She laughed. “I think you do.”
“Ach,” he said, with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “I do not make the line very well.”
“Make the line?”
“Si, si, the line, the line. The man has a line for the woman.”
“Oh,” she said, catching on. “That was a line.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling charmingly and proudly. “Do you like it?”
She smiled. “I have to be honest. It wasn’t very good.”
“No?” he asked, wincing.
“No,” she said, smiling. “Smoking isn’t sexy.”
“Aha. Then you tell me the good line. I will learn it.”
She laughed. “I don’t know any pickup lines. That’s strictly a guy thing.”
“Then how shall a poor man have a beautiful woman like you?”
“Maybe by cutting the crap,” Leah said with a laugh, and veered off on a path to the right that led to the commissary.
“No, no, se?orita, do not go!” the man called after her. “I have not provided my name to you.”
Leah turned around, walking backward. “What’s your name?”
“Adolfo! Adolfo Rafael!”
“Nice to meet you, Adolfo Rafael,” she said, gave him a little wave, and turned around, walking away from him.
“Wait, wait!” he cried. “You did not provide your name!”
Leah laughed, waved over her head, and kept walking.
Subject: Re: Him Again
From: Lucy Frederick <[email protected]>
To: Leah Kleinschmidt <[email protected]>
Time: 12:12 am
I can’t believe he said that about me! Hell if I know what it means, other than maybe, he knows that I know what I am talking about, and how maybe you don’t, so he knows if he wants to get through to you, he needs to get me on board.
Subject: Re: Re: Him Again
From: Leah Kleinschmidt <[email protected]>
To: Lucy Frederick <[email protected]>
Time: 9:25 pm
Maybe that’s what he meant. But maybe he meant that you tend to put a different spin on things. Sometimes not a favorable spin. Remember that whole thing with you and him at the sushi bar? Who could forget that?
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Him Again
From: Lucy Frederick <[email protected]>
To: Leah Kleinschmidt <[email protected]>
Time: 12:42 am
Excuse me, but can’t a person make a mistake without fear of being persecuted for the rest of her life? I’ll have you know I haven’t had sushi since then. You tell Mr. Extreme-Bachelor-Can’t-Let-Anything-Go that I am just calling a spade a spade. What’s wrong with that? Whatever. Let him bring you orchids and remind you of all the great sex you had and tell you he’s sorry for the way he treated you, and that he screwed it up really bad, and that he’s changed. But do NOT come crying to me when he turns out to still be a spy or something like that. And anyway, this is supposed to be about me!! MY WEDDING IS ONLY FOURTEEN MONTHS AWAY!! Do you realize how much there is to be done?!?!
Chapter Thirteen
THE week ended uneventfully—Leah didn’t see much of Michael after that afternoon of tuck and roll. He wasn’t hanging around the blocking of the first battle scene, and the soccer mom network (a formidable gossip loop, in spite of the rift between Serious Actresses and Starlets, which Michele said just went to prove that women love to talk trash), said there was some big issue with the studio and the film’s budget, and that Michael and Eli had been holed up in meetings with the director, trying to sort it out.
That was just as well. Leah could actually focus on her job when Michael wasn’t around.
Friday night, Leah, Trudy, Jamie, and Michele went out for a drink and ended up at a club where a bunch of really cute guys who said they were actors—wasn’t everyone, really?—bought them drinks. They danced all night, something Leah hadn’t done in ages and ages. But it was funny—with each guy that asked her to dance, and each guy who bought her a drink, all she could think of was Michael.
She combated his image in her mind’s eye by trying to like each guy who approached her, but by the end of the evening, she was very disheartened. She thought she was so over Michael, so way past comparing him to every guy she’d ever met. But from the look of things on that sorry Friday night, she would never be over him.
Late Saturday morning, a morose Leah was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her living room, staring at the lopsided and unfinished origami peacock, sipping a cup of coffee. Her interest in origami, like her interest in Michael, had been renewed, and as she studied that godawful peacock, she decided she should figure out a way to un-lopside it. It deserved better.