“The first thing you need to do is stop being a dick to her,” Alejandro advises. “It’s not her fault that you’re feeling this way about her, and you definitely shouldn’t take it out on her. The next thing you need to do is get your shit together and figure out if you really do like her. If you actually feel that way about her, you need to man the fuck up and let her know.”
“The gayest dude I know telling me to man the fuck up,” I tease.
Chad bursts into laughter, and Alejandro pauses to snicker before retorting, “Yes, but am I wrong, James?”
“No, you’re totally right,” I admit.
“If you decide you don’t want to go down that path with her, you need to commit to that idea and move on. You’re getting mixed up with girls like Tara Morgan, and you should be focusing on something simple, like work. Channel all this emotion into motivation.”
Chad smiles broadly at Alejandro before turning to me. “He’s so smart,” he proudly remarks as he brushes his fingers down the back of Alejandro’s neck.
I shrug and nod because he’s kind of right. Alejandro is really observant, and he’s a good listener, so he always has some kind of insightful advice.
“Well, in the meantime, do you want to stay for dinner?” Chad asks.
“Sure,” I reply. It’s good to have somebody to talk to when your emotions are all scrambled like mine have been, and I can always be myself with these dudes so I don’t have to hide anything.
I’m feeling better, though still a bit mixed up about the Lola situation. I definitely agree with the guys about Tara, though. She’s a very persistent chick, and I shouldn’t blur that line between work sex and real-life sex. Using all this to get motivated for work seems like a good idea. It’ll give me something to focus on, something with clear-cut goals and accomplishments. How many scenes can I shoot in a month? How many times can I make my co-stars come in a single shoot? How many different girls can I work with? These things are easy to keep track of, and they’ll provide a measurable goal. So that’s what I decide to do. Climb the ladder, focus on my career, and go the friendship route with Lola until I decide what the fuck I actually want to happen there.
Chapter 16
Lola
FIVE TIMES. My dad has checked his BlackBerry five times since we sat down, and we don’t even have our salads yet. The first was right after our waitress took our drink orders. The second was when I started talking about college and he made a snippy comment about how much it was going to cost him—because apparently he doesn’t understand that he and my mom are splitting the miniscule percentage that isn’t covered by scholarships and loans. The next BlackBerry offense came after he told me that Nikki wanted to get me some new school clothes so I’d fit in with the wealthy students at my egregiously expensive school. After that it was BlackBerry time again before a comment about how my hair looks more professional when it’s straight and that I should wear it that way in class so my professors won’t think I’m some kind of hippie. This last glance down at the screen has been going on for several minutes, and I’m just thankful that he’s not finding yet another thing to make me feel insecure about. It’s not like he’s even texting or emailing anyone. His phone hasn’t beeped or chimed at all. I’m guessing he’s just using it as an escape because he doesn’t want to have dinner with me—and the feeling is very mutual.
“So what did you think of graduation?” I say, attempting to break the growing silence between us.
“Hm?”
“Graduation. What did you think?” I repeat when he finally looks up.
“Oh, it was nice,” he says dismissively. “You should have seen Nikki’s nephew’s graduation. They had a general come to speak to them. Very inspiring.”
I manage to unclench my jaw. “But Tyler goes to a private school, so I’m sure they had more money to court speakers,” I say, inexplicably defending the local news anchor who gave our public-school-budget commencement address.
“Best school in Virginia,” my father agrees, completely missing my point. “He’s a straight A student, too.”
So am I, Dad, but you would only know that if you paid attention to me for the past fifteen years since the divorce.
“They had their prom in an old mansion, really beautiful space,” he smugly adds.
“I’m sure it was fabulous,” I say, trying rather unsuccessfully to mute my sarcasm.
“Your mom said you didn’t even want to go to your prom,” he says, taking a sip of the exorbitantly expensive wine he ordered for himself.
“I’m not a dress-up kind of girl.” I shrug in the most noncommittal way possible.
