Our waiter came over with some chips and salsa, asking if we’d like something to drink. I was thinking that I should probably just order a soda and was startled when Trip ordered a bottle of house wine instead. But I waited for our server to leave before making a stink about it.
I had just opened my mouth to question him when Trip put a hand up. “It’s for you, not me. You had that look.”
“What look?”
“That look like you didn’t know whether or not to order a drink. That look like you didn’t know whether or not to even ask me about it. For future reference—and trust me, you’ll encounter plenty of recovering alcoholics out here—you don’t need to curb your drinking just because we can’t control ours.”
“Is that the general consensus?”
“Pretty much. One of the first things you learn is that you can’t control other people’s behavior. You can only control your own. Even some guys at the treatment center were classified as problem drinkers, not alcoholics. They take their recovery hats off on the weekends and think just because they’re only having a few beers means they’re handling the situation. They’re not. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“There’s a difference between the two? Which one are you?”
“For me personally, it doesn’t matter. The way I see it, a problem’s a problem. If I felt like I could drink, but still had to constantly moderate every drop, I figure I shouldn’t be drinking at all, you know? Believe me. I’ve done lots of trial and error over the years. I’m not about to tempt fate. It’s easier just to avoid all of it.”
I accepted his assessment. He was a smart guy and been through hell and back. I had both trust and precedent to know that he wasn’t going to go out of his way to screw up his life again.
“Well, I don’t have to have wine, either.”
He snickered out, “Yes you do. I plan on getting you drunk tonight and taking full advantage of you.”
I reached under the table and ran my fingertips down his thigh. “You don’t need to get me drunk for that.”
He snarled at me across our bowl of chips, took a sip of his water. “You are going to be the death of me, woman.”
I was still laughing as I said, “So… I was trying to be cool about this, but I can’t just pretend I’m not blown away, here. Just exactly how do you know Paul Newman well enough that he let you borrow his car?”
“I told you I’m starting a hockey movie in the next couple of weeks. What I didn’t tell you was that it’s a remake of Slap Shot.”
“I love that movie!”
“Exactly.”
He didn’t look pleased.
“Why do I get the impression that you’re not happy about this?”
“No, I am. Now, anyway. But think about it. Everyone loves that movie. It’s awesome exactly the way it is. A remake might be a really bad idea. I’d been completely paranoid about it, and decided to consult the source before committing to do it. Paul’s doing a cameo, so I was able to finagle his info and get in touch with him.”
“Membership has its privileges.”
“That it does. Anyway, after talking to him a few times, we kind of hit it off. For all the dicky characters he plays onscreen, he’s really a great guy. And for some reason, he likes me.”
“You like him, too.”
He gave a sheepish smile at that. “Yeah. I admire him. I mean, the guy has had a career that spans six decades, and yet he doesn’t even live here most of the time. He’s been married to the same woman for fifty years, with not even a hint of scandal. The bastard just turned eighty and he still looks great, still racing cars.” I smiled at that, envisioning Trip as a hell-raising octogenarian. He totally would be. “But I think most of all, I admire the work he does with those kids at that camp. Oh. And he created an entire food company just to donate the profits to charity.”
I loved that he idolized the man, not just because he’d hoped to emulate his successful career, but because he’d hoped to emulate his successful life. “You want to be him when you grow up?”
He chuckled as he answered, “Yeah. I guess I do.”
“Well, taking on one of his most beloved roles might be a step in the right direction.”
“Or a step in the really wrong one.”
“You’ll make it work. I know it. You haven’t filmed a stinker yet.”
“Which one was your favorite?”
I knew he was probably digging for a compliment, but I didn’t mind. I hadn’t seen any of his newer films, but there would never be a movie that took the place of the one we’d seen together. “I think I’m gonna have to go with Swayed. For obvious reasons. I’ve never watched a movie that brought out such… emotion in me.” Things had gotten so tense between us while viewing that film, that I still get shivers just from thinking about it. Not only because he’d brought me to near-orgasm just from holding my hand in the theater that night, but because he’d nearly brought me to tears with his flawless execution of that role. From what little I’d seen of it, I knew that Oscar was well-deserved. “I never did see the ending, however.”