by Holly O'Dell
Um, for starters, there were three separate reality shows on three separate stations that I had to try to schedule in. And that pint of chocolate Haagen Dazs in the freezer was not going to eat itself. And let's not forget staring at the wall occasionally, wondering how Miranda kept track of all the men that fell under her spell.
Michael smiled, and I noticed for the first time his perfectly straight grin. "It's like I see the hamster working up there," he tapped my head lightly, "trying to come up with an excuse"
"Can I bring Anna?"
"Absolutely. It'll be just like at the Lux, except no Devin."
"Except no Devin," I mindlessly repeated. Although I heard it as "Accept No Devin."
"All right, you've worked your publicist's magic and have convinced me to go" Perhaps it was all the compliments showered upon me by Miranda, or the fact that I was going to get a free dinner, but I actually looked forward to kicking back with some new friends.
"Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!" Anna squealed and jumped up and down. The bathroom attendant looked away and pretended she wasn't listening to us.
"We're out of earshot now, so can you tell me why you dragged me to the bathroom?"
"Miranda has asked me to come on board as a makeup artist on her new film."
I let out a whoop. "Anna, I am so proud of you! Is that what you and Miranda were being so secretive about out there?"
"I wouldn't say secretive, but I don't think she wanted to announce it to the entire restaurant"
"When do you start, my famous makeup artist friend?"
"Tomorrow, 6 A.M."
"Ouch. Does Miranda know that's when you usually go to bed?"
Anna gave me a playful slap on the hand. "Hush, you. I'm like a little kid hopped up on Pixie Sticks on Christmas Eve. Like I'm even gonna sleep!"
"This is huge. We should probably get back out there and celebrate-and finish our appetizers, of course"
"Can you call them appetizers in a place like this?" Anna teased as she pulled open the restroom door adorned with multicolored geometric patterns.
Mod was the name of the place we were at tonight. Last week it was Lux. Apparently giving monosyllabic titles to hot spots was hip. Another monosyllabic word. And probably a name already taken for the next big hangout.
I turned back toward Anna as we trudged through a long, narrow walkway flanked by high-top avocadogreen tables. Unfortunately, she stopped while she squinted at our table, and I smacked into her. "Hey, chica, are you trying to knock me unconscious? Must we review the single-file protocol again?" I giggled, but Anna continued to look at our table, appearing distraught. I followed her gaze and saw that Devin was standing at the table talking with Miranda and Michael.
He turned to see me. I tilted my head and gave a "You've got to be kidding me" look. "It's great to see you too, Kate!" Devin enunciated condescendingly.
"How about if we take a walk, Devin?" I faked politeness and turned to walk toward the bar.
I didn't have to turn around to know that Devin had followed me. We got to the bar, in all of its '70s faux retro glory, complete with wood paneling behind the bartender. I quickly snapped my head. "So, Devin, I suppose you just happened to be here for another engagement, and you just conveniently ran into Miranda."
He shrugged. "Something like that."
"Now why don't you tell me the real story"
"And have you blow my cover?"
"My apologies, double-0-7"
"I had to see her again. Something about her .. " He sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Man"
I rolled my eyes. "Ugh, please don't talk to me like I'm one of your buddies." I looked him up and down. "Wow, you're pretty brave, coming back after getting rejected not that long ago"
"Might I remind you, she didn't reject me Katherine. You happened to get in our way, and she disappeared. Probably thought you were a lunatic the way you jumped in between us"
"As a matter of fact, she invited me to dinner tonight," I huffed.
"Has she said anything about me?" Trying to appear nonchalant but really looking nonplussed, Devin thrust his hands into his pockets.
"Let's find out. Just let me write on this napkin, `Do you like Devin? Check a box, yes or no."'
He nodded toward the general direction of the table, which was out of sight from our standpoint. "Hook me up.
"Pardon?"
"Since you two are such great friends, you could put in a good word for me"
"Do you hear yourself? I am getting paid to do damage control for you. I am not going to play matchmaker for you with a Hollywood star."
