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“We were wearing giant parkas. It was the only private space we could find. We were both in high school, and my parents wouldn’t let me have boys in my bedroom, especially Nick. Not that they were able to stop us though.” Ivy smiled at a memory and blurted out without intending to: “On the night of my eighteenth birthday, he snuck into my bedroom.”
“That’s why it felt so real in the script. Because it was real,” said a very thrilled Amari. She was scribbling down everything that Ivy said. “So, who was louder?”
Ivy had not meant to tell Amari such personal memories, and she was relieved when a good-looking waiter stopped by their table.
“Good afternoon, ladies. Are you ready to order?”
Ivy suddenly looked panic-stricken. She’d completely forgotten to study the menu ahead of time, something that she normally did due to her menu phobia. It wasn’t a clinically proven phobia, but Ivy knew it was real. Ever since she’d moved to Los Angeles, she’d struggled with what to order when she went out. Especially at business lunches. There were too many choices on this menu. She didn’t know if she wanted a very expensive salad or overpriced fried chicken or a wallet-busting pizza. She also knew she was trying to lose five pounds before the filming started—if it started at all.
“How is the burrata salad?” Ivy asked the waiter, stalling for time.
“Delicious. It’s served with roasted baby beets, arugula, and pine nuts.”
“How old are the baby beets?” Amari wondered.
“I don’t know,” the waiter admitted.
“Please go check,” she demanded.
The waiter looked at Amari’s serious face and blanched. He quickly left.
“I hate when the baby beets are uprooted too early,” Amari said.
Ivy wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ve never been here.”
“It’s an outdated place. Not hot anymore. This menu is so 1999. But I thought it would be fun to meet Ivy at the Ivy. Let’s take a selfie,” Amari said. She held up her phone and leaned over to Ivy, snapping their photo. Amari checked the photo and groaned. “Oh, this picture is hideous. Not you. Me.”
Ivy looked at the photo and saw immediately that Amari was stunning, per usual. “You look great.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes.”
Amari posted the photo to her Instagram account, typing in the wordsMeeting Ivy at the Ivy.
Then the waiter reappeared, looking red in the face. “The baby beets were just harvested a few days ago,” he blurted out.
“Hmmm…” Amari hesitated.
Ivy jumped in. “That’s fine. I’ll have that beet salad with the burrata cheese.”
“I’ll have what she’s having.” Amari proceeded to order exactly what Ivy ordered, including her water with lemon. “I am just trying to get into character.” She smiled. She wanted to really immerse herself in the part. She wanted to study Ivy.
The waiter left as fast as he could. Amari looked into her purse and pulled out two matching silver bracelets. “I thought that since I might play you in the movie that we could be soul sisters, and I got us matching bracelets.” She handed Ivy a slim silver bracelet with the wordsSoul Sisterengraved on it. Amari put the matching one onto her own wrist.
“Thank you so much. This is so nice,” Ivy purred as she slipped on the bracelet. Ivy was quickly realizing that Amari Rivers was actually the nicest person in the world. While they ate lunch at the Ivy, tourists snapped photos of Amari. She never protested or said no. High-powered studio execs stopped by to say hello to the star. Amari introduced Ivy as “the talented writer ofWhen Joseph Met Mary.”
Amari whispered to Ivy, “We really need to change that title.”
Ivy agreed. She had always meant it to be just a working title, but then it got some heat and her agent said she couldn’t change the title. At least not yet.
Of course Ivy stained her white blouse with beet juice. Amari made her feel better by doing the same.
“Now we have to go shopping.” Amari laughed.
Fueled by their love ofPretty Woman, both the song and the movie, Amari took Ivy on a shopping spree. While in a dressing room, trying on a $488 T-shirt, Ivy was able to text Drew.
STILL WITH AMARI.
