He puts away the box, his face still soft and dreamy.
After that we chat for a while, get a little silly on the incredibly strong drinks, and finally turn our focus back on the business at hand, namely, Jean-Pierre making his big-screen debut.
“And you’re sure that I didn’t look stupid in that cameo?”
One of Ronan’s college buddies works crew for local movies, and I arranged a meeting with his buddy and Jean-Pierre. They ended up having way too much fun and sent a drunk selfie to Jack Black, who immediately texted back with a selfie of him and Taika Watiti. Next thing we know, they’re flying Jean-Pierre out to Los Angeles for three days so that he could do a one-line walk-on.
Taika sent me the dailies, and they were hilarious. And not even accidentally hilarious, which Jean-Pierre does a lot. No, he actually had good comedic timing and looked beautiful on the screen. Jake had gone with him, and Jean-Pierre gushed over his art so much that both Jack and Taika commissioned pieces from him.
“My friend, you were fucking hilarious. Your timing is spot-on, and you don’t need to worry about a thing. I am absolutely certain that you will get called back to Hollywood to do similar walk-ons and small roles. For as long as you want to, of course.”
Jean-Pierre grabs my hand and smiles like the sun in my direction. “Thank you, that means a lot coming from you.” Signaling the waiter for another Shady Thang, he asks, “And how are you doing? Last time we were all together, Evie said you’d gotten laid. Any more movement on that front?”
Cricket turns to me, slightly glazed-looking from the drink in her hand. “Ooooh, spill. Tell us everything.”
Ronan props his chin in his hand, a little sloshier than the rest of us. “Did you get a better experience under your belt?”
I think about how I nearly split Roly in two, and a small chuckle escapes. “Well, it certainly went better than the first couple of times.”
“So, you finally sealed the deal? Finally got your gay on sufficiently?” Cricket asks, leaning in.
“Well, I don’t know if this counts as sufficiently, but I’ve definitely gotten my gay on, and it was good.”
Very good.
Ronan, a bit slurrier: “Oh, do tell.”
“Eh, it’s just a guy I keep running into.”
“With your dick.”
“Cricket!”
Pete, Ro, and I nearly fall on the floor laughing. She’s usually so straitlaced that it’s fun to see this side of her. Pete and I are still trying to figure out a way to get her to move to Austin, and if I know him, he’ll get it done. I did give up some of the goods on my evening, though I keep most of the details to myself—the who, for instance—but it was enough to make Cricket’s eyes about fall out of her head, and that was good enough for me.
I stop shy of telling them that I’ll be going to Bear Night, because if I know Jean-Pierre, he’d show up just for the spectacle. Thing is, if he sees me around Roly in that environment, he’ll know for sure that something is going on between us, and I’m not ready for that. At all.
* * *
Ronan and I part ways with Jean-Pierre and Cricket and decide to walk off a bit of our buzzes. We meander a bit down Barton Springs and then decide to walk amongst the outdoor sculptures at Umlauf. It’s a few minutes before Ronan asks the question I know he’s been dying to ask.
“So… Roly?”
I nod, avoiding his eyes, and instead try to focus on the beautiful angel sculpture in front of me.
“Are you going to tell Mom and ass-face about your cute boyfriend?”
That’s my brother’s crass way of asking if I’m going to come out to my mother and his father. A solidno.
“Ronan, I’ve barely spoken to them since high school graduation, and Roly is not my boyfriend. And if you’re in such a confessional mood, are you going to tell them about yours?”
He snorts and swats a mosquito away from his face. “Hell no. Anyway, we broke up,” he says, not looking terribly sad. He ignores my concerned look, changing the subject. “They still sending Christmas presents for the girls?”
“They try to, but I intercept them before the kids can see them. Lily’s gift this Christmas was a weight scale, so I smashed it with a hammer and sent it back. That should dry up communication with them for a while.”
We stop, mesmerized by the sculpture of a man holding a woman in his arms, her toes delicately pointed as they share a sensual kiss.
“Damn, that’s good,” Ronan says, and I can’t tell if he’s complimenting my response to the shitty gift, or the sculpture.
