“Maybe you should take that,” I say. “Seems like it might be important.”
Willow anxiously looks at the phone, then back at me.
“Do you mind? I’m sorry. This timing sucks.”
“Please. Go ahead.”
She takes the phone and disappears into the house, and I turn toward the city lights. When Willow returns about fifteen minutes later, she almost clatters the chair over as she tries to pull it out.
“Whoa,” I say, helping her steady the chair and watching her sit, stiff and straight on it. “Everything ok? You look a little…”
“I’m great! Everything’s great…absolutely,” she says quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear rapidly. Her smile looks a little forced now, disappearing as she grabs at her beer like it’s a life raft. She drains it quickly, and then pulls the bottle away from her mouth, gasping for breath.
I watch her for a second, her cheeks flushing a little. “Another?” I suggest.
She nods eagerly and I pop another open for her.
“You sure everything’s ok?” I ask.
“Of course!” Willow says, before taking a long drink of her beer. She waves at the air. “It was nobody. Just a friend. Tony. He’s gay.”
I smile at the notion she might think I’m jealous of a male friend.
“Cool,” I say, nodding at the puppy chow. “How’s he doing? Long time no talk?”
Willow takes one quickly and starts talking, as if uncomfortable with the silence now.
“Um. It’s just…it was nothing. He’s just worried about…something,” she says, rubbing her cheek as she speaks. “He wants me to meet up with him tomorrow morning, to talk. I guess.”
I put a hand on her leg.
“Well I’ll make sure I wake you up early enough, then.”
Willow lets out a short, awkward laugh, and struggles to meet my eye.
“Actually, I should be getting home now. I have some things I need to take care of.” She stands up. “Nothing to do with you, with this. I mean this was amazing, really. The house, the puppy chow…everything. Thank you so much. Sorry I have to run.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, standing up with her. She still seems skittish, and I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it? You look kinda spooked. Maybe it’s something I can help with?”
Her forced smile is a little more sincere now.
“Thanks, but no. It’s just…a Tony thing. Anyway, I’ll be fine. Let’s do something again soon, okay? And I promise I’ll have this all sorted out by then.”
“Hey,” I say, lifting her chin to me. “Stuff happens. You think I don’t know that? And you don’t have to take a burden all on yourself. I’m here.”
Willow looks at me, less jittery now, melting a bit in the honesty of what I’m saying.
She nods at me and says, “I know. I know you are. It’s just that this is about—”
“Tony—yeah, I got that.”
She laughs a little, and so do I, the awkwardness melting away.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just a me and Tony thing, I guess.”
“Stop apologizing,” I soothe, bringing her face to mine for a soft kiss. “I’ve waited long enough to find you. I can wait another day.”
16
Willow
If comedy is all timing, then life has a hell of a sense of humor. There must have been all of two seconds between Cole telling me that he wants me, and Tony beginning his phone assault to tell me his big news. News that even now, in the back of this cab, after confirming it with him multiple times, I still can’t quite believe.
The money is in the bank.
Not ‘on its way.’ Not ‘they’ll get it when we need it.’ Not ‘available in asset form.’ But there, in cash, sitting in the business bank account that Tony set up and gave me access to while I was still laughing off the whole thing as a pipe dream. And it’s not small change, either. It’s a six figure number I’d be happy to retire with.
I still can’t get my head around it, despite Tony sending me multiple screenshots of the account balance, as well as a video of him screaming ‘we’re rich, baby!’ with the screen of his computer in the background.
I take a deep breath, watching the streetlights pass by, and try to grasp onto at least one of the exploding thoughts in my mind, until I give in and just call Tony.
“Hey!” he answers instantly, his voice almost accusing. “Are you done satisfying every need your celebrity boyfriend has?”
“He’s—” I stop myself before saying that he isn’t my boyfriend, and instead say, “he’s not here now. Tell me again: What exactly did Andre and Lou say?”
“They said: Here’s enough money to start a drug cartel, now go build the most fabulous eatery in America and make all of our dreams come true.”
“Tony.”
“Ok,” he says, his voice lowering a semi-octave as he gets serious. “It’s an equity deal. And I negotiated us some pretty fucking good terms if I say so myself. We get full control.”
“Full control?”
“Everything. The menu, the interior design, the location. It’s all up to us. All they want are free meals and to see us sustainable after the first year. Then they start taking their money back along with a percentage off the back end once we’re all paid up.”
“Did you sign anything?” I say, fumbling the tip to the cab driver and getting out.
“Yes, I did. And you need to sign your part still. I feel like it’s just my ass on the line so far, and I have to tell you, Willow, it’s getting a little scary how reluctant you are about this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, slamming the cab door shut and hanging out on the corner to finish the call. “I’ll sign. It’s just…I don’t know. It’s a lot happening all at once.”
“I get it,” Tony says, sympathetically. “Business isn’t your thing, but soon you’ll be in your element, picking staff, building a menu, cooking up a storm.”
Even those simple, insinuating words send streaks of excitement through me. To be in charge of my own menu again, my own kitchen. To have carte blanche to put everything I know to be true into practice again—only this time it won’t be at the end of a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, it’ll be in Los Angeles.
“Believe me when I say that I don’t want anything more than that.”
Tony lets out a soft chuckle. “I know. Anyway, did you look at the pictures of the locations I sent you?”
“Yeah…”
“And?”
I sigh a little before saying, “Well, I think I know why they don’t get Ansel Adams to do rental ads.”
“What are you talking about? The pics were beautiful.”
“Right, too beautiful. I need more than close-ups of wall skirting with wonderful bokeh, or artful pictures of ceiling beams emerging from shadows. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d hang those pictures on my wall, but I still have no idea what the places you visited are actually like, Tony.”
“Hmph,” Tony grunts, sassily. “Well, you’ll come with us tomorrow and see for yourself, right?”
“Sure,” I say, suppressing the guilt and worry that keep trying to rise in my voice. “I’m all in.”