Page 16 of It's a Love Story

“Okay, I’m going up to Santa Barbara with Gary, back Tuesday.”

“Overnight?”

“Yes, Jane, I’m fifty-six. I’m allowed a sleepover.”

“Okay.” A trip gets him one step closer to breaking her heart.

*

CLEM IS MOREvocal about her Jack concerns as she sits cross- legged on my bed and watches me pack. “This is a flat-out disaster in the making.”

“He can only say no.”

“You’re going to spend a week hunting down a guy who you’re terrified to see while shacking up with another guy you can’t stand? At a minimum, I think this is going to bring up a bunch of other stuff you’re committed to not dealing with. Maybe I should come.”

“Stop. I’m fine with my stuff, it’s all packed away, and you don’t have the vacation days.” I am trying to be light about it, but she really does look worried. It’s not helping to see the people who know me best terrified that I’m going to implode.

Clem folds my jean shorts in half and tucks them into the suitcase.

“Clem, I’ve got my revenge dress locked and loaded and folded into fours. I’m bulletproof.” I try to catch her eye so I can convince her that this is okay.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t do the thing where you hide inside the perfect outfit. You don’t need a costume. Or a script. I just . . .” She pauses, and she looks legitimately upset, like she’s wanted to say this for a while. “I just hate how you hide your good bits, you know? Use your actual voice. Be funny and raw, and I swear this will work out. Go to New York, see Jack Quinlan, and bust on his stupid Elvis sideburns. Tell him how lucky he’d be to work with you again. You’re the goddamn bomb, okay. Make sure he knows.”

CHAPTER 9

IDON’T GET US SEATS TOGETHER BECAUSE (1) WE BOTHprefer aisle seats, and (2) I don’t want to talk to Dan for six hours. I cross my arms and legs in a sort of self-hug. I do not know where I got the idea that this was going to be easy. Just like that, I’d find a script on my desk and live happily ever after.

I look two rows up to where Dan is watching something in black and white with subtitles on his laptop. So on brand. He is also, and I hate to admit that I remember this, wearing the same flannel shirt that he was wearing the first time we met. It’s celery green and light blue checked, softer colors than the flannel the paper towel guy wears.

I met Dan for the first time four months ago. I saw him before he saw me. Mandy and I had just finished lunch at Mystique, and we walked outside as he was crossing Sunset Boulevard, barely dodging traffic. I’d like to say I noticed him because of the Tesla that came to a screeching halt, just missing his leg, but the truth is he’s a person you’d notice anyway. Maybe for the way his black jeans gripped his legs or the way his camera bag made him look slightly threatening, like he was armed. He’s a few inches over six feet, with that uncombed hair and those rectangular eyes. His face is sharp lines—high cheekbones and a square jaw. He’s striking, but take all of that away and you’d still notice him for the way his eyes were trained on a spot behind me. There was a certainty and purpose in the way he carried his body through traffic.

The Tesla must have made some kind of contact, because when he got to our side of the street he stopped, looked around, and rubbed his leg, like he’d just come to.

“Are you okay?” Mandy asked.

He looked at her and then at me, as if he was surprised he wasn’t the only person in Los Angeles that day. There’s a certain arrogance to not taking in your surroundings, and based on what I now know about Dan and his singlemindedness, I’d call his arrogance dangerous. He rubbed his leg again. “I guess I deserved that, crossing the street like an asshole.”

“Well, yes,” I said. I remember immediately thinking,Very attractive, but absolutely not.I was eight months into my Manifest a Solid Partner project, and one of my rules is that no one gets completely overlooked. So I gave him a once-over and ran him through my basic checklist. It was a quick decision, even for me, but it was a hard no. It wasn’t the way his hair seemed to have never been combed. Or the way his navy blue eyes seemed dark where they should be light. It was because I could never tell our kids that the first sentence their father ever said to me contained the word “asshole.”

I was about to walk away, but his eyes locked on mine and I couldn’t help but think of Batman. Batman, but not at all Bruce Wayne. He’d still be in that leather suit, stepping out of the Batmobile, and I’d be the only one who was able to see his face when he pulled off his cowl, his hair sticking up in literally every direction, his eyes telling me he’d rid the city of danger. And yet, still, not partner material, which was great because I’d just had a really big lunch and didn’t feel like acting datable.

He looked back over my head and said, “I’m trying to get that.” I turned around to see a hawk perched on the corner of a billboard above the restaurant. It was turned in profile like an eagle on the back of a quarter. There was a eucalyptus tree behind it, and the billboard saidDON’TGIVEUP, like that was advice we needed.

“Los Angeles is so crazy,” he said, almost to himself. He took his camera out of the case, and we made no move to leave. I wanted to see if he could get the shot, and I also just wanted to stay. “Do you mind holding this for a sec?” he asked, handing me the camera case.

I took it and slung it over my shoulder, and he held my gaze for a second. It was unnerving the way he looked at me like he recognized me and also the way he asked me to hold his stuff like we’d known each other forever. I had the sense that I was not in my normal reality, as people maneuvered around us on the sidewalk. So when Mandy motioned for us to leave, I did the not-normal thing: I told her to go, and I stayed. Dan took a dozen shots before I saw it: the hawk turned its head and looked directly at him.

Dan looked down at his camera, “Got it. Don’t give up.” He showed it to me, and it was perfect. It was like he hired that hawk as a model. We both looked back up at the billboard as the hawk flew away, disappearing into the hills.

“Do you sell greeting cards?” I asked. I was sort of kidding.

He laughed and I saw his smile for the first time. Not Batman at all. His smile chased away all the darkness. “No, I just saw him from my apartment. I live right over there.” He motioned to a pink building across the street. “I liked how he was sitting there for emphasis, worried we might miss the message.”

“I like the way he was sort of stern there, staring at us,” I said.

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