Chapter
2
I drove us to the restaurant. Another interviewer might have been able to use the extra time in a small space to her advantage, but being a generally nervous driver and having a huge movie star and his new puppy in my passenger seat kept me focused on the road. Instead, it gave Gabe the opportunity to pepper me with questions, which he did almost nonstop. As if I was the subject and he was the interviewer.
“You’re from L.A., right? Like, Hollywood Hollywood? Wow. It must have been cool growing up here.”
“I guess?” I hated that I couldn’t stop responding in a questioning tone. “I mean, it felt normal to me when it was happening.”
“Crazy.” He drummed his fingers across the top of the glove compartment.
There was a slight manic quality to him that seemed more noticeable in the car—like he was literally overflowing with excess energy.
“And you’ve lived here your whole life, right?”
I nodded, white-knuckling my way down the narrow Do?as, praying that we didn’t encounter another car needing to go the opposite way.
He rolled down the window, which seemed to temper his eagerness but did little to help calm me. Now all I could think about was the possibility that his dog, who was now standing on his lap, paws on the armrest, nose twitching in the breeze, might leap out of my moving car and then I’d be the person who killed Gabe Parker’s puppy.
“It’s nice here in the winter,” he said. “I’m usually in Montana with my family around this time, or filming somewhere else. But you probably get bored of all the sunshine, right? I always miss seasons when I’m here. Fall. Spring. Do you miss seasons?”
“Sort of,” I said. “I’m used to it, I guess.”
He nodded, his whole upper body rocking forward with him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that makes sense,” he said. “Have you ever been to Montana?”
“No,” I said. “But I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful? Naw. It’s stunning. Unlike anywhere else,” he said. “We’ll have to get you out there sometime.”
I nodded, as if that was something that might actually happen.
The pub was nice, with brick-lined walls and naked lightbulbs jutting out above each booth. Gabe led me past the bar and out to the back, where there was a table waiting for us and a little bowl of water for the puppy.
“You must love it here,” he said.
I looked around. “I’ve never been here before,” I said.
“Not here.” He tapped the table. “Here.” He gestured broadly. “L.A. You must love it if you came back after college.”
“I do,” I said.
“It’s not what I expected,” he said.
I stiffened.
“Yeah, well, a lot of people think L.A. is just Hollywood. That it’s this vapid, superficial town full of vapid, superficial people, but it’s really so much more. People say there’s no culture in L.A., but we’ve got culture coming out of our ass—and all kinds of culture. There’s Chinatown, and Little Armenia, and Little Ethiopia, and Alvarado Street. We’ve got amazing museums and gardens and parks. It’s beautiful here. Sometimes, in the morning, the mountains are pink and gold, like these perfect cutouts against the sky. There’s tons of history here—not just Hollywood, but there’s architecture and art and music. It’s a great place to grow up. A great place to live. And you can’t beat the tacos.”
I sounded like an extremely aggressive marketing campaign. But I couldn’t help it. My hometown was constantly maligned—Jeremy had certainly made it clear that he thought L.A. was trash—so when I went on the defensive, I went on the defensive.
Gabe leaned back.
“I totally agree,” he said. “The tacos are great.”
I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me, but before I could suss it out any further, our waitress appeared.
Gabe was on his feet immediately, giving the beautiful redhead a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “You look like you’re going to pop.”
She was extremely pregnant, and rubbed her stomach.
“I’m gonna tell your momma you said that to a pregnant woman,” she teased Gabe.
He winked at her. “You wouldn’t dare.” He glanced over at me. “Madison, this is Chani.”
He said my name perfectly.
“Y’all ready to order?” Madison asked. She had a thick, charming Southern accent.
“Give us a moment with the menu, okay, darlin’?” Gabe asked, tossing the accent right back at her as he sat across from me.
Madison blushed beautifully. “You just holler, okay?”
“The burgers are great,” Gabe said once she’d gone. “But if you get one, you have to get a beer. That’s the rule.”
I knew it was unprofessional to drink on the job, but I could handle a beer. I needed a beer. Because so far this interview had consisted of me ranting about both the intrinsic sexism of The Philadelphia Story and presumptive stereotypes about Los Angeles. It had not consisted of me doing the actual job I was hired to do.
“What’s their best sour beer?” I asked.
Gabe’s eyebrows went up and he met my gaze.
“Sour beer, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, like I was issuing a challenge. “Any suggestions?”
The grin returned, and with it, my improper tingly feelings.
“Why don’t I order for us? Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I said.
He looked down at the menu with the childish glee of a kid on the night of Hanukkah when you actually got real gifts, not socks or chocolate gelt.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “You’re gonna love this one.”
Madison returned and he gestured for her to lean toward him. He held up the menu between us, his gaze alternating between what he was pointing at and back at me. As he did, the puppy sauntered over, nudging her wet nose against my hand. I reached down and gave her a scratch, which was apparently an invitation for her to flop onto her back, showing me her stomach. I rubbed that, reveling in the velvety softness of her skin.
“She likes you,” Gabe said after Madison left with our orders.