That thought hadn’t occurred to me. “Oh, maybe. I should look into that.” It could be a nice consolation. Seeing the show tape in person, even if I don’t get to be on it, sounds fun. It’s not like I had any concrete plans. I thought Alexia might show me around town, I’d do the Warner Bros. Studio back lot tour, and, if I was feeling sporty, I’d hike up to the Hollywood sign.
All of those sounded so solitary, even if I’m making peace with my shifted expectations for this trip, but being an audience member might just be the way to feel like I’m a part of something.
It would be a better use of my time than anxiously pondering what waits for me when I return to New York—still broke, still aimless.
“I’m glad you went, Holden,” Dad says. It’s quieter where he is now like he’s stepped inside his office and shut the door.
“Why?” I ask. “Because I’m out of your hair for a while?” Dad’s guest room was the only place I could go after the breakup with Buckley who never came home. I quietly packed up my life the next morning and left.
Dad’s place came fully furnished—the kind of unit meant for men like Dad, widowers who don’t have an eye for interior design and prefer to leave behind the couches and end tables that remind them too much of the people they loved and lost.
Dad’s only qualifications when picking a new place to live after selling our family home were two bedrooms, running water, and a wood shop. He makes his own furniture and knickknacks in his spare time, which is why the twin bed frame was super basic, but the dresser that barely fit was handcrafted from fine wood, finished to perfection.
So, in some ways, for the last four weeks, it felt homey, but it certainly never felt like home.
“Not at all. You know I love having you around,” Dad says, and I know he means it. “I just mean you’re having an adventure! Getting out of your comfort zone is a good thing.” There’s a muffled knock somewhere on the other end of the line. “Listen, they need me back out on the floor, but send more pictures, okay? I love you and be safe.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
As soon as I hang up, I’m graced with a plate of fresh tortilla chips and homemade salsa verde.
Seven
When I return to the hotel with a pep in my step, Leo’s still not behind his concierge desk. The brunette from earlier stands where he and I bantered yesterday. She’s smiling and waving at me as I pass. DecidedlynotplayingMinecraft, which seems smart.
The crowd from earlier has dissipated, clearly all out on their excursions for a fun-filled day in LA—business or pleasure, whatever their purview. My mind is firmly fixated onpleasureright now. All the different definitions of that word I plan to play out with Leo on that hotel bed, on sheets I won’t have to wash in a city I’ll leave soon with nothing but hot and heavy memories.
The dirty imagery fades when I step off the elevator on my floor and hear familiar subdued croons emanating through the wall a few doors down. I’d know that melody anywhere. It’s “All Too Well (Ten Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version).” As if I hadn’t just been reprimanded for doing this exact thing from my own room last night.
The closer I get, I realize itiscoming from my room again. I can’t swipe my key card fast enough.
Pushing my way inside, I find Leo sprawled out in the spot I resided in on the floor last night, eating a bag of Fritos, eyes closed, head swaying to the music. His orange tie and the top buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing a small stretch of smooth, taut skin.
“Hi?” I call into the room. He startles, opening his eyes. I hold my stance in the hall between the bedroom and the bathroom, perplexed. “You’re early.” The time on my phone reads eleven twenty. I thought I was going to have a little more time to prepare before he showed up.
“I’m already on lunch,” he says, emptying the crumbs from the Fritos bag directly into his open mouth. His body does not look like the kind of body that ingests Fritos, so I grow steadily more concerned by this uncharacteristic display. “I’m on lunch forever now.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. What?”
He looks me dead in the eyes and says, “I got fired.”
My chest contracts. Immediately, I go and sit beside him. “Shit. I’m—I’m sorry. That’s awful. What happened?”
“I got my dates wrong, that’s what happened,” he says, reaching toward the bedside table. I notice he has a whole mountain of vending machine snacks nestled up there, each crinkly bag seconds from toppling over. “I didn’t double-check my schedule last night when I said I was working here this morning. Really, I was supposed to be working across town.”
“That doesn’t sound like the worst offense in the world.” I try to be comforting and resist the urge to place a hand on his arm to soothe him. We’re still strangers. I’m not sure how he feels about this or what kind of attention he needs right now. My only hint is the song, which I turn down once I find his phone by his foot in the mess of empty wrappers.
He sighs. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if this wasn’t a common infraction of mine.” He saysinfractionlike the kind of person who heard that word a million times in the principal’s office while in school; a casual contempt rolls naturally off his tongue.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I say again, at a loss.
“Why are you sorry?” he asks, looking at me as if I hold more answers than I feasibly do.
I shrug. “Because if you weren’t here last night...”
He sits up from leaning against the bed and squares off to me, showing weak signs of the assured Leo from last night. “No, that has nothing to do with it. If I had wanted to check, I would’ve. Yeah, sure, I was—” he gestures to me “—distracted, but the truth is... I hated this job. Actually, I’ve hated the last four jobs I’ve had, but apparently being a functioning member of society means holding one which sucks major ass.”
“I see,” I say, starting to understand.
