“Time off? Are you kidding me? V, your career is at its height. You’re in your prime. You have roles coming out your ass. IM2 is the beginning. All those stupid roles are behind you and now is the time to take on projects that are meaningful and fulfilling. You can’t quit now.”
“I’m not talking about quitting, I’m just talking about doing… something else. Like relaxing. Enjoying what I have for a year.”
“A year? No, you can’t—” His phone buzzes in his palm and that distracts him away from my conversation just long enough for me to wave a hand at the waitress to get the check. “I have to take this, do you mind?”
“You go, I’ll pay. Talk to you next week.”
He pats me on the back as he answers his call and then walks out.
We’ve had this weekly lunch every Tuesday for ten years. Larry is my best friend as well as my agent and I know he’s just looking out for my career, but the truth is I don’t want to think about my job, or the premiere of IM2, or the appearances I’ll have to do to promote it, or any of the other endless things that come with being a movie star in Hollywood.
I need to get the hell out of Hollywood, actually. I think that might be my problem.
“Here you are, Mr. Asher,” the waitress says as she hands me the check. I pull out my card and hand it over to her and go back to my thoughts, looking out the window onto Santa Monica Boulevard. Grace. That’s all I want to think about today. Tweeting with Grace tonight. And who would’ve thought that this simple thing could make my day?
I wonder if she got my flowers, or realized I’ve padded her bank account with money? Or the Starbucks card?
I’m still smiling at all of that when my phone buzzes and speak of the angel, she’s calling me right now to thank me! I press accept. “Calling me at work, tsk tsk tsk,” I say playfully.
“Asher,” she seethes and I actually sit back in my chair at her tone. “Who the f**k do you think you are going into my private accounts? Just who the f**k?”
“Whoa, Grace, not the thank you I was expecting.”
“Thank you? Are you crazy? I’m writing you a check and giving all that money back. How dare you! I will not be bought. I will not have you giving me money with the presumption that I owe you something, understand? I will write you—”
The waitress discreetly slips the bill back on the table and I hold my hand over the phone and mouth Thank you, bring the car, at her.
“—and you will stop with this. Do you understand?”
“Grace, listen carefully, because you’re missing out on the experience of what just happened to you. OK?”
“How dare you discount my feelings on this—”
“Listen,” I growl at her. “You had your say, now I will have mine.” She huffs out some air and I can almost imagine the eye roll she’s giving me in Denver and that just makes her all the more desirable. But she needs a firm hand right now, because she’s being emotional and reactionary. “It’s a gift. I’d like to help you out. In your pursuits or dreams. Whatever. Use that money any way you want. There are no expectations tied to it at all. If you write me a check I won’t cash it, so don’t waste the time and effort it will take for all your self-righteous indignation. It’s pointless.”
“I don’t want your gift. And I’ve changed my mind. I’m not tweeting with you tonight.”
“You are.”
“I’m not. And who the hell puts five thousand dollars on a Starbucks card? It’s ridiculous!”
“What’s ridiculous about it? It’s a payment card, now you have money to pay.”
“It’s five years’ worth of coffee, Vaughn. Starbucks could go bankrupt in five years. The world could end in five years. You have no idea what will happen in five years. So it’s a waste of money.”
“You’re right, anything can happen in five years. But…” I hesitate, take a deep breath, and then say it. “But every day for the next five years you will walk into Starbucks knowing I’m still caring for you. Every day for the next five years you will think of me at least once. So it’s not a waste of money, it’s a gift that keeps on giving. For both of us. Because once a day I will know for certain that you are thinking of me. And once a day you will know for certain that I’m thinking of you. How is any of that ridiculous?”
Total silence on the other end of the line.
“Grace?”
“I don’t even know what to think about that.”
I shake my head in confusion as well. “What’s to think about? I don’t get it.”
“It’s too much. And the money, Vaughn, please. It’s sending me all kinds of mixed messages. I don’t understand what’s happening. All of this is just too much!”
“Too much how? Your constant objections to everything I say and do are sending me mixed messages. Jesus, do you even like me? From the way you react to everything I do, I’m going to have to say no. The money is not complicated, Grace. You must worry about bills, you don’t make very much. So why is it too much to take that worry away?”
“You’re trying to buy me.”
“Buy you for what? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to a poor person.” And then she hangs up.
And that is bullshit. I redial and get ringing. One, two, three, four, voicemail. “Grace, call me back.”