He understood fully, now more than ever, what a luxury it was to simply beknown. Not only for the details of his life, but all the subtle parts of it, too. Being with someone whoknewyou was like unbuttoning that top button of your pants the minute you got home from work.
He missed Glory so much right now it felt like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs.
He missed Jonah, too.
That asshole.
And a date with a pretty woman shouldn’t feel like a slog.
He settled upon “It was kind of my calling” to keep things light. “How about you? Did you always want to learn how to, um... contour?”
Good God, how his colleagues would mock him for knowing that word. But she’d used it again as they were driving here. She’d pointed out Rebecca Corday’s bus bench ads and said, “nice contouring.”
She laughed. “I just always liked to play with makeup, and I love fashion and the idea of transforming people into maybe not their best selves, but... like an HD version of themselves. It’s been a dream come true, this job onThe Rush. Some actors won’t give makeup artists the time of day. But the cast has been very kind. Franco and Mr.McCord are respectful and pretty amusing. I’d always heard Franco was kind of a womanizer but he’s been a gentleman.”
Of course he was. Francone might be a lightweight whose authority stemmed from excellent DNA, family connections, and the good luck to fall into a hit television show years ago, but Eli didn’t make the mistake of thinking Francone was stupid. Bethany was quite hot by any guy’s standards, but Franco knew women and he had taste, and he wanted Glory, because he recognized something rare when he saw it.
“Next time you’re applying mascara—oh wait, clear gel, I remember—to Franco or however you get him ready for the camera, try telling him that hot women like guys who drive the speed limit.”
Bethany laughed and laid a hand flirtatiously on his forearm again. “I’ll tell you a secret: he still breaks out. At his age. He’s probably about forty. It took me an extra halfhourto disguise a zit he had near his temple. And in the age of HD, every tiny flaw shows up on camera.”
News of this flaw gave Eli a very unworthy surge of satisfaction, even though he was certain he probably wouldn’t survive HD’s scrutiny without a good spackling. “You should get hazard pay for hiding Francone’s zits. Wonder where our wine is?”
He lifted his water glass and took a sip.
“I talked to your friend Glory a little today at the Misty Cat. She’s nice, isn’t she?”
He nearly did a spit take.“Nice?”
He didn’t think anyone had ever ascribed such a pallid word to Glory before.
“Yeah. I think Franco said he was going out with her tonight. Maybe he was rushing her home just now to get her in the sack. He seems to really be into her.”
Eli put his glass down so hard that Bethany jumped and her roll shot out of her hands again.
It landed with a soft thud on his side of the table.
He retrieved it and gently put it on the little plate next to her.
And said nothing.
In a minute Bethany was going to think he was some kind of Neanderthal who had trouble with his motor skills.
Suddenly he couldn’t come up with words. Any words. Let alone idle, light, sparkling words. For the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d ever said to the Tiffanys and Brittanys in high school between making out with them in his Fiero.
Probably because there hadn’t been much talking.
He remembered a conversation he’d had with Glory once. “Why are flies called flies?” she’d said once. “A lot of things fly. Were they the first things to fly?” He liked how being with her was like roaming a building with infinite corridors and atriums. You never knew where you would wind up.
“I can get more rolls,” he said finally. “I have connections.”
“We still have plenty,” Bethany said with a game smile.
He helped himself to one, drove the knife almost violently down through it to split it.
Maybe it was all metaphorical, and exactly as it should be: Glory racing at high speed in one direction in a movie star’s Porsche.
Eli remaining in place, in a restaurant he’d been to a dozen times before. So many times he knew which curtain hanging in which window had a tiny burn hole from some diner’s wayward cigarette, back when people actually smoked in restaurants.
