Henry tries to teach me about lenses and perspective while bombarding me with lighting terminology during the shoots. I’m kind of getting it by the final session. I can tell it bothers Jordyn that he’s teaching me, and as petty as it sounds, I’m enjoying that very much.
I’ve caught her smiling a few times when I crack a joke to Henry, and it makes me want to shove her out to her workstation, where I can’t see her stupid face. I want her to go back to being indifferent or, even better, hostile. What the hell was I thinking spending over $600 on some chick I used to be friends with a million years ago? Fuck her for making me feel like I had to do that.
“What’s your problem today?” Jordyn asks as we clean up to leave.
“Nothing.” I grunt as I lift a light off the stand.
“You’re mad at me?” There’s an edge to her voice, like she’s just daring me to admit it.
“I don’t care enough about you to be mad at you,” I say, stacking the last light in the closet. I don’t wait for a comment. I don’t turn to see her reaction. If I act like I don’t care, maybe I won’t.
She comes up behind me as I walk to my car. “So I see you’re driving again. I guess you’re not planning on taking the bus this week?”
“Actually, I have another job to do in the mornings now”—I point to the “Sh*t Richie!” sign stuck to the side of my car—“so, no, I won’t be taking the bus anymore.” I get in my car and start the engine.
“You’re welcome. Asshole,” I hear her say through my back window that won’t roll up all the way.
I wave at her as I drive off.
? ? ?
“Dude, you look like you haven’t eaten in a month,” Marcus says as he walks up to where I’m waiting with the table pager. He’s insisted on treating me to a steak.
I didn’t realize it was that obvious. I mean, I’ve had to adjust my belt a few notches, but I didn’t think anyone but me would notice. Thanks, Dad. “I haven’t,” I say. Marcus thinks I’m joking.
Once we’ve placed our order, I tell him about Ali Heart-over-the-i.
“Dude! She sounds hot.”
“I knew you’d like her.”
He tries to grab my phone, but I’m too fast. “What, are you just going to call her and say ‘Hey, I’m Marcus. I’m friends with Tyler, you know, the guy you hooked up with from the photo place and forgot his name? And anyway, you’re totally my type. Wanna hang?’”
“Damn, man. I’d give it a shot. What can she do? Say no? But she could also say yes.” He’s grinning, waiting for me to put my cell back on the table. I stick it in my pocket instead.
“Not cool. Hook a brotha up.”
I’m saved by the server bringing our food. The scent of perfectly cooked prime rib hits me. My stomach pinches and my saliva glands explode. I dig in and it’s as good as it smells. My eyes shut involuntarily and I let out a groan.
“I’m flattered that I’m able to affect you this way, but maybe this is not the time or place for noises like that. Perv,” Marcus says around a huge bite of steak.
“Can’t help it. It’s that good.” I’m trying to eat slowly. Trying to savor every bite, but I just want to shovel it all into my belly as fast as humanly possible.
“What’s up with you lately? You doing okay? I mean, I know I joke about you being hungry, but I’m not sure it’s a joke now that I see you inhaling that cow. Your job paying you enough? Maybe your dad—”
I feel my face turn into a vicious scowl. I set my fork down. “I told you my dad won’t pay for anything. I wasn’t making that up.” My words sound detached and staccato.
Marcus sets his fork down too and looks at me, really looks at me. “I’m sorry, man. If there’s anything I can—”
“It’s not your problem.” I wave him off. “Anyway, I have two jobs now. So I’m fine.” I pick up my fork and cut another piece of bloody prime rib. “But thanks for offering.” I’m not sure he can hear it, but he smiles and nods and then he goes back to his steak.
I tell him about my jobs, leaving out the part about Jordyn working there. I’m not sure he’d even know who she is anyway. He gets a real kick out of the dog shit thing.
“Just wait till you see the signage the guy expects me to keep on my car at all times.”
Marcus laughs. He insists I order dessert. “You’re teetering dangerously close to hipster-skinny, dude. Unacceptable.”
“I promise to up my calories and get back in the gym before I start wearing ironic T-shirts, glasses, and stupid fucking hats.”
“You better,” he says. Then he asks the waiter which dessert has the most calories and orders it for me whether I like it or not.
The waiter laughs and assures me that I’ll like it. It’s everyone’s favorite.
“So, homecoming is this weekend . . .” Marcus trails off. “It’d be cool if you came to the game. The team would like it, I mean, I know I would like it if you were there.”
“I don’t know, Marcus.”
“I figured. I just thought it was worth a shot,” he says with a genuine smile.
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Just think about it?”