“Uh, Cassie? I have to go. See you Sunday?”
“Yes, see you then! I’ll be the one banned from the kitchen. Love you!”
I sign off and answer the other call.
“Liam?”
“Hey.” He sounds terrible.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really,” he says. “Had a bad day.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Can you meet me?”
“Where are you?”
“At a bar. A really shitty bar.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough. Come drink with me.”
I almost say “okay” before my common sense kicks in. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please, Liss. I need a friend tonight.”
“What about Angel?”
“We had a fight. I started it, but still. I need a break. I need you. Please.”
I sigh and press my hand over my eyes. “Liam, I shouldn’t.”
“You should. I’m near the corner of Fifteenth and Ninth. It’s called the Badger’s Den. Just come for one drink, and I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”
Dammit, I should say no, but I can’t. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
After I hang up, I get out of my cheese-eating pants and pull on my jeans. Then I freshen up and head out to the living room.
Josh is frowning at his computer screen. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Just reading the Angeliam hashtag on Twitter. Seems like there are a whole bunch of women who are hating on Angel just because she’s with Quinn. Jesus, these comments are harsh.” He picks up his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Angel. I hope she’s not reading any of this, and if she is, she needs to know it’s all bullshit.” Before he hits “call,” he looks up at me. “Where are you going?”
“To meet Liam. He’s in a bar. I figure I’ll try to get him out of there before someone recognizes him.”
“Yeah, good luck with that. This show is going to make him even more of a target. Just make sure you stay out of the way if he starts throwing punches, okay?”
“Deal.” I grab my keys off the table and shove them in my bag. “See you later?”
“I’ll be here.”
As I close the door behind me, I hear him say, “Hey, Angel. It’s Josh. You okay?”
Twenty minutes later, I’m wandering down Fiftieth Street looking for the Badger’s Den. Turns out, I find it easily. If a lightbulb factory and the Ebola virus mated and gave birth to a bar, it would look like this place.
“Ew.”
Against my better judgment, I pull open the door and head inside. It’s dark and dingy and smells like stale beer and loneliness. There’s a guy sitting near the door watching the TV behind the bar, and the only other people in the place are a middle-aged couple canoodling at a table in the corner. The guy’s hand is under the table, and he’s either touching his lady friend in special places, or that glass of red wine is really good.
Lovely.
I see a familiar figure near the far wall, sitting at a table by himself.
When I walk over to him, he looks up at me and smiles. “Liss.” The way he says it sounds like a sigh of relief. “So glad you’re here. What are you drinking? Come on, I’m buying.”
He gets up and puts his arm around me to guide me to the bar.
The barkeep comes over and acknowledges us with a tilt of his chin. “What’ll it be?”
I shrug and gesture to the lady in the corner, who’s now making unmistakable moaning noises as she sips from her glass. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Liam looks over at them and frowns. “That must be some good wine.”
“Right?”
Liam orders the most expensive whiskey available, which turns out to cost a grand total of six bucks. When our drinks arrive, we head back to our table.
I sip my wine and study Liam. He looks like he hates the world right now, and I don’t know why.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask. “You’re fighting with Angel?”
“These days I always seem to be fighting with Angel.”
“About?”
He shrugs. “The show. The wedding. The ever-present goddamn cameras. All of it.”
“You guys seem happy.”
He laughs bitterly. “Of course we do. It’s required.”
His phone buzzes on the table. When he picks it up and taps the screen, a synthesized female voice comes out of the small speaker: “Liam, where the hell are you? Call me when you get this.”
I frown. “What’s that?”
“Text to voice app. Saves me trying to read stuff. It works for e-mails, too.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to be for blind people, but it works for dumbass dyslexics as well.” He turns off the phone and places it back on the table.
“That was from Angel?”
“Yep. I’m supposed to be at a party the network is throwing for the premiere of the show. Just more photo opportunities. As if the world needs any more goddamn pictures of us. How are people not sick to their stomachs by now? We’re like the Kardashians. Fucking everywhere.”