"Fine, I'll just do it myself. I've always done it that way, and it's always worked for me" He winked and walked back to the table.
I sipped on a Diet Coke, trying to collect my thoughts, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Michael.
"So, do I dare ask what he's doing here?"
"I think you know."
"Well, either he's really interested in Miranda, or he's really interested in me"
I managed a laugh through my exasperation. "You were right what you said about Devin the other night at Lux. He is a brat. Like a naughty, naughty kid who won't listen to anyone in a position of authority."
"Hey, don't stress over something you can't control." Michael gave me a gentle rub between my shoulder blades, which made my stomach flip. "You're doing a great job with him."
"Thanks, but I feel like I'm pedaling backward"
"Sounds like something Ralphie Wiggum would say"
"He's my favorite character on The Simpsons."
"Hey, mine, too! Favorite Ralph line?"
"'Me fail English? That's unpossible!' Yours?"
"'Doctor told me that both my eyes were lazy! And that's why it was the best summer ever."'
I clutched my stomach with laughter. "You see, The Simpsons is not only a cultural icon, but it brings the masses together."
Michael set down his glass. "You're the first woman I've met who really appreciates The Simpsons. I mean, I've known plenty of women who have watched the show, but watching it and appreciating it are two different things."
"You mean all the women in your life don't do horrible impressions of animated characters? You should ask Anna to do her impression of Moe"
"Yikes, I don't know if I want to see-or hear-that."
"And you think I enjoy it every time she breaks it out?"
More laughter from Michael. And a quick brush of his hand on my arm. He awkwardly and hastily retracted his hand. "Woops," was all he could muster.
I pushed my stool back. "I should check on the lovebirds before they start making a nest"
"Miranda isn't the one you have to worry about here" Michael said confidently. "She has no interest in Devin whatsoever."
I eyed Michael suspiciously. "How do you know?"
"I just do" He zoned out while I tried to define his relationship with Miranda. College roommates, maybe? Old family friends? Of course, I could always just ask. But that was not my concern now. I needed to keep my eyes on the prize-if that was what you could even call Devin. Michael walked a few paces ahead of me back to the table, where we saw Miranda and Anna laughing heartily and Devin sitting at the edge of the table with his back turned slightly toward them. He was noticeably pouting.
"Uh, oh, are the popular kids ignoring you?" I slid in the chair next to him.
"I haven't gotten a word in edgewise. It's like I'm not even here"
"Watch out when the girls get together. You'll be sitting there by yourself for a long time."
"Where were you, making out with Michael?"
I looked down at myself mockingly. "Oops, my shirt's on backwards!"
Devin nodded toward Michael, who had moved in closely toward Miranda. His arm was on the back of her chair, and unlike Devin, he was able to leap into the conversation and laugh. He looked at Miranda with a sense of-a sense of-pride, perhaps? It wasn't quite lust, but it wasn't quite a look you'd get from someone who's just a friend, either.
> "Look at us, pining for people who don't want us," Devin leaned close to me and spoke in a muted tone.
I tossed my head toward Devin. "I'm not pining."
He ignored my comment. "Well, you go ahead and stare all you want, but I'm doing something about it."
"Devin, don't get stupid."
"Don't worry, all right? I've been on my best behav for tonight. Only one cameraman came over, and he took a very politically-correct shot of me and Miranda and Anna. Look, just because I'm under your care doesn't mean I can't date."
"I hate to break it to you," I tried to keep my voice down so the rest of the table wouldn't hear, "but I don't think Miranda's interested."
"I've barely gotten a chance to know her. And you know me, I don't give up that easily."
"Only when it benefits you," I mumbled, recalling our own breakup. Very clean and easy for him. He'd had his assistant do it. There's rejection, and then there's rejection via your boyfriend's sixty-year-old temporary assistant. I had called Devin's office wondering what we had planned for that night, and Maria answered his line.
