“Stop. So sick. No vodka again forever. I think 7-Elevens may be out permanently too.”
At the mention of vodka, Birdie felt bile rise in her esophagus. She sat on the side of Andie’s bed, then flopped beside her and stretched out.
“I need your help,” she said.
“Fuck off,” Andie groaned.
“I need you to drive me to Vegas,” Birdie said.
“Drop dead,” Andie replied.
“It’s for Elliot,” Birdie said.
There was a long pause, and Birdie wondered if Andie had fallen back asleep. Or perhaps had died. They’d gotten drunk enough last night that anything was feasible.
Then: “For Elliot?”
“Partially for Elliot,” Birdie conceded.
Andie popped open her eyes, pushed to her elbows, and stared at her older sister. Then a wide grin spread across her grayish face.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”
39
ELLIOT
Elliot was meetingSimon for dinner at 7 p.m., then he’d do the interview, then he’d pound out the story and fire it off to Francesca.
He checked his phone every ten minutes for something from Birdie. He didn’t know what he was expecting. She’d always been ridiculously headstrong, and he was a fool to think that she’d call and apologize, say that she was on her way, say that she couldn’t live without him. Or maybe that’s what he needed to say toher, he thought as he showered, then thought it again as he shaved, then thought it a third time as he pulled on a suit because the restaurant at the Boulevard had a jacket-and-tie requirement even though Simon had said since he was his guest, not to worry.
Simon was waiting for him at the bar. The hostess, lithe and beautiful, nodded and said, “Oh, Mr. Halstead, your table is ready.” She was exactly the type who would normally turn Elliot’s head, but now he didn’t even consider it, didn’t have to repress theurgeto consider it. He could still taste Birdie on his lips from two days earlier, from that kiss in the RV. He could close his eyesand the image of her nearly in his lap, top off, no bra, was imprinted on the back of his lids.God, she was edible.A charge ran through him. Maybe the two of them were so electric because it was so long in coming, maybe it was because it was off-limits, a reality check he got when Mona called while he was at the bagel store. Maybe it was just that when you wait for someone, something, for so long, it’s going to be either the best thing you’ve ever had in your life or an utter disaster.
He supposed that Birdie was actually both.
At their table in the back of the restaurant, Simon waved over a waiter and ordered a bottle of Malbec, and Elliot set his phone down between them. He thought of Carter, and how he’d told him that Birdie was always holding out for someone else. He hated how much he still hoped that it was him, even though she wasn’t here, even though she’d made it clear that she was done.
“Okay if I tape this?” he asked Simon.
“Sure, no problem,” Simon said, like a man who had nothing to hide. He didn’t, of course. Elliot already knew that, but it was important for the integrity of the story to be certain, to get him on record. Readers would pillage the comments section with questions about plot holes and conspiracy theories if he hadn’t. Also, Elliot wanted to, needed to, prove to Francesca that he could still play within the rules. He’d given her three names. He’d interview all three. He could be the pro she relied on again.
He pressed record.
“So you met Birdie Robinson when? How?”
“Well, I first met Birdie Robinson at the cinema,” Simon said. “Like most of us did.Crazy Foolish Heartconvinced me of my virulent heterosexuality. If it had been socially acceptable to put up posters of an American movie star in my adult bedroom at twenty-five, I would have.”
“Crazy Foolish Heartbeing her breakout romantic comedy, nearly a decade ago. With Kai Carol.”
Simon nodded. “Then, of course, I met her in real life three, three and a half years later, when you emailed and said she needed somewhere to stay. That she needed help.”
“First impressions?” Elliot asked. None of this was a necessary ingredient for the article, but he was curious to hear a different perspective, if Birdie was as vexing, as confounding, to Simon as she had been to him.
“Well, initially, you have to get past the fact that you already feel like you know everything about her,” Simon said. “The dichotomy of celebrity is that you are at once completely familiar with someone, and yet you are acutely aware that you know very little in actuality. Then you have to parse out, for yourself, if you are only intoxicated with the fame or if the other stuff, the stuff underneath that veneer, is appealing.”
Now Elliot nodded. He’d known Birdie since before. Before fame, before wealth, before personal chefs and premieres in Tokyo and covers of magazines. And for him, none of that mattered. For him, she was simply the girl he’d fallen in love with at twelve, and for whom his heart still carried a blazing bright torch.
“How long were you together?” Elliot asked.
