Chapter 27 Frankie
FRANKIE
I’ve never been to Detroit before. It’s a lot nicer than I thought it would be. I guess I was expecting to get shot at by gangs or something.
Instead, I’m in the lobby of a fancy hotel, bantering with a woman called Grammie Todd.
She’s Nico Todd’s grandmother. And Shane Miller’s wife’s grandmother.
She also knows Dylan Brodie from when he played Shane Miller’s brother on That’s So Wizard.
This old lady knows a lot of hot guys. I can’t tell if she’s in her sixties or seventies or eighties, but she’s really spunky and sarcastic and probably the coolest grandma I’ve ever met.
She scares the shit out of me, but I really want her to like me and I desperately want to be her when I grow up.
If Garfield is Sam’s spirit animal, then Grammie Todd is mine.
She’s been comped for Owen’s show tonight, and she offered to sit with Sam in the audience and look after him for a while before the show so I can “have a little break.” And I’m fifty percent sure that Grammie has no idea my break will involve boning Sam’s dad in his hotel room, but I’m also fifty percent sure that Grammie knows everything about everyone.
Which is why she scares the shit out of me. And why I adore her so much.
“I remember meeting this fellow on the Wizard set when Dylan was on the show,” she tells me while grinning at Owen.
“Owen hadn’t grown into his face yet. So scrawny.
All nose and chin and knees and elbows and fart jokes.
Look how far he’s come. All grown into his face and getting paid to tell fart jokes. ”
“Ain’t life grand?” he says. “Hey, Sam. Whatever Grammie Todd tells you about me today, just remember—she’s trying to get me back for the time I got her to sit on a whoopie cushion in front of about fifty people. I’ve actually been cool my whole life.”
“You mean up until I met you, right?” Sam replies.
Grammie and I both lean forward to high-five that kid.
Owen’s phone vibrates. When he checks it, he says he has to take the call, quickly gives Sam a hug, shakes Grammie’s hand, and tells me he’ll “see me later,” then walks off.
There’s a good chance his penis will be inside me in around fifteen minutes, but I’m pretty sure it’s not obvious that that’s why I’m squeezing my thighs together.
I’m positive Sam has no idea his dad and I spend time together when he’s asleep or not around.
He recently started reading Harry Potter, so he doesn’t care much about anything else now.
When I glance over at Grammie, though, she has an elfish glint in her eye as she smirks at me.
“You know… You never look at each other at the same time, you and Owen. But when you do look at each other, your eyes light up. Both of you. If I had a heart, I’d find it rather adorable.”
My stupid nose is tingling and I have to clear my stupid throat before responding. “Really? Well, if I had a heart, I’d find that rather endearing.”
“So much easier being a heartless asshole.” She winks at me.
“It’s the only way to live.”
“Why don’t you say goodbye to Sam now and I’ll take him to the restaurant for an early dinner. Off you go.”
I explain the cheese thing to her, tell Sam I’ll see him later, and then head up to Owen’s penis—I mean his hotel room.
I don’t even go to my room to freshen up first because I’m already freshened.
Owen opens the door two seconds after I’ve knocked on it, and he looks exactly as anxious as I feel in my lady parts.
He takes my arm and pulls me inside. “Hi. Did you bring your ukulele?”
“Um. It’s in my suitcase. I don’t usually do sex stuff with my uke, but what did you have in mind?”
“I love that you’re open to trying new sex stuff with me, and I definitely want to circle back to this topic. But I meant for your stand-up. As my opening act tonight.”
“What?”
“Martin just told me the local comedian who was supposed to open for me tonight has food poisoning. He had to cancel. I don’t want Martin to find a replacement because I have someone.”
I still don’t understand. “Who?”
“You, dummy.”
“Wait. What?”
“Let me put it to you this way: I’ve got good news and bad news.
The bad news is you and I aren’t going to have sex right now.
The good news is it’s because you have to get ready to open for me at the theater tonight.
More bad news is it’ll be in front of a sold-out crowd of about seventeen hundred people. ”
I shove his stupid beautiful bicep. “Shut. Up.”
“We both know I’ll never do that.”
“Okay, but seriously. What?! Tonight?”
“Yeah, in, like, two and a half hours.”
“Holy shit! Are you sure?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Course I’m sure. Detroit and I will be lucky to have you.”
What is this feeling in my chest?
What are these words that are stuck in my throat?
I have never told any man other than my father that I love him before.
And maybe my uncle when he bought me and my friends beer that time when I was seventeen.
But never any man I’m not related to. Unless you count those pictures of Owen Brodie that I had up on my wall when I was a teenager.
So I guess it makes sense that I have this terrible urge to tell the real Owen Brodie that I love him right now.
But it also doesn’t make any sense at all because how can I love Owen Brodie?
He’s being so nice to me lately, I don’t even know who he is or who we are anymore, so I don’t know how to be with him.
I guess he can see that in my expression, so he says, “Would it be easier for you to get into comedy mode if I’m a dick to you?”
“Yes. Except that even asking me that is so perfect that if you’re a dick to me, it would be very un-dickish.”
“What a conundrum.”
I start pacing around. “So I need to do fifteen minutes of material, right?”
“Yeah. Just do your mom stuff and a break-up song. Maybe a Bill Murray impression or two.”
“Shit. I didn’t bring any stand-up outfits.”
“Just wear what you’re wearing. Don’t shave your face. You can borrow my glasses so you’ll look more likable.” He grins. “Who cares what you’re wearing. You’ll be terrible no matter what. Better?”
“Better.”
“Good. You want to run your act by me, or do you want to be alone?”
“Alone. But thank you. But that was very nice of you to offer, so screw you.”
“I was going to heckle you, but go on. Get out of here, and I hope you bomb, you asshole.”
“I’m going to kill so hard, you’ll look like an amateur.”
“Well, I won’t look like an amateur, but I might sound like one.”
I grab his stupid professionally handsome face and kiss him so hard. “Thank you. Did I say thank you? Thank you. I can’t even—I can’t believe—I don’t know how to…”
“Just do your thing and have fun.” He pats me on the butt as I open the door. “You’re wearing fancy lingerie under those clothes, aren’t you?”
I smirk at him over my shoulder. “Now you’ll never know.”
“Dammit.” He steps in front of me to stand in front of the door. “I mean, we still have time for a quickie.”
“If you don’t get out of my way, I will cut you.”
“Fair enough.” He opens the door for me. “Break a leg.”
“Thanks again.” I kiss him again. And then again because his face is so stupidly handsome and smirky and he’s being so damn sweet.
“Get outta here. But break a leg. And I’ll think up some creative ways to use that ukulele for sex stuff next time we get a babysitter.”