Chapter 14 You’re a bad influence.
You’re a bad influence.
Sean
I ARRIVE AT the Shirley Brasserie right on time for my date in my Maison Margiela black-and-white checkered suit and my point-tipped Santonis with the side buckle.
The lights are low, glinting off the Spanish Colonial Revival architecture and the dark-wood-and-mirrored decor.
I’ve done a few photo shoots here. It was a great choice on Emmy’s part—sophisticated, yet relaxed.
Glamorous, yet charming. A place where, most of the time, people like me can enjoy a fantastic meal out in peace.
Most of the time. When it’s not the site of a celebrity dating show.
I spot Mount Ramirez and his contest winner at their table, surrounded by cameras. Seems like the fun has started without me.
“Ramirez!” I swoop over to where they both sit like two pieces of petrified wood holding glasses of expensive wine. Clapping my friend’s shoulders from behind, I press my cheek to his and give a hammy smile to the camera. “Ooh!” I toss a knowing look to his date. “Smooth as a baby’s butt!”
“Get off me, dude!” Ramirez complains, pushing me away with a laugh. His date is chuckling, too. See, everyone’s loosened up already. My work here is done.
I settle into a chair at the table they have waiting for me and check my watch.
This is good. I’ll spend an hour here and then head to the EV charging station in Ojai to meet the person-of-discretion who received my parcel.
I open up the auction on my phone for another peek at my prize.
Every time I do this, a spotlight comes to life inside me.
That hat! It’s so perfect, so full of all that good Hamilton energy. I can’t wait to hold it in my hands.
I tuck the phone away and swallow my excitement. I don’t even know which of the women on the show I’m meeting today. I didn’t think to ask Emmy. Whoever she is, I hope she gets here soon.
Jason Momoa and Channing Tatum are having dinner a few tables over. I should go say hi. Katee Sackhoff and Tricia Helfer seem to be having a friends night out, too—that’s a lot of beautiful, badass Battlestar Galactica in one place.
Just as I’m reaching for my water, a commotion breaks out at the door.
Is there a fight in the foyer? That doesn’t usually happen at the Shirley Brasserie.
Actually, I think it’s my date arriving.
Option C is certainly attracting a crowd.
I fight for a glimpse of her through the writhing mass of camerapeople and spot… blue.
That can’t be right.
Except it is. My date is blue, like literally blue. She’s got on dark jeans and kitten heels and a loose, gray plaid vest over a white tee, but her head is bald and blue with little bits of prosthetics glued to it to make her cheeks and chin more pronounced. My date is a Zentharian.
I chuckle to myself. This isn’t Option C. It’s Josie.
My chair scrapes the floor as I get to my feet to greet her. I go in for the cheek kiss, but her body language says “whoa there, step back, partner,” so instead, I wrangle my grin into nonchalance as I pull out the chair for her. “Hello. Good to see you again.”
“My rideshare was late. Sorry.”
“No worries. He was probably a little surprised when he saw you. Maybe circled the block a couple of times.”
“Yes, you human males can be easily spooked.”
She’s in character, no less. I don’t even know what to say. Our server appears and asks Josie what she’ll have to drink without a flicker of hesitation. I’ll tip her extra just for that.
“I’ll have a pinot noir, and fill it right up to the brim,” Josie says.
“Cordero San Giorgio, 2020,” I clarify, and the server nods and rotates away on a heel.
Meanwhile, the cameras are all up in our faces, filming and snapping.
I pinch my chin and go for an iconic “we’re in the middle of a very serious conversation” look.
Josie tolerates the intrusion for a good ten seconds and then hisses at them in true Zentharian form. Actually hisses.
I scrunch my nose at the camerapeople. “Can you give us some space?”
They back off, but not far. Meanwhile, Josie makes a fuss of hanging her purse on the back of her chair, smoothing her napkin, and moving her water glass to a different location.
The alien getup accentuates certain details of her face: her deep-set dark eyes, the full upper lip.
The kiss she gave me in the closet comes racing back to me, which reminds me…
“I thought you were taking my out,” I say.
Her gaze finally meets mine. “I tried to.”
“Was it another moment of weakness?”
“Nope,” she says. “Something else entirely.”
So much for my smoldering appeal hypothesis. Our server interrupts the conversation to give us our menus and Josie’s wine.
“Shall we start with something from the raw bar?” I suggest.
“I don’t do shellfish, remember?”
“Allergy?”
“More like an aversion.”
“Charcuterie instead?”
“Sure.” She peruses the menu some more. “And I’ll have the wild mushroom and truffle risotto.”
“The lobster with green beans.” I hand my menu back to the server. “Oh, and throw some mushrooms on there, too. Why not?” I wink. “It’s a special occasion.”
Our server tries to take Josie’s menu, but she stuffs it under the table and shows her teeth. Once the girl leaves, she raises it against her cheek, shielding her face.
“You really don’t like being on camera, do you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
At the next table, Jason Ramirez and his date are getting a photo op with Orbit, the mascot from Lost Star, while Kai, his puppeteer, looks on.
