“Screwing all day?” His devious smile sparkles. A very unfriend-like blush blazes across my face. “Shit. Sorry. Was that okay?”
Derick developed a flirtatious side in high school, and we practiced it together all the time. Surely it’s one of the pillars of being part of a well-to-do family: perfecting the art of flirtation, even on people you don’t plan on getting with, as a means to get ahead. At least that’s what I told myself back then.
“You’re good.”
He shrugs. “I don’t smell too bad, do I?” He unsubtly checks his pits.
See, he’sdefinitelynot trying to get with me.
“Again, you’re good.”
Thisis good. This is fine. The more I berate myself with the wordFRIENDS!stylized in my mind like the nineties sitcom, the more I’ll default to it. The more I’ll start hearing the iconic theme song in my head every time he appears.
He sets his bag down at the table and joins the ever-growing line. I fiddle with my phone for a distraction. I notice a red1hovering over my email app. Tapping in, I find a response from Oscar to my note about my progress with Alice:
Dear Wren,
This is fantastic news! I’m delighted to hear you’re making moves with Alice Kelly. I’ve had the chance to read over your capstone paper, and I have to say I’m more than impressed. This level of detail weaved into personal narrative is both informative and affecting. I think you have a real way with words and research.
Do you have any idea when you might be able to hold the screening ofChompin’ at the Bitat Wiley’s? I may have briefly mentioned it to a few of my fellow film lovers, and they are clamoring to know more. Of course, I’m warding them off. I want the first exclusive scoop!
I’d love to coordinate a time for you to come into Manhattan. We can watch the movie together, discuss, and hop into my studio for a recording session. Then, I can see about sending off the original 35mm film to my connection at a lab in Maryland who can restore and digitize for the big screening.
Let me know when you know more.
All my best,
Oscar
Elation elongates my spine, clears my acne, harvests my bounty. This is huge. I need to make sure our day at Alice’s is as productive as possible. Getting in her good graces could seal me the deal before I even know what the deal is. In my wildest dreams, it’s abookdeal.
My hands hold the phantom weight of my future bestselling hardcover.
“Why do you look like you just won a game show?” Derick asks when he sits across from me. There’s an entire box of doughnuts in his hand.
“Are those all for you?”
“No, they’re for Alice. We can’t show up empty-handed. What kind of guests would we be if we did?” I suppose he’s right. He sips from his unsweetened iced tea. “Two glazed, two strawberry sprinkled, and two Boston creams. But don’t touch those. Those are for me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I realized, the more I thought about your aversion to finger foods, that my favorites are all foods you exclusively eat with your hands.” He does a showgirl presentation of the box. “Case in point.”
“How verycaveman make fireof you.”
He stops his pleased smile by chewing on his orange-and-pink straw. “Sorry, I probably should’ve done some research of my own, but who is this Alice Kelly again and why is she so important?”
I run through a mini film-studies presentation before a lecture hall of one, and I’m surprised when I don’t shut down from the stress and the sheer intensity of Derick’s unwavering gaze. “What Alice made wasn’t really an art-house movie, like what Barbara Loden was doing, and it wasn’t quite a studio film, like what Elaine May did or what Barbra Streisand would do.”
“Art house? Studio? It’s like you’re speaking another language.”
Frustration momentarily riles me. How could he help rebrand a drive-in movie theater if he doesn’t even know basic film jargon? He’d be a bad trivia partner at the Cat’s Pajamas’ Hollywood Her-story Night, which I’ve won every single time I’ve attended. I have an impressive collection of feathery boas to prove it.
“Is Barbra Streisand theMeet the Fockerslady?” I’m not giving him a gold star for that one.
I push my glasses farther up the bridge of my nose. “Sorry. I forget you’re not a film nerd like me.” I know not everyone grows up to be a cinephile. Though the world would be a better, more empathetic place if they did.
“If anyone could convert me, it would be you,” Derick jokes with a wink but then backtracks, making a face like he stubbed his toe. “God. Even I know that was too much.”