“Come on,” he says with a snicker, “all you girls live for your prom and your wedding. Those are the two biggest days in a girl’s life.”
I strain to avoid rolling my eyes as I sigh. “Not for me.”
“You didn’t want to get all dolled up with your prom date and be like Cinderella?” He smirks like he’s certain I’m bullshitting.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I went with a friend, so it wasn’t like he was officially my date. I only stuck around for a little while. James was in town, so I had a good excuse to bail.”
“James was in town?” he scoffs. “What was he doing here?”
“He came to visit me,” I reply, already feeling myself starting to get defensive and defiant.
My dad and James have met several times, but neither seemed to take a particular shine to the other. James knows my dad can be quite cold to me, and I’m sure my dad thinks something must be wrong with James if he wants to hang out with a snippy, nerdy, homely, social outcast like me, so they’re not exactly buddies.
“So you went to prom with James, then?” He snickers.
“No, he was here visiting, and I hung out with him after prom,” I clarify.
Because my father never listens to me, he continues with, “I just don’t see why a twenty-year-old guy would fly all the way here to go to prom with you.”
“He didn’t go to prom with me!” That seems to go in one ear and out the other.
“Didn’t he have anything better to do than go to a high school prom?”
“Dad,” I say, angry, “if you’d listened to me for the past few minutes, you’d have heard me saying that I did not go to prom with James.”
He scoffs and shakes his head like I’m the asshole, and he sits back in the booth and takes another sip of wine.
“What’s the prom king up to out in LA these days?” he says with a judgmental, snarky smirk.
“He’s doing very well, actually,” I snap. “He’s had a lot of auditions, done some commercials, and a few big modeling jobs. He’s earning good money, and he really enjoys his work.”
“Christ, I’m surprised that kid can even read a script let alone memorize one,” my father scoffs.
Okay, that does it, now I’m pissed. “Why do you always do that?” I scowl as I cross my arms. “Why do you have to say things like that about him? Every time I bring him up, you have some nasty, cutting thing to say about him, and it’s grossly inappropriate considering you barely know him.”
“I know enough,” he grumbles.
“You obviously don’t!” I fire back. “If you knew him at all, you’d know that he’s wonderful. He’s sweet and caring. He’s funny. He’s been there for me through every bad thing that’s happened in my life—including all the times you’ve made me feel like crap—so maybe you should reconsider the way you speak about him.”
“You need to reconsider the way you’re speaking to me, young lady,” he sternly replies, trying to assert some unearned parental authority.
“Not when you’re going to make snide remarks about my best friend,” I retort with a glare.
“I’ll say whatever I want about that kid.” He shrugs as he dismissively waves his hand in the air.
The waitress brings out our entrées, and I’m seething with such rage that I can barely chew a single bite. He doesn’t notice—or more likely, he doesn’t care
—and he makes a crack about how I came to a steak house and ordered salmon instead of steak. He ordered veal, something he knows I find morally questionable, and he even gets in a few jabs about how my distaste for the flesh of baby cows apparently makes me some kind of tree hugger.
“So your mom said you’re going to some graduation parties tonight,” he says, attempting to segue.
“Yes,” I tersely reply.
“Are you excited for those?”
“Thrilled,” I continue with another monosyllabic answer.
“Lola, I don’t need this attitude. I took time off work to come here to watch your little graduation, and you owe me some respect. I’m your damn father!”
“I’ll show you some respect when you earn some respect. I’ll respect you when you start respecting me—and my friends!”
He puts down his fork and glares at me, but I return his glare in spades.
“And how is everything tasting?” our waitress asks as she stops back by.
“Great,” I answer. “Can I get a box, please? I don’t think I can finish all this.”
“Of course.” She nods with a smile and darts off toward the kitchen.
The angry glares continue as she returns with a box, and I scoop food inside. My salmon is largely untouched, but it might be good later when I’m not so pissed off. I close the box and take out my keys.
