Spread out on my bed, flat on my back, my shirt wrinkled and untucked, I stared at the ceiling. “That was a bust,” I said to no one.
I closed my eyes tight and let out a deep sigh. Even though I’d done enough rom-coms and dramedy films to know the phone call was bullshit, a small sliver of me wished differently but I knew.
Was I that gross? I’d even tried to tighten up the last week. Instead of tossing the ball to Harriette on the beach, I actually walked her every morning. I thought I’d cleaned up okay and had actually been hopeful of getting the girl.
Right, not only a girl. I could do that; I was funny and full of wit. But this wasthegirl, the one worth chasing, the one worth going all out for.
And then she’d practically run the hell out of the restaurant, even taking a cab, happy to let some other nobody drive her back to the hotel and to the airport.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. For a fleeting moment, I was hopeful once again, but the screen readPETER. No such luck for my renewed hope.
“What’s up?” I sat up and answered the phone, but when I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, I plopped back down.
“You done with your fancy gig?”
I hadn’t mentioned my cyber-affair with Charli at all to my friends. It was less about being embarrassed and more about not wanting to share the few moments of happiness we had. Or I had.
“Yeah, I’m home.” I kicked off my loafers and heard each one make a low thud on the hardwood floor.
“A bunch of us are down at Bastion’s. Come on down.”
Harriette clicked through the room and jumped up on the bed next to me, shoving her face in mine. I guess I wasn’t alone. If golden retrievers count.
“I’m fucking tired. I don’t know.”
“Come on, Griff, don’t be a twat-waffle. We’re ordering wings, so get your fat ass down here. Plus, we’re gonna hustle some dudes in pool and we need a big guy.”
Peter was a stand-up comic, or waiter, depending on the day. He thought he was funny, but I wasn’t so sure.
“Fine, fine. I got to change and I’ll be around. Don’t get into any bar fights.”
He disconnected without a word, and I rolled off my bed and headed toward my closet. I peeled off my tux and threw it into a ball in the corner. I’d probably skip the next premiere, anyway. Opting for a worn-in pair of jeans and a flannel thrown over a Stones T-shirt, I shoved my feet into a pair of Chucks.
“Come on, girl,” I called to Harriette, and let her into the backyard for a quick pee.
She did her thing, I gave her a cookie, and I walked up the street to the main drag toward Bastion’s. It was a trendy bar with all the old-school fun stuff like pool and darts.
A small crowd of people stood so many feet away from the door smoking, and I brushed past them and into the bar. It was dim with a DJ spinning tunes in the corner.
I decided to stop at the bar first ... I needed something to erase the earlier events.
“Whiskey, make it a double,” I shouted across the glass bar.
Lots of pretty people occupied the stools, laughing and clinking their glasses without a care in the world. Women with long, shiny hair and men in fitted Henleys and skinny jeans.
I was invisible to them.
I grabbed my drink and tossed back half, the burn making me forget the few minutes I wasn’t invisible—the half hour when Charli looked at me, not through me or around me. As soon as I removed the glass from my lips, the moment was over.
I threw some money on the bar and made my way to the back, finishing my drink by the time I made it to the pool table.
“Griff! What’s happening, man? You ditch the penguin suit?” Peter greeted me over his pool cue before bending over the table to take a shot.
“Hey, Griff.” Adam slapped me on the back and silently motioned toward the bucket of beer. “So, the super-famous Katie didn’t drag you back home?” the ass had the balls to ask me as I grabbed a bottle of Heineken.
“I’m her Saturday-night man.”
“You wish,” he tossed back.