"Oh, Mr. Underhill wanted me to pass a message on to you. It's Katie, right?"
"Kate," I replied curtly.
"Anyway, he just doesn't think it's going to work out and thinks it best you go your separate ways. Good-bye"
Yes, very clean and easy. And as I watched him watching Miranda, I knew that he wouldn't give up on her easily.
I caught Michael's eye. He nodded toward the front door. He dismissed himself from the table, and I followed about five seconds later.
Michael was standing outside with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, shifting from one foot to another, when I slid up next to him. I don't know if it was Michael or someone else walking by, but I caught a whiff of a spicy cologne. Mmm.
"Can't take the New York winter?" I teased.
"These are the times I really miss L.A."
I deeply inhaled the crisp March air. "What, and give up all the damp, dreary, drizzly days of early spring in Manhattan?"
"Uh, oh, it's come to this. We've resorted to talking about the weather." He gave me a halfhearted smile.
"So, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?" I encouraged.
He reached a hand up to his sideburn and started absently rubbing it. "Uh, just curious about what you and Devin were talking about."
"I think he's obsessed with Miranda. I mean, I know Devin intentionally showed up tonight, but I, er, well, maybe .." I stumbled through my words, remembering what I wanted to talk to Michael about earlier today.
Michael raised his eyebrows encouragingly. When I opened my mouth to say that I don't think we should be hanging around Miranda, I realized that she was not the problem here. "It's, it's ... it's not important."
Michael looked down at the sidewalk and traced a half-circle with his shoe. "It's not that you want to get back together with Devin, is it?" he said rather abruptly.
"Phawww!" I guffawed. "You know, the more time I spend with that man, the less attractive-and redeeming-he becomes."
"Well, that's good news." He stared intently at me. I felt heat come to my cheeks, so I had to look away. "Urn, we should get back inside."
And suddenly he had darted back into the restaurant, leaving me alone to wonder what just happened.
It had been a lovely two weeks. It was mid-April, there were hints of buds on the trees, and I had been given an emergency project with another client that was just wrapping up that day, so Michael was the one accompanying Devin to his events.
I felt a twinge of guilt, making Michael do all the physical labor on this project. But I did what I could during bouts of quiet time with my other project. I called reporters and schmoozed the best I could about why they should be interviewing Devin Underhill about his new commitment to charity. It was no easy task, having the phone slammed down in your ear an average of five times a day-but I'd take it over spending any time with Devin. I knew I'd have to buck up pretty soon, but right now I was basking in the moment.
And what a brief moment it was. Michael entered my office unannounced. "Hey, you're finishing up the Mason account today, right?"
Here we go. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm guessing my shift is starting up again with Devin?"
"You guess right, but we can talk about that later. About what time will you be available today? Maybe noon?" He grinned mischievously.
I watched him skeptically. "Depends on what you want me to do"
"Play hooky and come with me to a baseball game" I thought he was dressed a little casually today, with his baby-blue button-up shirt and khakis.
I wrinkled my nose. "Is it a Yankees game?"
"Like I'm that well connected. It's Mets vs. the Brewers"
"Yay, I love the Mets!" To my chagrin, I sounded like an overly enthusiastic cheerleader.
"All right, game time is at 1:00, but we should leave at 11:00 if we want to even consider being there on time."
"What happened to noon?"
"You're pedantic."
"Ooh, big college word," I teased, and I saw him soften a little. Ever since the night at the restaurant, communication had been perfunctory. He'd only stop by when he had a question about Devin, and nothing else. I had been so wrapped up in my other account that fortunately, I hadn't really noticed. Maybe some over- priced stadium dogs would do us some good.
"What about Gwen?"
"She's out of the office the rest of the day. If she asks, we'll just say we were out doing `research.' Any way, I should let you finish your work." Michael pivoted to make an exit. "So, we've agreed upon 11:00?"