“Dad, it’s been a joy, as usual,” I say, standing from the table.
“You’re just going to get up and walk away?” he asks with outrage.
“I can leave you some money if you’d like, but I’m such a pauper that I’ll have to sell my Coach bag to do it,” I spit.
“That’s enough!” he growls.
“See you in four years at the next graduation, if you decide it’s worth your time,” I flippantly reply as I make my way to the door.
I’m sure that he’s livid, and for a second I wonder if he’ll follow me outside and really lay into me about being snippy with him. Of course, he’s all about appearances and he would never do anything to cause a scene—that kind of behavior is only for poor, unattractive, socially awkward teenage girls with unintelligent best friends, I guess.
I slam my car door and whip out of the parking space on my way back to my house. I’m so overwhelmed with anger that I feel like I should take a shower to scrub it off. I want to hang out with my friends tonight, and I won’t let this cloud linger over me.
As I wash off, I think about how much I jumped down my dad’s throat for dissing James. I can’t even begin to imagine how awful his comments will be if he ever finds out about James’s career. He already thinks of him as a fuckup, a slacker, and a criminal. If he learns that James is essentially having sex for money, there will be no end to the amount of assholery I’d have to endure. I’m sure that he’d jump to the conclusion that I’m a slut by association and treat me like I was Satan incarnate.
Maybe Naveen had a point about the potential consequences this might have on my reputation, even within my family. Surely Uncle Pauly wouldn’t exactly be ecstatic that I was so close with a porn star. Nana would probably have a goddamn heart attack if she found that sweet James from next door was actually a professional cocksman. Frankie and Mikey would be merciless, and it would only justify their idiotic assumptions about why James got me such a generous graduation gift.
Ugh! Why can’t people just understand this the way I do? James is my best friend, and I love him to death. He’s a beautiful person, inside and out, and he treats me right. He’s generous, caring, compassionate, loyal, and we share the same sense of humor. I’d rather spend time with him than with anyone else on the planet, and I could really use one of his big hugs right now. I’d feel a lot better if we were snuggling in my bed, and he was kissing my forehead and telling me to take a water-off-a-duck’s-back approach to all this ugliness with my dad. “Don’t let him get to you, kid. He doesn’t matter.” I wish he were here right now. I know I’d find a lot of comfort from looking in his eyes. He could make me feel better. He could hold me and kiss me—shit! How did that creep in there?
“Fuck!” I sigh to my reflection as I step out of the shower to dry off. “Get your shit together, Lola! Do not even fucking go there! You will not develop some kind of stupid crush on James. Turn this shit off right now!”
I nod, agreeing with my stern solo pep talk, and I squeeze my hair in a towel. My rational side is completely correct. I will turn this shit off immediately and nip it in the bud before I make myself crazy.
Chapter 17
James
“YOU DIDN’T CALL ME back yesterday,” I say when Lola answers the phone.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was really tired, and I just needed some sleep,” she replies.
I tried calling her last night so she could tell me about dinner with her dad, but it went to voice mail. I tried again this morning and still couldn’t get through, which made me start to feel really bad for cutting her off in the first place. I was worried that she was pissed off at me, but from her tone right now, I can tell we’re all good.
“So how’d it go?” I ask her as I plug in the blender on the kitchen counter.
There’s a long pause, and she sighs heavily. “Shitty. Horrendous. The term ‘train-wreck’ just about covers it.”
I can’t help but chuckle, and I’m glad when I hear her laugh too.
“He was really rude, kept checking his phone, completely disregarded anything I had to say to the point where I was repeating myself constantly. He was ripping on graduation and saying how Nikki’s nephew’s graduation was so much better. He even made a snippy comment about you when I told him about prom.”
“No shit?” I ask.
“I was ready to put two feet up his ass when he said it,” she replies. “I wanted to flip over the fucking table and start screaming at him. He can rip on me, he can tear me down, but how dare he go after you!”
