to survive until they’re rescued? Or will their disagreements be the anchor that drags them down?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094435060

Julia Knox

Julia Knox is a lifelong resident of the Pacific Northwest with a background in the arts and legal professions. Living in such a beautiful area, she enjoys a good hike and stargazing — at least when rain clouds don’t cover the sky. On those drizzly days, she stays in with a good book on her lap and an interesting album on the turntable or a new recipe to experiment with, to her friends and family’s delight (or disappointment).

Book preview

1

Pregaming the Party

David

A row of beachfront houses, condos, and apartment buildings crept by the limo’s window. They packed the west side of the Pacific Coast Highway so close together, they became a wall of garage doors, wrought iron gates, and dark glass blocking the Malibu beach and Pacific Ocean beyond from view. Every inch of land that could be built on was, with each building pressed as close as possible to the property line.

I got driven down this road almost every day I wasn’t traveling or on set away from Los Angeles. This entire stretch had been burned into my mind like the lines of my last three films. The limo came to a slow stop at the light. A boxy, three-story apartment complex rose out the window.

It was a new construction. My commute over the last year offered a time lapse montage from tearing down the three houses that stood here before to planting the foundation and the first cookie-cutter bits of frame. Filming in New Zealand kept me from watching it rise to block the beach. I came back to the finished, generic monstrosity.

When the limo started past my least favorite addition to the view, I leaned closer to the window. A small bungalow occupied the next lot. Its nearly flat roof angled away from the new building. It was set a good ten feet away and kept the same distance from the garage on the other side. Only a tall wrought iron fence stood between the road and the bungalow’s overgrown yard, the beach and ocean beyond.

There were times, like today, when I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about my destination. For the brief moment it took the car to pass the old, rundown, and out-of-place shack, an odd fantasy took me. I wondered about living in the bungalow and the life I’d lead if I did.

Such ridiculous thoughts. My own beachfront home was two miles up the coast. Located in a more exclusive neighborhood, it dwarfed my fantasy shack with an even more expansive yard, kept immaculate by my landscapers. The twelve-foot walls kept the tourists’ invasive eyes away. If I lived in the bungalow, there’d be crowds beyond the simple fence, eager to get a glimpse. I couldn’t be myself there, but that was part of the fantasy.

Dude, you haven’t even touched your bourbon, said a Southern drawl from the other side of the limo. It’s your birthday, and we need to celebrate.

I turned from the window to the voice. Jack Stuart, one of my oldest friends, flashed a lopsided smile under his bushy beard. He nodded to the glass of amber liquid in my hand. He’d handed it to me soon after we left my house, but I hadn’t taken so much as a sip.

There’ll be more than enough booze at the party, I replied, without a hint of my childhood accent. And at the afterparty cruise you have planned.

You know about that? Jack’s jaw dropped, but then he laughed and shook his head. Now, that was supposed to be a surprise.

We came to L.A. just out of high school with dreams of making it big — together, just like we were back in Georgia. After a lean year scrubbing for anything and everything, those dreams came true for me. Not so much for him. Beyond a few single-episode stints as a good ol’ boy or general thug backing up the villain of the week, he’d landed a few roles in direct-to-streaming B-movies but little else. I couldn’t leave him behind.

He’d planned the afterparty with my management team, paid for by my funds. If I pointed out I had to approve the yacht rental, he’d just get snippy and bitch about me bragging about my success or rubbing it in his face. That was unfair. If the tables were turned, I’d probably react just the same.

I’ll still act surprised, I said before downing my drink. The burn offered a welcome distraction, but I shook my head when Jack pulled the bottle out. I don’t want to be more than tipsy before the party. You know Garrett. He’ll probably want to talk business in the helicopter.

Jack sneered but dropped it quickly. He poured himself another. I should have known that mentioning my manager might darken his mood. He never had an agent, let alone a management team led by Garrett Silver, the Star-Maker.

I’ll need a few more if you want me to sit through business talk, Jack said before upending his drink. You think you’d get a free night, given it was your birthday and all that.

But it isn’t just my birthday, is it? I asked, staring at my empty glass. Do you think I want a birthday party staged on the oil tanker from the movie? Or that I would invite people like Jacob Chambers to it?

When you became a star, you all but gave up your actual private life. My birthday party turned into a special sneak preview of my new movie, a networking event so I could show my face off to all the studios like they hadn’t seen it before. All the while, Garrett would try and sign me to the biggest movies possible.

