I’ve always been a crap judge of character. Graham was the only exception to that, though the existence of our friendship was all due to him. When I met him, I was reeling from Reid breaking my heart, and I just wanted to hook up. I was bouncing off of guys like the shiny silver ball in my father’s vintage pinball machine—ding-ding-ding. I guess Graham could tell that about me. He was one of the few who turned me down, but he didn’t run away when my humiliation that any guy would reject me morphed into uber-bitch mode. He stuck around and became one of my best friends. Something I didn’t deserve, and something I’ve always hoped would grow into more.
Graham has this quiet, steady aura about him, and of course I’m drawn to a disposition so completely opposite of mine. I thought we’d balance out, like a relationship seesaw. When we both scored roles in School Pride, I was sure my chance had come. Close quarters for three months, and my very real need for emotional protection from Reid that only Graham could provide.
Then he met Emma.
At first, I assumed she’d screw him over for Reid. She was obviously not immune to him, and he focused exclusively on her. I remembered all too well how that felt. When Reid and I first met, he flashed those blue eyes at me—baby blues, because holy shit he was what, fourteen then?—and I was a goner. Fifteen years old, and I was sure I’d met my soul mate, the guy I wanted to spend forever with. God, what a naïve idiot I was.
Unlike me, though, Emma figured him out. I have to give the girl props, she resisted long enough to witness him doing what he does, and then she dropped his ass. It would have been a joy to behold, if not for Graham. I’d never seen him so crazy infatuated before. Every time we hung out, I made careful plans to seduce him, but all he wanted to talk about was Emma, if he talked instead of brooding over her—which he was more prone to do. I don’t think he even noticed my seduction efforts. Now, I’m glad he didn’t.
Because this time, those efforts are going to work.
*** *** ***
REID
Choosing a restaurant in a city you’ve never visited is tough. Since Emma lives in Sacramento, I asked her to choose whatever she’d like. This one will do, though not for my calculated purpose of being observed together in the restaurant. The windows are draped, probably thwarting the cozy paparazzi photos Brooke and I were anticipating. For actual intimacy, though, it’s ideal—corner table, flickering candles, semi-tasteful décor (points deducted for the acoustic tile ceiling and likely-artificial paneling on a far wall).
“So what’s the deal with this Marcus character? He seems like an ass. I thought when you dumped me you were trying to move away from that type.” I smile, bumping Emma’s arm lightly, and she rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s harder to avoid than I thought.” She returns my smile, but pulls her forearm away from mine, slowly, putting an ever-so-slight distance between us.
I lean back, pretending not to notice her withdrawal while she examines the menu. The waiter, introducing himself as Chad, is so uneasy he’s twitching. He also punctuates practically every sentence with either heh-heh or Mr. Alexander. After taking our drink order, he scurries to the back through a set of double doors where the rest of the wait staff congregates. They’ve all been not-so-sneakily casting looks our way since we walked in. Typical.
A fun fact about celebrity: If you get carded, there’s no such thing as a fake ID. They already know your real name. All anyone has to do is hit up IMDb or Wikipedia to get your exact birthdate. I rarely get carded, especially in LA or New York, or really anywhere we’re filming. Most restaurants, bars and clubs are so freaked at having celebrities show up that they just don’t give a crap. Apparently this place, which passes as “upscale” for Sacramento, gives a crap. I can’t help my reaction, though, when Chad the waiter comes back a few minutes later all sheepish and asking to see ID for the bottle of wine I ordered.
“Dude, are you serious?” I say, and his face goes scarlet.
“My manager, heh-heh,” he subtly inclines his head towards the back. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Alexander.”
“It’s okay,” Emma says, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll just have water.” The breath wooshes out of the poor guy and he looks back at me.
I shrug. “Yeah, me, too.” Chad rushes off and I shake my head. “I guess I’m not in LA anymore, Toto.”
Emma laughs. “No, definitely not.”
“So I heard through the grapevine that you were in New York recently, visiting colleges. Chosen one yet?” I’m curious about whether or not she’ll ask which grapevine I got that from. What might she think to know it was Graham-to-Brooke-to-me?
She doesn’t take the bait. Either she doesn’t see it, or she’s too smart to pick it up. “I’m leaning towards NYU.”
“Tisch.” I nod. “Cool.”
“You know it?”
I laughed. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. I was up to my eyeballs with paying work by the time I got close to finishing my high school coursework. College was never really on my radar. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know all the major theatre programs. You know, just in case.”
She tilts her head. “In case what?”
That’s right, Emma. Follow the crumbs. “In case I decide to take my career in a more serious direction at some point.”
A crease appears on her forehead and my finger itches to smooth it out. “But I thought you said something about wanting the crazy famous and ton of money route?”