“I should probably watch The Philadelphia Story,” he said. “Even though someone told me it’s sexist.”
I opened my mouth to apologize, but he smiled, indicating that he was teasing me. The warmth I felt in the center of my chest was not a result of the tea.
“Just part of it,” I said. “It is a good movie otherwise.”
“Oliver likes it,” Gabe said. “He said we’d talk about it after the premiere.”
It seemed that the tabloids were completely wrong about Gabe and Oliver’s so-called rivalry. Going to a former co-star’s movie premiere was just good business, but planning to discuss a movie that was assigned homework for a role they’d maybe both been considered for? That seemed like actual friendship.
Maybe the rumors they’d both dated Jacinda were wrong too. Maybe all the rumors were wrong.
“I bet you’ll have fun,” I said.
He shrugged. “If you think standing around in uncomfortable clothes while everyone tells Oliver how handsome and talented he is sounds fun, then yeah, it will be a blast.” His tone was light.
“At least you won’t have to wear heels,” I said.
“You don’t know what outfit I’ve chosen,” he said.
I laughed.
“You wouldn’t have to wear heels,” he said. “If you were free tomorrow night.”
The rest of my laugh was snatched right out of my throat. Was Gabe Parker asking me to go to a premiere with him?
“I—”
Gabe’s phone buzzed.
“What is it?” I asked, glad that I didn’t have to respond to what was probably not really an invitation to Oliver Matthias’s movie premiere.
“Just my manager,” he said.
His expression indicated that whatever his manager wanted was not something Gabe was excited about giving.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said.
Gabe put his phone away, shoving his hand in his pocket after it.
“Have you seen Angels in America?”
“I’ve read the play,” I said. “But I’ve never seen it.”
“You know the story, though,” he said.
“Yes.”
Gabe looked down at the ground, and then up at me.
“Do you think it’s a problem that I’ve kissed a man onstage?”
“No,” I said. Quickly.
He lifted an eyebrow.
“No?”
“No,” I said.
Gabe crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter as if he was settling in. I shouldn’t have taken it as an invitation.
I did.
“Angels in America is a great play,” I said. “Probably one of the best contemporary plays ever written. People should be using that as an indication that you’re a really good actor, not obsessing over the fact that you made out with another man. Onstage. I mean, even if you had made out with another man in the alley next to the theatre, it shouldn’t matter, right? If you’re a good actor, you should be able to play Bond, and people who are freaking out because of one play you did in college have way too much time on their hands and are way too interested in your personal life. If their idea of masculinity is so fragile that the mere thought of you locking lips with someone of the same gender makes their head explode, then they have bigger problems than which actor should play James Bond in a movie.”
I ran out of air and stopped, catching my breath, while Gabe stared.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was on my soapbox again.”
Gabe looked a little dazed, but not like I’d hit him with a baseball bat, more like I’d flashed him. Like, he was surprised but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“I didn’t think it was possible for so many words to come out of somebody’s mouth that quickly,” he said. “And I auditioned for Gilmore Girls.”
“I can get a little worked up,” I said.
“I like it,” he said.
It seemed genuine, but I had a hard time believing that a movie star like Gabe Parker actually enjoyed being lectured by a lanky, loudmouthed Jew who was just supposed to interview him, not rant about systemic homophobia.
“I should go,” I said.
He didn’t argue, which basically confirmed my suspicions. I knelt to give his still-unnamed dog a scratch behind her ears. She rolled over and showed me her belly, so I rubbed that like a magic lamp before I stood.
“Thank you for your time,” I said, realizing how formal I sounded.
It was how I should have conducted the entire interview, but it was a little too late for that.
The corners of Gabe’s mouth quirked upward, barely hiding a smile.
“You’re very welcome,” he said.
“Okay, well.” I started backing toward the door. “Bye, then.”
“Bye,” he said.
“Bye.” I lifted a hand as I got to the door, finally turning away.
“Chani,” he said.
Dammit, he was really good at saying my name.
“Yeah?” I twisted around quickly.
Too quickly to play it off as cool but I tried anyways.
“Yeah?” I asked again.
This time he did smile.
“Call me if you want to go to the premiere,” he said. “We’d have fun.”
GO FUG YOURSELF
THE FASHION AT THE SHARED HEARTS PREMIERE
True Blue
Matthias’s former co-star Gabe Parker attended to lend his support, though he didn’t come alone. Parker’s date was unknown, but her sparkly blue number was a delight to the senses. Wonder if she wore it to match with Parker’s favorite blue suit. As all Fuggirls know, the real way to show a man that you care is through your sartorial choices.
Chapter
7
The restaurant is still around, which is an accomplishment in itself. Even though I’ve driven by this place on multiple occasions since I moved back to L.A., I’ve childishly averted my eyes every time I passed the block. And I’ve certainly never gone inside.
I would think about that beer, though, and my mouth would water.
I park on a side street, and check three things before I get out of the car. I check that my shirt—with its once and forever wayward middle button—is neatly clasped. I check that my notebook is still in my bag. And I check my chin for the little black hair that I’m always plucking and yet still manages to find a way to grow back at the most inconvenient times.
It has decided not to join me today, and for that I’m grateful.