Ah, you see this? Jack asked. He held his hand up to the side of his neck and shook the glass in his other hand over it. A few drops darkened his shirt. You’re off to a fancy-pants party, held in your honor and attended by other Hollywood A-listers and suits who are going to pay you millions of dollars to act in their next movie. I’m playing the world’s smallest fiddle for you at your private little pity party.

We’d gone well past my fantasy bungalow, but my eyes turned back to the window. Another painfully generic apartment building took up the entire view. Jack made a good point, one I couldn’t just ignore. This was the dream that sent us across the country in his beat-up old Pontiac with little more than the clothes on our backs. I was 25 and rich and famous, with Oscar buzz. Sure, Garrett’s team started the rumors, and they weren’t going anywhere with an action movie. Still, I should sit back and enjoy it, ignoring everyone’s selfish motives.

Pour me another, I said, empty glass toward Jack.

His halfcocked smirk returned. He snatched the bottle from the neon-lit bar console and leaned over to pour. The bourbon half filled my glass before I shook my head. Jack didn’t stop there. The bottle tipped up a second after I pulled away. At least a shot splashed onto the carpet. Jack laughed and took a pull straight from the bottle.

So there’s going to be girls at the party, right? he asked after a gulp or two.

I was featured in this year’s Sexiest Man Alive issue. Of course, there’s going to be girls, I replied. The first drink loosened my tongue.

Yeah, but you weren’t on the cover, Jack grumbled, then took another gulp. And it isn’t a dumb question. The ship’s not going to be docked or anything. How are they getting there?

Gabby told me the last time that the party planner handles that. They hire models or something to fill the party out, I replied.

"Oh, I guess she’s going to be there?" he asked, tight lipped.

I hadn’t missed his emphasis on the word she. Gabby worked as Garrett’s assistant. As good as she was at her job, she still wanted to get in front of the camera. Everyone in L.A. did, it seemed. She was also transgender.

Dude, we’ve talked about this, I said, shaking my head. You get yourself canceled, and you can kiss the guest house goodbye. I can’t afford a scandal, even a secondhand one.

Oh, come off it. He waved the bourbon bottle at me, then puffed out his chest. In public, I am nothing if not a Southern gentleman, even to… women like her.

Had he classed up his good ol’ boy twang and not paused before admitting she was a woman, I might have bought it. He wasn’t that bad an actor. Of course, he punctuated his words with another pull off the bottle. I held out my glass for a third drink just to keep him from finishing it.

The bottle lay empty on the seat next to him when the limo reached Garrett’s office building downtown. The driver turned into the underground parking garage. Gabby stood tall next to the elevators.

She’d added a gray blazer to her black dress. It fell to mid-thigh, showing off acres of toned, bronze skin. A chic bun added to her professional business woman attending a work party look. She tapped a perfectly manicured finger on her phone before stepping forward with a wide smile.

Happy birthday, David, she greeted when I stepped out. Her smile lost its sparkle when her eyes fell behind me. Her voice joined it, noticeably lower. Jack.

Why, Miss Gabby, it is a pleasure to see you again, Jack said, poorly playing the Southern gentleman once more.

He extended his hand with a bow. Gabby just glared at it, then at his face.

I think I liked it better when he ignored me, she said before motioning to the elevator. Garrett is waiting for us in the helicopter. You know how he feels about waiting.

When she turned, I elbowed Jack in the arm. He shrugged and held his hands up, an innocent act as bad as his turn at Southern gentleman. The smirk, half hidden by his beard, only grew.

Garrett already gets a percent. He can’t charge me hourly, too, I said when we caught up to Gabby.

Don’t give him any ideas, she replied. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t tried to charge me rent for my desk.

The elevator door opened. Gabby stepped through. We followed, and she pressed the roof button. Gravity pulled at us harder as the elevator shot upward.

Any good scripts cross your desk lately? I asked Gabby.

Nothing Garrett would want me to share, she replied, her ruby red lips in a pouting frown.

Garrett put the bottom line above everything else. Since he earned a percent of my pay, he wanted me to make the most I could. He had his eyes on the potential blockbusters, like Ghost Tanker or any superhero movie that got made. Gabby was a true cinephile. She’d tried to pitch Garrett a few prestige films for me. Jacob Chambers got nominated for a damn Oscar with a part Garrett persuaded me not to take. I would have won it.

What about you? Any auditions? I asked, I heard there’s a script about that con woman. They have to be looking for a trans actress.

I think I’m a couple shades too dark. You’ve seen pictures of her, right? She’s lily white, Gabby answered and shook her head.

"Come on. Look at Hamilton. It’s an adaptation. No reason she has to remain white," I said.

Thomas Jefferson wasn’t black, Jack blurted.

Gabby and