“What was going on with the pictures last night?” Simon asks before he can think better of it. “And the stuff on Instagram? Are you making fun of me in some way I haven’t figured out yet?”
Charlie gets to his feet and crosses his arms in a way that threatens to rip that poor shirt apart at the seams. “When I want to make fun of you, I just make fun of you. For example, why are you dressed like a mime to walk the dog?”
Simon automatically glances down at himself. He’s wearingdark jeans and an orange striped boatneck that he stole from Jamie. The entire effect might be a little more Monaco Grand Prix 1955 than most people are comfortable with, but it barely even counts as a look.
“I run cold,” Simon says helpfully, “in case you’re wondering how a person can wear clothes that cover their entire body.” He glances pointedly at the sliver of skin on Charlie’s side where his too-small shirt has ridden up.
“Should I just take it off?” Charlie asks, too amused.
“Nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before. I’m contractually obligated to deal with your naked chest.”
“Not anymore, you aren’t. Anyway, with the pictures and stuff, I’m trying to do damage control in case people think it’s my fault you’re leaving the show.”
“Why would anyone think that?”
Charlie laughs. “Why wouldn’t they? People are going to hear your name, and they’re going to think aboutOut There, and they’re going to remember the last time they heard gossip aboutOut There, which was when I wrecked the trailer and went to rehab. Then they’re going to remember every rumor they heard about us not getting along on set.”
“They’re just as likely to think that I got pushed out or that I flounced. There was an article inVarietylast week.”
“I saw it. It makes us both look shitty.”
“Damage control isn’t a bad idea. Not that I’m definitely leaving right now,” Simon adds, not wanting Charlie to think he knows more than he does. “But one of us is going to leave eventually. What you did is a good start.” Charlie preens a little. “If anyone looks us up, they’ll see we interact. That’s not what peopledo when they have longstanding professional grudges. But it isn’t enough.”
“Do you have a better plan?”
Simon absolutely does not, but he isn’t about to admit it. “We have two weeks until I need to be in New York. I guess we should be seen together a few times. Lunch, maybe?” That isn’t going to be enough either. He isn’t sure how famous you have to be for pictures of you eating lunch to be so newsworthy they make the rounds, but Simon definitely isn’t at that level. Still, it’s a start.
They make plans to meet two days later for lunch at a restaurant that Charlie makes Simon pick because “you’re the one with weird food issues.” He isn’t wrong.
“That place on Hillhurst and Price, the one with the patio?” Simon can’t remember the name—he just keeps track of nearby restaurants that have outdoor seating so he can bring Edie.
“The one with the tiny pizzas or the one with the fancy fries?” Charlie asks.
“Fries.” It shouldn’t be a surprise that Charlie knows all the same restaurants. They’re practically neighbors, after all.
Only when they’re standing silently in Charlie’s foyer, nothing left to say to one another, does it hit Simon that this was the first actual conversation they’ve ever had. Seven years of sniping and not a single conversation.
He scoops up Edie and makes an awkward retreat.
“As tempting as the offer is, no, I’m not coming on your friendship date,” Jamie says. “I’m cooking.”
There’s a butter wrapper face down on the floor, eggshells in the sink, and four bowls on the counter, each containing somethinggloopy looking. Simon wants to hose the entire room down immediately, preferably with bleach.
“It’s not a friendship date,” Simon mumbles.
Jamie gives Simon a once over, pointedly pausing on each garment. Peach cotton shirt embroidered with tiny flowers. Cream colored pullover. Sandy twill pants. Penny loafers. A suede jacket that’s too warm to wear but which Simon will bring in an emotional support capacity. Jamie’s ability to communicate “you’re wearing a mortgage payment’s worth of subdued neutrals to eat sandwiches with your enemy” using only his eyes is kind of scary.
But all Jamie says is, “This is the best costume for today,” and Simon tries to look like someone who isn’t sagging with relief at the approval.
Simon gets to the restaurant promptly, which means he sits in his car from 12:50 to 12:59. But when the clock turns over to 1:00, Charlie’s already there, sitting on a low wall outside the restaurant, wearing sunglasses and torn jeans, reading a paperback with a dragon on the cover. Somehow, in the past two days, Charlie’s scruff has grown into an actual beard. Simon wasn’t prepared for a beard.
“Oh, hey,” Charlie says, pulling off his sunglasses. Inside, he flashes the hostess a smile that has Simon almost flinching from the sheer wattage of it. Simon’s seen his fair share of that smile over the years, but off set and in broad daylight, it hits him like a mild concussion.
“Is that book any good?” Simon asks once they’re seated, mainly because the sight of Charlie with a book is so incongruous that he has to say something. It’s by a different author than the series Jamie was reading.
“Not as good as the other one, but not bad.”
It turns out that “is that book any good” is the only conversational gambit Simon has to offer. Now that he’s used it up, a hideous silence descends on the table. Simon reads his menu like it holds the secrets to the universe, instead of exactly the same sandwich and salad options it had the last dozen times he’s been here. When the waiter comes to take their orders—a grain bowl for Simon, a hamburger for Charlie—Simon has to be reminded to let go of his menu.
