“Yeah, it’s a dare.” She walked away to manage something for the afternoon. She’d be working on vocals until after dark, and I’d continue with the performers.
“One day, just one day.” The voice behind me was deep and resonant. I turned fully and recognized Carter before I could turn back away.
“One day?”
“One day they could have cheeseburgers. Just one day.”
He smiled at me and popped a cucumber slice in his mouth. Our eyes met for a second before his went back around the room. Scanning. I wondered if he ever looked at anything for more than a second.
I came to the pie. I loved pie. That must be the surprise Darlene had for me.
“If we fed these guys cheeseburgers, they’d be useless the whole afternoon.” I took a slice of cherry, then let my knees go weak and my eyes go half-closed to show him how we’d be on a fat-heavy lunch. “Blar blar blar.” I moved like I was drowning in mud, letting my tongue loll.
What was I doing? This wasn’t funny. And I was going to drop my pie.
Except he caught it, tilting the plate back as he steadied the edge.
I turned hot pink.
“We certainly don’t want that.” I couldn’t look at his face, so I dropped my gaze to his hand curling around the edge of his plate. It was so masculine, with veins on the back and long fingers. I had to look away from that too, only to find him watching me. I felt trapped in him, and it wasn’t at all bad.
“Do you smile?” I asked, moving down the line.
“How would it be if I asked you that question?”
“Shitty. So don’t ask it.”
He smiled, answering my question.
“Emily,” the caterer said before I took my pie back from Carter. “These were in the dessert cart. I’m assuming they’re for you.” He held up two brownies in tinfoil.
Even more than pie, I had a soft spot for brownies. Sometimes Darlene had the caterer make them for the whole team on Fridays. It was Thursday, and there were only two, but whatever.
They were rectangular, near black, dotted with walnuts and delicious-shaped.
Two desserts. A girl needs a little joy sometimes.
“Thank you.”
“Do you share?” Carter reached for a slice of apple pie. “I prefer brownies.”
“Nope.” I popped my p and went to the patio overlooking the freeways of Downtown. All the seats were taken except a small round table with two chairs. Carter surprised me by following me and pulling out a chair for me as if he wanted to sit with me.
After I sat, he placed himself across from me. This was a better surprise than a couple of desserts.
“You’re really busy around here.” His eyes kept going to the door. Normally, I’d find that insulting. In his case, I found it reassuring.
“We have a tour in a month. Doesn’t get much busier than that.”
We’d spoken a few times in the past two weeks but never with intention. We’d never sat together at lunch.
“I never asked you why you carried around a fake gun.”
He said “carried” in the past tense as if he knew I’d stopped carrying it after he attacked me in the parking lot.
“I’m afraid of the real ones.”
“You could carry nothing.”
“Protection.” Even I didn’t believe me. It was the most ridiculous reason I’d ever concocted, and I didn’t insult him by waiting to see if he bought it. “Deterrent.”
“What are you going to deter? Or is it who?” He raised one eyebrow. The arch was so perfect I was disappointed when it dropped.
“I have an ex-boyfriend who can’t take a hint or understand the big words in an order of protection.”
“Ah.” He poked his food, looking at it for the first time since he’d sat down.
“Which ran out three weeks ago. So I’ve been a little nervous.”
“You didn’t have a three-year restraining order?” He snapped up the Tapatío and slathered his food with it.
It was a simple question if you were a victim or a lawyer. The levels of protection orders became clear to me only after Vince had hit me, then stalked me. Before that, I wouldn’t have known one from the other.
“Criminal protective. Judge wrote in a year.” I pointed my fork at the red-hot sauce on his chicken. “That’s going to be really spicy.”
“It’s fine.” He put it in his mouth and didn’t even cry or scream. “Twelve months is unusually soft.”
“The judge was unusually hostile to women. Said Vince only hit me once so he’d probably forget about me in a week. No need to inconvenience him further.” I flicked a piece of salad across the plate. “And he insinuated I was going back to him anyway. Judge Croner, and I’ll never forget his name, didn’t want to ‘remove incentive for Ms. Barrett to work on the relationship as opposed to lean on the courts when things get rough.’ Which was another way of saying I was crazy enough to deserve it.”
“I know Croner. I think his wife hasn’t fucked him in a decade.”
When I was done laughing, I put my elbows on the table and leaned forward. “You know judges by name, and you know how orders of protection work. You a lawyer in your spare time?”
“Former LAPD.”
“Detective?”
“Uniform and badge.”
“Bicycle?”
“Cruiser.”
“Singing or dancing?”
“Neither. What about you?”
“Both.”
“You sing? I didn’t know.”
I didn’t talk about it, ever. But he’d told me about himself without my reciprocating, and for reasons that had more to do with feelings than facts, I wanted him to know me.
“Darlene and I came to LA together to ‘make it,’ which obviously she did, and she deserves everything she has and more. But we were on an even keel. Same auditions, same agent. Same contacts. We even did some duets with a band in little clubs and stuff. But then . . .”
Could I find a way to tell this without looking like a complete doormat?
Probably not.
“Then I met this guy. We can call him Mr. Order of Protection. You’ll remember him from two minutes ago. I must have been really weak or insecure. I don’t know. It’s embarrassing to tell it. But he got really jealous when I was onstage. Even if I didn’t dress sexy at all. He hated people looking at me. So. I kind of stopped performing. Little by little. I stopped doing the little shows and skipped auditions. I got a data entry job that wasn’t threatening. Darlene didn’t even realize what was happening until my momentum was shot. Then, blah blah blah. Darlene had me choreograph her first show, which went great, and I thought Mr. Order of Protection wouldn’t have a problem with it because it was a backstage job, et cetera, et cetera. Simon had to touch me to demonstrate a lift. He saw it. He went nuts. Yada yada.”
We ate in silence for a while. I was grateful he didn’t ask for details, shame me, or even say the usual platitudes. It was nice to just sit and eat after telling him.
“I’d like to hear you sing,” he said.
“I probably sound like a frog after so long.” I opened the foil around my brownies. “Do you want some?”
“I’ll stick to the pie today.”
I bent a corner off the brownie and ate it. It was exactly the kind I liked. Trader Joe’s in the yellow box. Perfectly moist, dense, dark.
I wrinkled my nose. Took another bite.
“What?” Carter asked. “You got a face like there’s a bug in it.”
I chewed. Swallowed.