“It’s the wedding guy,” she explains to the person off camera. “You really liked that cab song of his, remember?” Then she turns to J. “Roger’s just gotten home. Roger, say hi.”
A guy in a suit comes into the frame. He puts a hand on Celes-tia’s shoulder and kisses her head. Then he looks at the camera, smiles, and says, “Just do whatever she tells you. That’s what I do.” Celestia swats at him playfully, he squeezes her shoulder, waves to J, and walks out.
“He’s a joker,” Celestia says. Then her eyes widen in revelation. “Write that down! That can be part of your song. How he jokes all the time. But only out of love.”
She looks at J so expectantly that he grabs a notebook and writes it down.
Joker.
Before J can ask anything else about their relationship, the presumably-assistant’s voice returns.
“Celestia, I’m so sorry. But your six-thirty is waiting.”
Celestia seems crestfallen to hear this.
“But we just got started! Why did you only schedule us for five minutes?” Then she looks to J. “I’msosorry. But this is a start, right?”
Yes, he agrees. This is a start.
Ten minutes later, the definitely-assistant emails him with a revised offer that makes this the most lucrative gig J has ever had.
He accepts.
He texts this news to V, and then feels foolish for how often he checks to see if she’s read it.
It’s still unread as he falls asleep.
The next morning, there’s a response from her. But all it says is$$$$$?
He wants her to point out that the sum is more than enough for him to fly over for a visit.
He doesn’t need her to be happy for him, but it would be nice for her to be happy for that.
J considers the day in front of him; he doesn’t have a single plan. In certain moods, he would find this liberating. But in his current mood, he finds it depressing. He realizes he should be taking thistime without V to see some of the people she doesn’t particularly like. There’s a roster of friends he sees maybe twice a year, one-on-one. Why not use this as an opportunity to get some of these engagements over with now?
He texts Ginger, a woman who he didn’t date long enough to consider an ex and doesn’t see often enough to consider a close friend. She is an actress of great range and little depth, and one of the great attractions of dining with her is how little she demands, other than being listened to.
When the lunch is over, J walks to his car and writes agood morningtext to V.
She replies,I’ve been up for hours.
J does the math in his head. It’s 8:44 there. And, really, the good morning was meant to reflect the time between the two of them, not empirical time.
He decides not to engage in this distinction, and instead texts,I just had lunch.
He waits for her to ask who with.
She doesn’t reply.
J realizes there’s no point in turning his head. If he wants to work on songs, he has to face what’s right in front of him.
Between your time zone
and my time zone
how do we find
our comfort zone?
