Page 105 of Witch You Would
Fuck, everything would change. Whether the show failed or took off, whether I ended up in LA permanently or came back to Miamiwithin months, I’d be busting my life apart and I’d have to deal with whatever pieces were left when it was over.
I told myself to chill. Like Grandpa Fred said, everything in Hollywood was “yes, yes, yes” until it was suddenly “no.” Thismight never happen. But every yes was a step away from where I was now, toward a future that looked nothing like my currentnormal.
The waiter brought appetizers. I’d gotten fancy smoked bacon, Rick had tuna tartare, and Isaac slurped back a half dozen fresh oysters so quickly it made me sick. He also consumed a truly disgusting number of martinis, which kept appearing and disappearing every few minutes. The staff never hovered or came by to ask us anything, but Isaac would wave his hand and they’d appear like magic.
Not actual magic, just really good customer service. It still felt weird to me, maybe because I was used to other ways. Feltlike a metaphor for everything happening right now.
Another question occurred to me as I ate. “You said you’re going to run this new show?” I asked Isaac. “What aboutCast Judgment?”
Isaac sucked an olive off a bamboo toothpick, talking as he chewed. “It’s toast. Circling the drain. Ratings are down, andwe’re replacing Doris Twist next season with someone else. Someone younger. Hotter.”
Wow. Just... wow.
“Keep all that on the DL, obviously,” Isaac added.
I nodded. The only person I’d tell was Penelope, because I told her things now.
Except I hadn’t told her about this. There hadn’t been a good time, and it had seemed like some potential far-off thing, andnow I’d had two meetings about it in a week.
What would she say? What would she tell me to do?
Our entrees came only a few minutes after we finished our first course. None of us had gotten soup or salad, apparently. Filetmignon had sounded appropriately fancy, so that’s what I’d ordered. Both Rick and Isaac got steaks, too, though Isaac’s camewith lobster tails. I didn’t want to think about how much this cost. I wasn’t paying, anyway. Was I? Oh, shit, I should haveasked.
Too late now.
They talked about football and I pretended to care while I ate the best steak I’d ever had. No wonder my dad brought clients here. Bowls of side dishes sat in the middle of the table for sharing, but Iwasn’t sure I’d be able to fit anything else in my stomach. As it was, my guts were trying to climb out through my belly button from sheer nerves.
Fake smiles. Fake enthusiasm. Fake appreciation for expensive whiskey. Fake, fake, fake. The whole meal was a Leandro Prestoperformance from start to finish, but it was a Leandro I didn’t even like because he let two skeezy dudes think he was oneof them.
Was this a preview of life in LA? Did I really want that life?
Could I afford to turn it down?
A waiter brought the dessert menu, but I said I was too stuffed.
“Take something back to the hotel with you,” Rick said, all mellow smiles and lazy gestures, like a lion who’d just finishedeating a gazelle. “You could give it to your girl, maybe get a little dessert of your own if you play your cards right.”
“Yeah, play those cards,” Isaac said. “Strip poker, ha!”
Thank god Isaac wasn’t staying at the hotel to see us sneaking out of each other’s rooms, or he’d probably make worse jokes.As it was, his assumptions made me feel like I needed a shower. And not the sexy kind.
Penelope probably would like a fancy dessert, though. I checked the menu and spotted tiramisu. Perfect.
Mary appeared at the same time as the already-packed dessert, ready to take me back to the hotel. Rick stood, shook my hand,and slapped my shoulder.
“We’ll be in touch,” he said. “Good luck on the last round. Nice work choosing a kids’ charity, by the way. Easy to root forthose. Audiences love them.”
It wasn’t worth explaining anything to him. He wouldn’t get it, and he’d probably think I was a loser for actually caring.
Not everyone in the industry was like this, I told myself as Iwatched the city pass in a blur of tinted-window golden hour traffic, holding the spelled box keeping the tiramisu cool. Part of me wanted to call Sam and Ed again, have another bar meeting, but honestly? The rest of me wanted to forget any of this had happened until the finals were over.
Penelope would want to know where I’d gone. And I wanted to tell her. I just... didn’t know how. Not when she might tellme to go for it, when it would mean the end of us when we had only just started.
There had to be a solution, and I needed to figure it out fast.
Traffic in the hallway outside Penelope’s room was as bad as Biscayne. PAs heading up to the pool deck or down to the bar,Liam and Nate talking tech near the ice machine, Amy being dragged to the lounge by Quentin for more piano playing, Dylanquizzing me on what was in the box. Everyone knew the show would be ending soon, so these last couple of days were like thetime before school let out for the summer, when people were signing yearbooks and swapping contact info and partying theirway out.
Penelope opened her door on the third knock, and I presented the box to her with a flourish and a bow because people werewatching.
