I started to walk out of his apartment, but not before offering over my shoulder, “By the way, I’m sure Parade will be sending someone for an interview.”
I closed the door behind me, letting that last little tidbit sink in. Devin would never admit it, but he was constantly comparing Now! with Parade. In the world of fluff “journalism”, it was what Now! only aspired to be. If Devin thought we’d actually have some edge over his arch nemesis, there was no way he wouldn’t take the shot.
I stopped off at The Slaughtered Lamb to cool my jets with a quick drink before heading home. I was still fuming from my encounter with Devin, inwardly cursing him for turning me down.
I know it seems kind of strange that the subject of Trip never came up between my fiancé and me before. But Devin was always the jealous type. Jealous of other editors, jealous of other magazines, jealous of other guys who he thought were smarter or richer or possibly better looking than himself. I figured he’d be pretty hurt about the fact that I had not only dated Trip, but actually lost my virginity to him as well, so there was no need to throw that in his face. Devin was a good guy and deserved better than that. I was an insecure mess most of the time, but that didn’t translate into some humongous, misguided ego where I felt the need to tear down my fiancé in order to make myself feel better.
There wasn’t too much about Devin to tear down anyway. He was great-looking, sure, but that was only one of the many boxes I could check when it came to him. He had it all; he was the complete package. Successful, ambitious, witty. Smart, powerful, grounded. Who wouldn’t want a man like that? Those were the kinds of things a woman looked for in a husband, the kind of things the girl version of me would never have sought out. The teenaged me was all about having fun. But if I’m going to be honest, I should mention that a part of me mourned the loss of that girl.
My memory flashed back to the summer of ’91: The Summer of Trip. Even compared to the independence and fun of being in my twenties, that summer still ranked as the single happiest time of my entire life. How could it not? I’d spent two solid months wrapped up in the arms of the love of my life. There was nothing like being a teenager in love. You never get to have that gooey, gaga craziness ever again. That’s the thing that old married couples always try to warn you about. How adult love is way more reserved, rational… unexciting. I mean, I knew I loved Devin. I did. It was just a bit sad that I’d met him in his thirties, when our relationship had to be treated so maturely. I kind of missed goofing around and being an idiot. I missed sand-wrestling and busting chops and Skittle fights.
I missed Trip.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that he’d been spending the entire summer working in my very own neighborhood. I considered walking over to the set just to say hi, but didn’t want to come off like some crazy fan, or worse yet, a stalker. I thought I’d look like just another lovestruck idiot, trying to talk my way past the wooden barricades in order to get a glimpse of the almost-famous Mr. Wiley. He probably didn’t even remember me. He probably wouldn’t care even if he did.
I didn’t know why after so many years, I was still second-guessing myself when it came to Trip. I felt sixteen again, that horrible/wonderful time of being a teenager, so insecure and unsure of myself.
I polished off my drink and headed home.
*
I spent the following days fuming, barely speaking to Devin. By Tuesday, unable to endure the silent treatment any longer, he called me into his office. He shut the door and asked me to sit down in my time-out chair. My ass had spent so many hours in that very seat, he may as well have added a brass plaque with my name on it.
Instead of taking his normal position behind his desk, he surprised me by sitting in the club chair next to mine. He put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together, before letting out with an expelled breath. “I’ve been talking to Jerry,” he said at last.
I knew this was going to be good. Jerry was Devin’s next-in-command. No big decision ever got made before talking to Jerry. I tried to stay calm as I asked, “And?”
He pointed a finger in my direction and said, “If I let you do this interview-”
“Devin!”
“Calm down. I said if.” He tried not to smile as he continued, “If I let you do this interview, do you think it’s something you can handle?”
I couldn’t even speak. I sat there like a ventriloquist dummy, shaking my head up and down enthusiastically.
That made Devin’s serious expression crack. “Yes, well, I think so, too. I still have to run it by PR, but there’s a good chance I can get you in the junket.”
It wasn’t the exclusive interview I was hoping for, but a junket would be enough to get a story. God, a story! I was finally being given the chance to write my very own article.