Lilia gives him a look, and he falls silent. As I’ve mentioned before, he’ll do whatever Lilia wants, within reason.
“Why are you guys home so early, anyway?” I eye my brother nonchalantly. “Things go well with Jocelyn?”
He gives me a glance that says he knows I’m fishing for information. “Look who’s curious now.”
I shrug and shovel more pizza into my mouth. I hate asking my brother for things, but the whole reason I’m out here in Los Angeles, staying in my brother’s sex-crazed house, is because Lawrence has managed to snag me a meeting with the one agent hotter than him at the moment: Jocelyn Jones.
Her enemies call her the Blonde Bitch and her clients call her the Ice Queen. The one thing everyone can agree on is that she’s cold, she’s ruthless, and she’s freakishly smart. She’s also interested in taking me on as a client, and she thinks she can get me a trade to the LA Lightning, a team destined for the big trophy within the next few years. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.
“You’re young,” my brother says in answer to the question. He’s noncommittal, which doesn’t bode well for me. “She’s being cautious. You don’t have a reputation yet.”
“That’s a good thing,” I say. “And I’m not a child—I’m twenty-six. I just fly under the radar.”
“It worries her. You’re a good player, smart, but you haven’t seen the limelight in a big way yet. The Minnesota Stars are a great team. Good solid coach, respectable captains—they’re a good influence on you.”
“Okay,” I say. “So what?”
“What happens when she throws you a bone with the LA Lightning? Are you going to run around with Cohen James?”
I shrug. It’s my own business who I run around with, and if I choose to associate with Cohen James—Hollywood’s hockey playboy, a man constantly in and out of court, drinking, drugs, and worse—that’s my business. “Cohen is a great player.”
“But he’s a shitty human being.”
“You know me,” I say. “I’m not like that.”
“I know that, but she doesn’t.”
I exhale a sigh of frustration. “Well, how do you want me to prove to her I’m not a dickhead?”
“Spend some time with her,” Lawrence says with a smile. “You’re welcome, baby bro. I’ve booked the two of you dinner and a show next week. Be on your best behavior. If things go well, you might have a shot at a brand new agent.”
“I don’t like her,” Lilia says. “She’s got those crazy eyes.”
“It doesn’t matter if he likes her or not,” Lawrence says, rubbing his hand along his fiancée’s leg. “It just matters if they can do business together.”
She frowns. “I suppose.”
“And that’s a good thing, baby,” he says. “Because if Ryan signs with her for a big salary, he can buy his own damn house and leave us to bang wherever we please.”
“Babe!” Lilia swats him again, but he wraps his hand around the back of her head and sticks his tongue down her throat so far I wonder if he can taste what she ate for lunch yesterday.
I stand up, grab a stack of pizza slices, and head toward the door. “Next week?” I say. “Just dinner and a show with Jocelyn, and then I’m good?”
Lawrence nods without removing his tongue from his fiancée’s throat. I take my pizza and leave, my thoughts caught somewhere between the delivery girl and Jocelyn Jones.
CHAPTER 4
Andi
“Hi guys, Andi Peretti here. Thanks for making it out tonight.” I squint against the bright lights, taking in a grand total of three—count ’em, three—customers in the bar. The bar itself is located on Hollywood Boulevard. It’s dirty, loud, and dark, and it’s the only place where I can try out my new material without getting judged by the real professionals. “Sorry I’m running a little bit late, but I have a good reason, I promise.”
I wait for the reaction, but it never comes. So I plow ahead, clearing my throat and diving right into my bit.
My best friend, Lisa Schwartz, puts her fingers to her lips and gives a huge whistle as I begin my routine. “Yeah, girl!” She’s almost as unknown as I am in the comic world, which is why we make a good team. “You’re sexy!”
Besides Lisa, the only other sane person is the bartender, who is being paid to watch me. Then there is Crazy Phil—his words, not mine. He lives next to the mailbox out front, somewhere between the curb and the front door. He’s my number one fan, aside from Lisa.
Ten minutes later, the light at the back of the room flicks on and off, signaling my time on stage is coming to an end. I close with my most practiced joke, wave to the empty room, and then hand over the microphone to the bartender who doubles as MC.
“Nice job, Andi,” says Rick the bartender. “You’re getting there.”
“That’s the same thing you tell me every week.”
“It’s true,” he says. “But I’ll stop saying it if you want.”
Lisa, bless her heart, leaps up from the front row and runs to squeeze me as if I’ve just performed at the Laugh House. “You’re damn right, Rich! Pretty soon you’ll be paying her to play this bar.”
I roll my eyes. They’re lying, but they know how to make me feel like a Snuggie inside—all warm and fuzzy and Cheetah-print.
I accept a vodka soda from Rick. “You guys are sweet, but I’m going to be working for my dad until I retire.”
“That’s not so bad.” Lisa grins. “At least you get free pizza.”
“And a show,” I say, and then slowly, deliciously, I reveal my latest adventure to Lisa. I tell her all the gory details of the sexfest I witnessed, and I don’t leave out anything except for the fact that my car almost broke down when I tried to make a quick getaway.
Lisa laughs at my descriptions, though I still haven’t dropped the biggest bomb of all on her. I haven’t revealed the mystery man behind the door.
“Show up with another pizza tomorrow wearing nothing but a trench coat,” Lisa says thoughtfully. “See if he’ll give you the same service. It’s been a while for you, and you don’t want a dusty vagina.”
“My vagina’s not dusty.”
“You’ve gotta keep that shit active, or else it gets wrinkly!”
“You’re disgusting, and anyway, this guy would never be seen with someone like me.”
“What do you mean? Don’t say stupid stuff like that. You’re gorgeous, and you’re funny, and you totally deserve to be with anyone you want,” Lisa says. “Sure, you’re crazy, but so am I.”
The real kicker is that she believes it; I can tell in her eyes, and this is why I love her. I propose to her then and there.
“Sorry,” she says with a wink. “I’m not your type. It’s not you, girlfriend, it’s me.”
“Well, even if he would consider helping keep my vagina from getting dusty, he’s obviously got a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, that’s annoying.” Her eyes brighten. “Or…maybe it was a one-night stand! That could work for you. You’re not exactly Miss Spontaneous when it comes to men, and it’d be good for you. If he’s into one-night flings, see if you can sign yourself up. Consider it your MBA in sex. Very educational.”
“Lisa—”