I smile broadly. I love that she feels protective of me—even after a scandal of such epic proportions that I’m probably a legend, a cautionary tale for everyone in the whole fuckin’ town. Lola’s loyalty means more to me than anything I could ever imagine. I can’t even put a value on it, especially now after she witnessed all that shit with my family.
“He doesn’t know about the porn thing, does he?” I ask, knowing the answer is probably no. If Kevin did know, he definitely would have used it against Lola, and she’d probably be calling me from jail right now because she stabbed him with a fork or something.
“He doesn’t know,” she confirms. “And it’s not like he gives a shit about any aspect of my life anyway.”
“Then it’s his loss, babe,” I reply. “You’re awesome, and he’s missing out.”
“Thanks, James,” she sighs, and I can hear her smile.
“Hang on one sec,” I say.
I turn on the blender, and the sound fills up the room.
“What are you making?” she asks when I turn it off again.
“Protein shake,” I reply.
“Seriously?” She chuckles at the very idea.
“I’m getting buff, Lo,” I say, grinning. “Next time you see me, I’m gonna be totally ripped.”
“You’re already totally ripped,” she says, her voice taking on a flirty quality I’ve never noticed before.
“Listen, I know I’m already super sexy, but I want to take the sexiness to the next level,” I joke. “I’ve got this whole new workout plan going on now. Muscle mass, dude. I’m totally cultivating muscle mass.”
She laughs really hard, and I smile at the sound. I missed her laugh, and I wish she was here so I didn’t have to hear it through the phone.
“But forget about how sexy I’m going to get, and let’s talk about your dad some more,” I say, which only makes her laugh harder.
She tells me a little more about what went down and how it made her feel, and I listen attentively and give her my two cents when she needs it. Very few of her friends know just how deep her emotional scars go w
ith her dad—hell, even she won’t admit it sometimes—but I know her well enough to see when there’s a crack in the façade. I take my role as amateur therapist very seriously when it comes to this topic.
“Do you really think people will look down on me at school?” she says meekly when she finishes her initial rant. “Now he’s planted this seed that people are judging me and that I don’t fit in with that echelon. Do you think they really will reject me?”
“Absolutely not, Lo,” I reply. “You’re there. You got in, which puts you at the exact same starting point as all of them. Besides, nobody could talk to you for even five seconds and judge you for anything besides being beautiful, smart, and totally fun to hang out with.”
“Thanks, James,” she softly replies, and I can practically see her bashfully looking up at me through those long eyelashes.
“You’re amazing, Lola. You’ve always been cool, but you’ve grown into this awesome woman who fuckin’ destroys any girl you compare her to.”
“Well, now you’re just trying to flatter me.” She giggles, and the cheerful sound makes me smile.
“I’m trying to tell you how great you are, how I see you. I wish you could get in my head and take a look at yourself from my perspective because you’d see how rad you are, and you’d never let anyone shake you up again. Next time you come out here, I’m gonna hold you close and tell you all the reasons why you’re special, huh?”
She giggles again, and I can tell she’s probably blushing. “You have a deal, Mr. Laird,” she replies. “So what’s with the workout plan?”
“I’m trying to channel my energy,” I answer. “I’ve been feeling kind of scattered, and I wanted to try to focus on something, have a measurable goal.” Translation: I’ve been fucking just about any girl with a pulse and it’s completely unfulfilling, so I’m trying to engage in more productive physical activities.
“Wow, good for you,” she says, and I think she’s genuinely impressed.
“I was thinking about what you said, um, that night when I first…uh…when we had our long talk,” I explain, trying to tap dance over the landmine of my growing attraction to her. “When you said I fuck to feel better after something bad happens. I think that’s kinda true. I decided last night that I was going to refocus the energy I’d put into getting pussy into doing something better, like getting buff and booking lots of work.”
Vice, Virtue & Video: Revealed (The Vice, Virtue & Video Series) Page 17