Page 5 of Off Script
I realize my mistakes a moment toolate.
“Bestrideyou’ve ever had? Feelingnaked? Have we come full circle?” Humor infuses his voice. “Are you sure you’re not working for that sex hotline?”
“Shut your pie hole!” I tip my head back and laugh. “Seriously, at least tell me your name or else I’ll just have to call you random insulting nicknames, like twat waffle or dickwad.”
“So now we’re talking about twats and dicks, huh? I like where this is heading.”
“Your name?” I demand, tamping down my desire to giggle again, hoping that the HR seminar was wrong and that he can’t actually hear my smile.
After a slight pause, he replies, “I’m Brent.”
“Okay, Brent. Time to get to know you now.” It only seems fair that I find out more about him since I’ve been an open book during our conversation. “Do you live in LA too?”
“Yeah, I’m based in LA, but I travel quite a bit.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I switch jobs fairly often, but I’m currently a bartender.”
“A traveling bartender. Interesting. What’s your favorite drink?” I ask.
“To make or to drink?”
“Both.”
“Right. To drink, I love an old-fashioned with a twist of orange peel. To make, I like wine.”
“Wine?” I scoff. “You don’t make wine. You pour wine from a bottle. Where’s the art in that?”
“Exactly. Need I remind you that I switch jobs a lot?”
“Ah, so reading between the lines here, I’m going to assume that you’re not a particularly good bartender,” I surmise, smiling.
“You would be correct in that assumption.”
I hear the telltale key in the door alerting me that my roommate Harper has arrived home from work. Waving hello to her, I continue my conversation with Brent. “I must admit, after hearing about your spotty employment history, I feel better about my lackluster career path.”
“We all have to start somewhere,” Brent replies earnestly. “Don’t beat yourself up. LA is a competitive place, especially at first, Carlisle.”
A pleasant warmth fills me each time Brent says my name. I like it. It gives the impression, albeit false, that we share an unexpected familiarity and intimacy.
When I abruptly left Mississippi, I left everything and almost everyone I knew behind. Since moving, I haven’t devoted much time to anything other than working and figuring out the logistics behind being an independent adult. While I love Harper like a sister, she can't be my only friend. Talking to Brent has taken me by surprise, but it's been fun and unexpectedly fulfilling.
That thought gives me an idea. “Hey, are you working tonight, Brent? My roommate and I are going out. Maybe we could swing by wherever it is that you work. I promise, we’ll only order wine," I tease, excited at the prospect of continuing our conversation in person.
But as the silence stretches, the awkwardness sets in, and I regret my impulsive suggestion. It's obvious that I've enjoyed our conversation more than he has.
God, I'm pathetic.
Finally, Brent ends my humiliation. “No, I’m not working this weekend. Look, Carlisle, I need to go. Sorry about the wrong number and for wasting your time.”
I don’t even have an opportunity to say goodbye before Brent hangs up.
As I sit on the couch with my phone in hand, I’m swamped with disappointment at how our talk ended.
And that Brent thought it was a waste of time.
Ouch.