“You getting ready for a role?” Josie asks, eyeing my water glass.
“Audition.” I finger the rim. “For the role of a sexy seminarian who was wooed away from Mother Church by a naughty nun.”
She smirks.
“She kisses me in the confessional, then whisks me onto the next bus to El Paso—”
“Okay, okay.”
“—where we have a whirlwind romance involving ranches and horses and some guy named Pancho.”
“Land the plane, Sean.”
Our charcuterie board arrives. It’s a work of art on a maple plank—meats and cheeses and crackers and olive tapenade. I devour a salami and Gruyère roll in two bites.
“So, what changed your mind about coming?” I ask.
She reaches for a sesame cracker. “Oh, you know.”
She’s being intentionally vague. No worries.
I love a good mystery. “Mm. Yum. You should try this.” I roll a piece of prosciutto around a sliver of Asiago and raise it to her lips.
I expect her to pluck it from my fingers, but instead, she holds my gaze and takes it into her mouth with deliberately slow sensuality, regardless of the fact that she’s got a big, blue alien head.
The smile creeps across my lips, unbidden.
This woman is like one of those crazy indie flicks.
The plot is all over the place, and you can’t look away or you might miss a guy with a pornstache lurking in an alcove or a random flock of symbolic flamingos.
You don’t understand what’s going on, but you feel it…
whatever the something is you’re supposed to feel.
Unfortunately, at this moment, I glance over to the bar and lock eyes with Kelly Kennerman, one of the Lost Star producers, who immediately excuses herself and makes her way over to our table. Kelly and I dated awhile back. It didn’t end well.
Who am I kidding? None of them ever did. But what does she want with me now?
“You’re supposed to leave work at work,” she says, eyeing Josie’s blue makeup. “That includes work resources.”
I don’t want Kelly taking out any hard feelings about me on Josie. “It’s my fault, Kelly. I asked Josie to try the Zentharian makeup on herself to make sure it wasn’t too uncomfortable. How does it feel?”
She lifts her wine glass in a toast. “Like I’m in my own skin.”
Kelly frowns. “As proactive as that sounds, it’s a waste. We’re going to be phasing the Zentharians out.”
What? “But they’re our greatest allies in the quadrant.”
“They’re outdated,” Kelly replies. “Viewers want something new and exciting. We’ve also gotten feedback that the show lacks diversity. We want to respond to that.”
“By getting rid of a whole race of aliens?” I ask.
“We’re still brainstorming ideas.”
“You could do something like in Más Allá de Las Estrellas,” Josie pipes up.
“I beg your pardon?” Kelly couldn’t possibly sound more condescending, but Josie doesn’t react as she spreads pepper jelly on another cracker.
“It’s a Mexican sci-fi show on LatinXtremo.
They’ve got this alternate history thing happening in another solar system, like time got twisted up into a knot.
In this world, the indigenous people beat back the imperialists.
The planet ends up being a sentient character of its own, too.
I can’t explain it; you’d have to see it. ”
I fix us both another prosciutto wrap and hand Josie hers. “Fascinating,” I say. “I’d love to hear more about that.”
Our server is hanging back with our main courses, but I wave her in so that our uninvited guest is forced to step aside. “Mm, this looks delicious.” I point to Josie’s wine glass, and our server nods her understanding.
“Well, I’ll let you two get back to your dinner,” Kelly finally says.
I waggle my fingers in dismissal. “See you, space cowboy.” I set the little dish of melted butter aside and dig into my lobster. It’s cooked to perfection. I hold a forkful toward Josie, but she scrunches up her nose.
“No shellfish, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” I retract my fork. “Why’s that again?”
“It tried to kill me.”
“I thought you weren’t allergic?”
“It was food poisoning.”
I shove another forkful in my mouth. “According to that logic, I should never eat shellfish again, either. Or frozen yogurt. Or anything at a buffet. How’s the risotto?”
“Trufflicious.”
She offers me a bite. Holding her gaze, I take it into my mouth just like she did to me.
I have to admit that it’s weird flirting with her in all that makeup.
The blue has rubbed off her lips from eating, and I zero in on them and relive the moment where she kissed me in the closet.
She didn’t even ask, just went for it. Although, let’s be real.
It was clear that I was not going to say no.
The risotto is heavenly. I let my eyelids flutter in a moment of ecstasy before I imagine Jamie, my trainer, bursting through the door with a war cry and an exercise band.
“I’m not supposed to be eating this stuff. I’ve gotta be ripped for this superhero audition,” I admit.
Her eyebrows go up as she scoops another forkful and holds it out for me.
I narrow my gaze at her. “You’re a bad influence.”
She pulls it away at the last second and pops it into her own mouth with a smirk. “Am I?”
Before I can reply, the camera crew swarms our table. A still camera snaps, and the spotlight blinds me for a moment before Kai, our big, smiling puppeteer, appears and shoves Orbit between us, like a third diner at our tiny table.
Right. Back to work.