8. Anna
ANNA
The roof folds back on the Mercedes like the car is transforming.
I rev the engine.
I back out of the driveway.
The second we hit the road I understand what all the fuss is about with these cars.
The hills open up around us, warm air, the smell of eucalyptus and smog. Los Angeles laid out below in every direction. The engine is quiet and powerful and the road curves through the dark like it was designed for exactly this.
I try to focus on the road.
Not Luke watching me.
The engine barely makes noise when I press down harder.
Like it wants me to forget consequences exist.
My hands tighten on the wheel.
I haven't driven anything this expensive in my life.
"You drive like an old lady."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
We come down out of the hills into Beverly Hills and west toward the city.
Luke directs me to a street in West Hollywood.
A restaurant with a huge neon sign, a velvet rope and forty people standing in line hoping.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm looking for parking."
"Just pull up in front, nut job."
The valet opens my door before I've fully stopped the car.
I hand over the keys trying to act like this happens to me every night.
My palms are already sweating.
Luke comes around the front of the Mercedes.
People notice him instantly.
Conversations pause.
I suddenly become hyper-aware.
My clothes.
My posture.
The fact my hand is shaking slightly.
Luke takes my hand.
Warm. Confident. Easy.
We cut the line. I want to apologize to the people in line.
All forty stare at me.
And for one humiliating second I have the insane urge to let go of his hand. I don't belong here.
Instead I hold on tighter.
Inside it's dark and warm and loud in the way restaurants say this is fun — full of people who have things to celebrate.
Luke hugs the host. She gives me a glance.
She takes us to a table without being asked which one.
I sit down and pick up the menu.
Chips and guacamole arrive. "Can I start you off with drinks?"
"I'll have a margarita. You want anything?" Luke says.
"Maybe you shouldn't drink."
"I'm having a margarita. With an extra shot of tequila. Would you like one?"
"I'll have a Coke, thank you." The waiter walks away. "You don't have to be rude."
“Was that rude?”
I eat a few chips.
He doesn't touch them.
"Anna Simons," he laughs. "I can't believe it's you."
"It's a little weird being across from you on a date, even if it's a fake date."
"Don't think of it that way."
"It helps me if I do. No chips?" I say.
"Nope."
"Why?"
"Discipline,” he waves a waiter over.
We order.
I look around the room at people noticing him.
Some looking at me.
"Wow, Luke Wolfe, disciplined."
"Anna Simons. Lawyer. You really did that?"
"I did that."
"Acting and pre-law."
"Acting and political science. Law school was after."
He shakes his head slowly. "When did you sleep with anyone?"
"That's none of your business."
"Why aren't you a lawyer here in LA?"
I put a chip down.
"Lawyers can't just leave because they have an audition."
He laughs. A real one, surprised out of him. "True."
Our drinks arrive.
A man approaches the table.
"Sorry to interrupt. Luke, my daughter's going to lose her mind."
Luke shifts in his chair, easy and warm, like a switch flipping. Signs the napkin the man produces. Asks the daughter's name, writes something personal underneath the signature.
Luke turns back to me.
"What's that like, people looking at you all the time?" I say.
He picks up his glass. "You stop noticing."
"I don't believe that."
He looks at me. "Okay. You don't stop noticing it. You just get better at pretending you don't."
"Does it ever bother you?"
"When it interrupts something real." He says it simply. "Like this."
"Right.”
"Thanks for doing this,” he says.
"You're paying me."
"When I say thank you say you're welcome."
"You fucking did it Luke, you made it in Hollywood."
"Remember the scenes we did?" he says.
"Yeah, I remember you hated them."
"I loved it."
"No, I remember you had to be forced to work with me."
"Then I loved it. It was fun."
This is the part I keep forgetting. That underneath the poster and the Maserati and the forty people standing in line outside there is still the guy from NYU who showed up late and covered panic with charm and somehow made it work anyway.
"Can I ask you a serious question?"
"No, I have not slept with over two thousand women. It's mathematically not even possible."
"What?"
"I thought that's what you were going to ask — there was a rumor going around."
"No. That's not it. You slept with a thousand women?”
“I told you no, I haven’t.”
“Is it more than five hundred?”
“I don’t count.”
“Wow, so five hundred is a real possibility?”
"Go ahead. Ask me your question.”
I take a sip of my soda.
I take out my phone. I show him my reel. He looks at it.
"It's not much, but do you think I'm any good?"
"Yeah. I do."
"I'm serious. Compared to the people you work with? You don't have to be nice. I just… I want the truth."
"I'm not being nice. I don't do nice." He holds my eye. "You're as good as the people I work with. You're still one of the best actresses I've ever worked with."
"Thank you for saying that."
"And you know it's true because I'm not that good an actor."
The waiter delivers Luke’s grilled chicken fajitas without tortillas. Extra vegetables. No rice.
My enchiladas are covered in sauce and cheese.
“Disciple, huh?” I say.
A large man comes by the table.
"Hey, asshole. I have to wait fifty fucking minutes for a table, and you walk right in?"
"Listen, motherfucker." Luke stands. "You got a problem? Take it up with management."
I see both their hands curl into fists.
Oh, God.
“I know who you are asshole.” The guy says.
I step between them, grab Luke by the shirt, and kiss him.
Right on the mouth.
The entire restaurant disappears.
For a second, I forget why I'm doing it.
Luke kisses me back.
Not for show.
Not because cameras are watching.
Because he's kissing me.
Heat shoots through me so fast it catches me off guard.
This was supposed to be a distraction.
A stunt.
Instead, I become painfully aware of how good his mouth feels against mine.
I pull away first.
The room erupts in applause.
Cameras come out.
Someone whistles.
The guy mutters something under his breath and walks away.
Luke stares at me.
"Sorry," I say. "But I had to do something. You were about two seconds away from getting into a bar fight."
His eyebrow lifts. He leans back.
"I shouldn't tell you this, but I need this to work out. Okay? And you need this too."
The drive home is quieter.
The kiss still there between us.
I take the long way without meaning to, following the road as it curves back up through the hills, the city falling away below us on both sides.
We pull through the gate and up to the house.
Zeke is waiting at the door.
He goes straight to Luke, tail going, pressing his whole body against Luke's legs. They go to the couch. Luke cuddles with him.
"I have a question for you."
"What have you been waiting all night to ask me?"
"Don't be insulted."
"That's a terrible way to start a question."
"Forget it."
"Don't do that. What?"
"Why don't you have a boyfriend? You didn't have one in college either."
“Who said I don’t have one?”
“Delia looked did her homework, doesn’t look like you’ve ever had one.”
"Good night, Luke."
"I knew you'd take it the wrong way."
I go to my room.
The city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, still glowing, still enormous.
I sit on the edge of the bed.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling.
Silence.
I hear him laughing with the TV on.
I put my head to the door.
I lock it.