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“It did,” I admit.
“I was like the popular kid in school except with a ton of money. Somehow I got caught up in being bigger than the rest of them.”
“You are.”
“Will you stop agreeing with me?” she complains, disappointed the glasses are empty when she checks each one.
“You want the cold, hard truth?”
“Maybe... I don’t know.”
“You have changed. You’re not the same, and the fame did get to your head. But it’s gotten to me, too, and to Ash. We’re no longer kids from Green Meadows. People depend on us.” I maintain my focus on her, trying to make some sense with what I’m attempting to get at. “If this isn’t the life for you then move on. Tell the network you’re done and shift out of your apartment. Why you’re still with him is beyond me.”
My last comment only riles me up further. My blood is pumping furiously as I’m reminded that after tonight we’ll go our separate ways and her direction is toward someone else’s dick. Maybe it’s an unfair assumption, but it still fucking pisses me off that she goes home to him despite what excuse she lays on me.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We’re supposed to be having fun.”
“Yeah,” I drag, leaning back on my chair.
“I’m sorry, Logan.” She straightens her posture. “How about you get up and sing now?”
“About that...” I attempt to think of a valid excuse. “How about we mark this as an IOU?”
“That never works,” she huffs. “You used to do that in Monopoly until you were so broke you had nothing left, and still forced us to play because you thought you could make a comeback.”
I smile, purposely playing with my mustache to annoy her. “Would a man with a mustache make false promises?”
She laughs, tossing her hair to the side and leaning forward. “A man with a mustache is a sign of false promises, but I’ll believe you... on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We ditch this place and find something else fun to do.”
I smile. “Deal.”
***
On the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Highland Avenue, we cross the lights and follow the stars embedded in the pavement. I’ve visited this place a few times but don’t see the big deal. The street’s full of tourists who are snapping away as they capture this once-in-a-lifetime moment. They’re rowdy and loud for being so late at night. Aside from taking pictures, a few homeless people walk up and down the pavement talking to themselves, and a few begging for money. I reach out of my wallet and pull out a few bills, handing it to an older lady with a shopping cart and a half-knitted hat.
“You know she’ll probably spent that on a bottle of Jack?” Emmy tells me.
“Well, so be it. If it makes her happy then let her live for one night.”
In front of the Chinese Theatre, we both notice a few paparazzi lingering near the street post. Emmy pulls my arm, looking left and right before crossing the street and dragging me with her. When our feet hit the footpath, she turns to me with fire in her eyes and asks, “What name suits a man with a mustache?”
“Huh?”
“Burt,” she says confusing me even further.
Her hand is buried in mine—the touch of her skin electrifying me though I try to ignore the way it’s igniting my whole body.
She leads me to where the paparazzi stand and begins talking to them. “Hi. You look like you can take a great photo.” She smiles innocently. “My husband Burt and I would love a photo just there in front of the Theatre. Would you mind taking one for us?”
He shrugs, barely speaking a word as he takes the cell from Emmy’s hand. What the fuck is she doing? Has she seriously asked the paparazzi to snap a photo of us? Why the hell does she always want to play with fire?
We both walk to the spot she mentioned.
A few smiles and it’s over—no biggie.
