The second good thing about this experience was that as I walked the red carpet with him and he joked around about the cameras flashing—the way he’d done when we’d attended our first red carpet event together—I realized I hadn’t seen him as more than a friend or stranger for a long time. I think we lost that magic somewhere between picking up his vomit, dealing with his incoherent insults, and suspecting his infidelity. Despite all of that, I wished him well. I wished this guy, the one walking with me tonight—the sober and unassuming one—to have a good life.
His mom, Deborah, was with us tonight, so while Gabe went off to do his rounds talking to people, she and I found our seats. He joined us soon after, settling in the seat beside me, closer to his male costar in the movie he was being recognized for. Deborah kept pointing out the different celebrities that kept walking by, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was begging me to stay with her son. It was such an uncomfortable conversation to have with someone who loved a person the way only a mother could.
She didn’t know about the drugs, and that was something I couldn’t bring to light. But she knew about the women, or at least as much as anybody could know about the women, which was that they were definitely around. If the tabloids had it right half of the time, he’d been sleeping around with more women than I could name. How he found the time to do it, I would never understand. How the women hadn’t cared that he was married was intolerable. To Deborah, that didn’t matter, because to her marriage meant standing by your man, even when he was off screwing everybody with a vagina.
I understood her standpoint, I really did, but it was something I understood the way I understood statistics in college. I got it, but didn’t apply it in my life. It shouldn’t have to. I grew up in a time when women didn’t need men. We didn’t need somebody to make money for us, or give us orgasms, or even impregnate us. We had the ability to make our own money, buy our own dildos, and go to a clinic. And fuck anybody who thought we needed to put up with the bullshit a man brought into our lives without questioning it. I was thankful when my phone vibrated in my purse and I was able to excuse myself from the conversation as I pulled it out.
I frowned at my screen when I saw an unknown number, and then a message that read: We need to talk. - V
My heart started to race. I shoved it back into my clutch before anybody around could catch the words. Who the hell would send me that? I looked at Gabe, who was being overly friendly with his co-star, Lina. It wasn’t him. I thought about the people in my life, men and women, who would have been watching me, and looked around. Nobody seemed to be looking at me. My phone vibrated again.
323 8374949: Anything I should know about? –V
I typed back, Victor?
323 8374949: . . . I asked you a question.
Me: And I can’t answer that if I don’t know who I’m answering.
3238374949: There’s a reason I don’t have conversations via text.
I smiled, shaking my head. Definitely Victor. I saved his number under V since that was what he kept sending me messages under.
Me: I’ve been busy.
V: Clearly.
Me: We can talk tomorrow.
V: Because you’re planning to stay busy tonight?
I held my phone in my hands as I thought of a response for that. Did he mean busy with Gabe? I was sure that’s what he meant. I pictured him sitting at home looking all upset over that possibility and nearly laughed.
Me: Depends on who’s keeping me busy.
V: . . . . .
Me: What the hell does “. . . . .” mean?
V: It means I don’t know how to answer that.
Me: Which means you’re thinking you should be the one keeping me busy?
When he didn’t respond for a couple beats and I didn’t see the little cloud with dots that said he was responding, I put the phone on my lap and went back to looking around at the stars, so many of which I’d dressed. I said hi and caught up with some of them as they walked by and introduced them to Deborah, who was the ultimate fan, which I loved. The magic was still shiny in her eyes. Not that it wasn’t in mine. It was hard not to be affected by the atmosphere at an event like this, no matter how many times you’d been.
My phone buzzed again, and I jolted a little, turning it over.
V: Stop tempting me.
I smiled.
Me: I didn’t realize you were tempted. You seem to be practicing control rather well.
V: Control? You’re succeeding in breaking me down.
Me: Good ;-)
V: Are you wearing anything under that dress?
The words made me shiver. I closed my eyes momentarily, picturing his deep-hazel eyes looking into mine as he said those words.
Me: Are you trying to sext with me? I’m sober. I don’t sober sext.
V: I don’t sext at all. I’d much rather spend my energy fucking.
I swallowed and took a sip of water, suddenly feeling very thirsty, and very hot.
“Hey, did you see Macie?” Gabe asked. I jumped at the sound of his voice and the mention of his current film director, and hid my phone again. He gave me a questioning look, but didn’t comment. Macie was his current producer. “She said she’s gotten good comments about us being together at the premiere the other day.”
“Good. That’s what I’m here for,” I said, setting my glass of water back down.