He looked at me and crossed his arms. “But?”
“How do you know there’s a but?” I asked, immediately regretting the way I’d worded that.
He laughed. It was a great laugh, all low and dark and rich. If chocolate cake had a laugh, it would be that.
I kept moving my hand toward my bag, my fingers itching to pull out my tape recorder again, but I was worried that if I did, the happy, relaxed look on Gabe’s face would disappear.
Instead, I just tried to remember as much as I could, hoping that I could use this in my piece.
“You’re not in love,” he said.
“What?”
He gestured. “With the house,” he said. “I can tell.”
The puppy was playing in the grass outside, her tail twitching as she flopped from side to side.
“What don’t you like about it?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m not the one buying the house.”
Why did Gabe care what I thought about a multimillion-dollar mansion that he might or might not buy? It’s not like I’d be coming over to hang out at his pool on the weekends. I almost snarkily suggested that he call Jacinda and ask her, but I held my tongue.
“I’d still like to hear your thoughts,” Gabe said. “Would you buy this house?”
I laughed. “There’s no universe where I’d be in a position to buy a house like this. It’s huge!”
Gabe nodded. “It is pretty large.”
“Are your mom and sister going to move to L.A.?” I asked.
This time, he was the one who laughed. “I can get my family here for premieres and awards, but that’s about it. There’s no way either of them would consider moving to L.A. They love Montana too much to leave. Besides, they have the Cozy.”
I nodded. I thought about telling him that I had ordered a few books from them online, which I’d received with a handwritten note thanking me for my business and a recommendation for another book based on the ones I’d just bought. The suggestion had been spot-on and I ended up ordering it from them as well.
Mentioning it to Gabe, though, felt a little teacher’s pet-y.
“Do you visit them a lot?” I asked.
Gabe nodded, still looking around. “I bought a house for my mom and then helped my sister and brother-in-law with the down payment on theirs. I usually stay at an apartment above the store when I visit.” He put his hands on his hips. “My manager said that it’s a waste of money to keep renting a house here—that I should just buy something.”
“You’d have plenty of space for your family when they come to visit,” I said.
“I told them I wanted a pool and guest rooms, but now that I’m seeing it, I don’t know if I need this much space.” He looked thoughtful. “I like my current place a lot.”
“It is really nice,” I agreed. “Seems like it suits you.”
He grinned at me as if I’d said something profound. “That’s funny,” he said. “Because even though I’ve never lived here before, the place feels kind of nostalgic for me. Almost like it’s part of a collective memory about Los Angeles.” He leaned back on his heels. “It has this great energy, you know?”
I did know.
“Sorry,” he said. “That probably sounds pretty cheesy. It’s just I can totally picture Brian Wilson hanging out by my pool, or Dennis Hopper rummaging through my fridge.”
I nodded eagerly. “I know exactly what you mean. You can practically smell the weed and righteous rebellion.”
He laughed.
“You should get a house like that,” I said. “Not something big and grand like this. A home.”
Unfortunately, I said that right as the real estate agent was walking back into the room.
“I think you’re right,” Gabe said before turning to her. “I might need to rethink what I’m looking for.”
“Of course,” she said with a smile, but the moment he turned away, she shot me a glare.
I couldn’t really blame her. I’d be pissed too if I lost the commission on this house.
We drove back to his rental in Laurel Canyon. The puppy fell asleep in his lap, but rested her nose on the armrest between us, her hot breath tickling my elbow. Gabe didn’t say much on the ride home, gazing out the window while I only got lost once.
“Hey,” he said, as I stopped at a stop sign. “The mountains.”
I glanced over to what he was pointing at. We were almost to his house, about to go around one of the many cliffside curves. The sun was beginning to set.
“Gold and pink,” he said.
It was beautiful—a shadow across half of the Valley—the rest of it looking like it had been painted with vibrant watercolors.
Behind me, a car honked.
As I pulled into his driveway, I knew that I’d totally blown the interview. That I was going to have to go back to my little apartment that I shared with two people I didn’t like very much and attempt to write an article that I knew was not going to be very good.
It would be functional and it would serve its purpose—I’d find a way to make Gabe seem like he was a perfect fit for Bond—but it wouldn’t be anything more than that. It wouldn’t be special, and I desperately wanted to write something that was special.
I shut off the car and turned to Gabe, planning to thank him for his time and make as much of a gracious exit as I could.
“I should probably have some coffee,” he said before I could even open my mouth. “Do you want some coffee?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” I said.
It was such a dumb thing to say. If it meant more time with Gabe, I could drink coffee. I could choke down a whole fucking carafe of it.
“I have tea,” Gabe said.
VANITY FAIR
GABE PARKER:
The Man Who Would Be Bond
[excerpt]
By Tash Clayborne
He can’t stop gushing about his family. Parker is the youngest of two, though “we were practically raised as twins,” he says. “We shared birthday parties, shared a room, shared almost everything until she started going to school. I know technically you’re only Irish twins if you were born within the same year, but we’re only thirteen months apart. Maybe you could call that Montana twins, or something.”