“What can I say? We were born expressive.” Shimmying safely into our row, we slip back into our seats and get situated.
“By the way,” Roshni says, “I tried looking up that Paul Davenport guy like you asked, but I haven’t found him yet. I’ll let you know if anything pops up.”
“Thank you, that would be great. I couldn’t find anything on him either, but you’re much more tech-savvy than I am.”
“Hardly. Why did you say we were looking for him again?”
“Just a side project,” I answer in my best noncommittal manner.
“Right. And by your lack of specifics, I’m going to go ahead and assume that this side project is something incriminating, and you’re deftly trying not to implicate me.”
“If your assumption is correct, does that mean I have to start paying you a retainer?”
“Probably, but I’ll accept one of those souvenir mugs they’re selling in the lobby as payment instead.”
“Done.” We agree with a handshake just as the house lights start to dim. We’re both turning our attention back to the stage when I quickly whisper, “Do you think Ollie is doing okay? Should I step out and text Phillip to make sure?”
“The only thing you should text Prince Phillip is a tasteful, faceless nudie.”
“Stand down, lady. I thought you were Team Liam?”
“I am,” she whispers back. “Fine, you can cc him as well, then. Nonexclusive vacation dating is fully permissible when you’re single in foreign waters.”
“As much as I respect your polygamous maritime laws, I’m going to keep the boudoir shoots to a minimum on this trip.”
“That’s probably for the best,” she agrees. “Even with your head cropped out, I wouldn’t be surprised if your hair somehow still made it in and gave you away.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least.”
An hour and a half later, it’s just past midnight when I find myself lightly knocking on Phillip’s door. Roshni went straight up to the penthouse, still reeling from the spectacular play that we were lucky enough to see and leaving me to pick up Ollie on my own, which I assured her was entirely fine. I’m mentally going over a particularly moving scene when Phillip opens the door, the warm lights and lively sounds of his apartment belying how late it actually is.
“Hey,” he says with a cheerful kind of smile.
“Hi,” I answer back, trying to borrow some of his energy so I won’t seem quite so tired. “How was Ollie? Was he okay?”
“He was great. We went for a walk, watched some TV, talked about life. I was just telling him about my summer abroad in Bali that led me to my path of self-discovery when he passed out from boredom. Rightfully so.”
He steps aside, indeed revealing Ollie asleep on the floor under his desk, nestled comfortably on top of a blanket. He’s basically entrenched in a comfy little fort, and I kind of want to squeeze in, too.
“I wouldn’t take it as an insult,” I tell Phillip. “I bet he was just riveted to the point of exhaustion.”
“Not likely, but I’ll try to believe that.”
We stand there in silence for a second as I wonder what to do next.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” Phillip asks. “Maybe Ollie will slowly wake up once he hears your voice, and then his departure wouldn’t be so abrupt.”
I look over at Ollie again, and he really does look entirely comfortable. I suppose one drink couldn’t hurt.
“Sure, that’d be nice.”
Phillip smiles and opens the door further, allowing me plenty of space to step inside. He closes the door once I enter, and I enjoy the coziness of the room. It’s smaller than Juliette’s, of course, seeming to be a one-bedroom, but it’s very nice. The furniture is newish and matching, and there are several photographs of Phillip with his family scattered throughout the room. He has a bookcase tucked in the corner, but it seems more like a storage unit for picture frames and DVDs rather than a literary fortress.
“Now, what can I offer you?” Phillip asks. “Will prosecco do?”
“I love prosecco,” I answer happily. “It’s one of my favorite drinks.”
“Mine as well.”