"Tricky like a good old-fashioned publicist, just spinning the conversation right around like that" I smiled and nodded. "Yes, 11:00 should work"
"You better be nice to He Who Holds The Tickets."
"How dare you hold that over me!" I mockingly cried.
Michael glanced at his watch. "It's 10:00 already. Why don't we just leave now and grab an early lunch first?"
"And not be given the chance to eat my weight in hot dogs? I don't think so"
"All right, I'll let you get back to business so you can cram an entire day's worth of work into an hour." Michael left the office and was back in ten seconds. "Can we go yet?"
I shooed him away. "Don't tempt me. I'm very fragile when it comes to my Mets"
"You're right, you're right. I'll let you continue your work" And he reappeared another ten seconds later. "How about now?"
"Michael! Naughty! Go to your room!" He purposely shuffled out of the office as I grinned into my paperwork. I made a few phone calls, sent out a press release, and shuffled papers around my desk to make it look like I was returning after the game. Michael again came into my office. "For real this time, can we go?"
I looked at the clock on my wall. "11:00 sharp. You're good. Are we taking the subway?"
"No, I drove in today."
Hmm, he owned a car and was able to pay for park ing. Yup, he was definitely making more than me. We walked about six blocks to a lot in which all the cars were crammed. He led me to his vehicle and unlocked the door for me. I opened the door and had about three inches of room to slither in.
"So this is what a car looks like." Granted, it was a 1996 silver BMW, but it was a BMW nevertheless. "You realize I'm doing my best to refrain from Wall Street yuppie jokes, right?"
Michael shook his head and laughed.
I looked around at the spotless leather interior. "Ever since I got my driver's license the day I turned sixteen, I could never imagine being without a car. In Kansas City, you drove everywhere. I even had a car when I was at college in the dead center of Missouri. And I got here and haven't driven since."
"Yeah, this L.A. boy would be lost without his wheels"
"I don't even want to know how much you pay to park."
"Well, I usually don't drive into work, and besides, I've got a driveway."
"Where do you live, Connecticut?"
"Try again. Brooklyn."<
br />
"Huh."
"What's the `huh' for?" he grinned.
"I just never imagined someone like you living in Brooklyn."
Michael leaned forward to watch for pedestrians before he turned the corner. "Care to explain?"
"You just seem more, I don't know, urban or something."
"And is urban nice-speak for `uptight?"'
"Okay, so maybe I might have pegged you as a stiff."
Michael covered his heart with a hand. "Ouch, nothing hurts like a zinger from Kate Brown."
And we were off, crossing the Queensboro Bridge with relative ease. And finding a place to park within blocks of the stadium. And shuffling in to Shea Stadium with 50,000 other fans enjoying an afternoon off.
For the first time in God knows how long, I felt relaxed. No tense shoulders, no furrowed brow, no grumbling stomach forming an ulcer. The sun shone on us as we made our way down to the bottom row right at the first-base line.
"How did you score these tickets again, and why aren't they my clients?"
"Actually, they're not from a client. Miranda got them, and she thought that we might like to use them."
"'We' meaning you and I?"
"Of course. But I have a confession." He cleared his throat. "When Anna heard about the tickets, she told Miranda you were a huge Mets fan, so, here we are"
Good old Anna. And good old Michael for catching on. "Why didn't you take Miranda?"
"Are you kidding? She hates baseball, and besides, she's been so wrapped up with filming that she couldn't get away even if she wanted"
"So you haven't seen much of each other lately?" I inquired casually.
"No, unfortunately. I keep meaning to drop by her set, but that pesky work thing gets in the way"
"Anna seems to be enjoying herself immensely on the set, though we hardly get to talk anymore, now that she's a Hollywood hotshot. I'm so proud of her."
"That's a nice thing to say."
"Well, she is my best friend, so I try to throw her a line every now and again." I looked at him. "So tell me a little bit about your best friend. What's his name, does he live in L.A., stuff like that."
Michael sighed. "It's not a he, it's a she. Miranda's my best friend."