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“Did I mention they were mean to me at the store?”
“I know, and I wish I’d been there to give you your teddy bear and some warm milk, but you still need beer.”
“I’ll go get some.”
“Too late.”
Janet goes to one of the bags and makes a few passes over the top like a magician—and pulls out two six-packs of pricey Japanese lager.
“Voilà,” she says.
I peek at all the loot in the other and lean back on the counter.
“I fucked this up pretty good, didn’t I?”
She looks sympathetic.
“When was the last time you threw a party?”
It takes me a while to work it out. Eleven years Downtown, then a year back in L.A., then another year dead.
“Twelve? Maybe thirteen years?”
“I bet you were a different person then. Before whatever happened that gave you all those scars.”
“Yeah. Pretty different.”
“You’ll get the hang of parties again. They’re pretty easy when you stop panicking, which you clearly are.”
I think for another minute.
“I’ve been shot, you know.”
She frowns.
“Several times,” I say. “Stabbed too. Poisoned. Set on fire.”
“Is that true?”
“That and worse.”
She takes a step back.
“I’m sorry, but why are you telling me this right now?”
“Because none of it freaked me out as much as trying to do something normal like throw a party.”
Janet comes over and hugs me.
“You’re such an enormous pile of neuroses. Just stop and tell yourself it’s all going to be fine. We have plenty of time to pull this off. Just take a breath.”
I do it.
“Now let it out.”
I do that too.
“Now kiss me.”
