by Cody Ryder
At this point, it was only myself blocking me, and it was a tough block. I realized that sometimes people just had these types of mental blocks that prevented them from doing something extremely simple and seemingly innocuous. There was no sense or logic about it, but they were there all the same.
I replied back to Will’s e-mail, telling him that I was down to meet again while trying not to sound too eager about it. I finished my lunch and went back to editing photos, even more distracted now. Sure, he had a girlfriend, but I was going to see him again.
About two hours later I was surprised to see that Will had already responded back, and just like that we were all arranged to meet for lunch at Mr. Nice, an exclusive bar and restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. One moment I was being turned down by my dream job, and the next I was setting a meeting with a pop star to presumably talk about homes and architecture. Funny how life worked.
April had asked me to keep her filled in and so I messaged her on Facebook to tell her what had happened. I made sure to let her know that Will had a girlfriend, and so her intuition had been wrong after all.
“No way,” she said. “Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet. Dude is totally into guys.”
I could only give her a curt “lol”. April could be really stubborn when it came to being proven wrong about something, though she often wasn’t. It did make me wonder though, and I found myself Googling “William Masterson and Francesca White” and clicking over to the Images section, feeling just a little weird about it. Though I figured in the age of Facebook, it probably wasn’t such a big deal to check out public information.
The photos were mostly paparazzi shots; them in dark sunglasses as they left cafes or restaurants. There was one of her walking a black and white husky while Will followed carrying two bags of groceries. He was wearing a t-shirt that hugged his well-muscled frame, his biceps squeezed by the tight fabric. How could anyone be allowed to be so good looking? I was no slob myself, I made sure to work out often and keep my body in good shape, but Will was that insane full package of good looks, good genetics, and talent that basically insured he would be successful even without all the family connections.
Friday came quickly. I wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t have to worry about being behind on work so I put my nose to the grindstone, and in the days between I was able to clear out my queue. For the first time in a while I had some actual real free time.
I put on my good clothes and checked myself over in the mirror before going down to my apartment’s underground parking lot and hopping into my old VW Jetta. I checked my cell phone and saw that I still had a couple hours till we were scheduled to meet, but with LA traffic, I wasn’t going to take any chances. I had wondered if I should take the tablet I used for displaying my portfolio, but I wasn’t sure if this was that kind of meeting or if it would just be a casual hangout. I was fine with both, though I preferred it be the latter, and so I decided I’d just leave the tablet at home.
It was a hot June day, and I cranked up the air conditioning in my car and drove out of the parking lot into the afternoon sun and headed south on Lankershim Boulevard towards the freeway, passing by seemingly endless taco trucks and palm trees before hitting the entrance. I was glad that I had left early, because there was a sudden hammering of traffic on the 101 South that hadn’t been there when I last checked Google Maps.
That was the thing about LA, it always seemed to throw monkey wrenches at you, but maybe that was just life in any big city. I loved living here and having access to all the city offered – lots of different food, great weather (except for the ongoing drought), and great companies (that didn’t want to hire me) – though at times I did wonder if it was all worth the high rent, terrible city planning, and bad air quality. Today wasn’t one of those days. Despite the traffic, I was happy to be here. I turned my radio from my usual NPR to the Top 40 Hits station and was surprised to be greeted with Will’s smooth voice. I smiled. The guy just wouldn’t leave me be.
After an hour of stop and go traffic, I finally was able to take my exit, passing through the overly touristy Hollywood walk of fame area where, in front of the famous TCL Chinese Theater, grimy costumed characters posed and hassled anyone who stopped to take a photo of them for money. I wondered if Will had his name on one of the stars here.
I went south to Sunset Boulevard and then east, driving out of the touristy Hollywood area and into West Hollywood where Mr. Nice was located. My GPS chirped that my destination was on the right, and I quickly turned onto the next side street to look for parking. Parking was another one of those LA enigmas. In the end, it was usually easier to just park in an overpriced paid lot than to spend time circling the street for an open spot, but today I happened to get lucky. I pulled in, locked up, and headed down the street towards the restaurant.
It was one in the afternoon, but the place still had a bouncer sitting in front of the door. There was a group of three girls standing outside, one of which was talking with the bouncer while the others stood behind her, staring at their cell phones.
“I’m sorry, I can’t let you in,” the man said. “You need to be on the guest list.”
“I know Kenny,” the girl said, throwing her up in exasperation. “Kenny? He’s a waiter here?”
“Sorry,” the man repeated.
“Ugh,” she grunted and turned to her friends, pulling her cell phone out of her purse.
“Oh, my God,” one of her friends said, “we have to get in there.”
I stepped up behind them. “Is there a line, or something?” I asked, and all three of them turned and looked me up and down. I knew nothing about brand name clothes or accessories, but I could just tell that these girls weren’t driving around used fifteen year old VW Jettas.
“No,” the first girl said. “They won't let you in though. Just warning you. I know someone who works here, and that wasn’t even enough.”
Will hadn’t mentioned a bouncer or a way to contact him in his e-mail, probably because he never had any problems getting inside. Shit. I walked up to the bouncer.
“You on the list, man?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. My name’s Luke Golden, I’ve got a—” I almost said “date” for some reason, and caught myself. “I’m meeting William Masterson here.”
The name caught the trio’s attention and they looked me up and down again, waiting to see if I was the real deal.
“Uh huh. Luke Golden?” He thumbed through a list on his cell phone. “Mm, nope, I don’t see you here.”
“Well, shit. Is Will in there? He could come and tell you I’m with him.”
“Sorry, bro. If you could please take a step aside.”
A young couple came up next and gave their names to the bouncer and were let in. When the door opened I got a brief glimpse of a stylish interior that was quickly shut off to me as the door closed.
“Shit,” I muttered. The girls eyed me and chuckled to themselves before all going back to their cell phones. There was a side patio surrounded by a high fence, and I could smell cigarette smoke and hear people chatting there. I went to the fence and jumped up to try and get a glimpse over the top. I got a brief look, but all I saw were the tops of people’s heads in the smoking area.
“Hey, man. Stop that,” the bouncer said.
I paced the curb and pulled out my cell phone, opening up Will’s e-mail. Maybe he had forgotten? He said he would be recording something soon, and I’m sure he had a ton of other more important things to think about than meeting up with some guy he had met at a wedding.
Just then, a Toyota Prius pulled up to the valet stand that was in front of me, and the attendant seemed to recognize the car. He hurried over to open the door for the driver, and a tall man wearing a baseball hat and dark sunglasses got out. I immediately recognized it was Will. He spotted me and grinned, raising his hand to wave. The girls, eyes glued to their cell phones, didn’t even notice him. I returned his smile and walked over, extending my hand.
; “Luke! Sorry I’m late,” he said, shaking it. “Let’s go inside, yeah? I’m starving. How’ve you been?”
“Great,” I said. “I didn’t know how to contact you. Thought I wasn’t going to be able to get inside.”
“Hey, how’s it going, bro?” the bouncer said as they clasped hands and gave each other a friendly one armed hug.
“Not bad, Jim. How's your little girl?”
“She’s doing fantastic.” He lowered his voice. “Thanks again for giving her that autographed CD. She won't stop talking about it with her friends.”
The girls must’ve had ears like wolves because they immediately looked up, their mouths dropping open. Will seemed to sense the oncoming attention and held out his arm to me. “Let’s go inside,” he said, and slipped in. I passed Jim the bouncer before he shut the door quickly behind me, just as I heard the excited squeals of the girls.
The place was swank. It was designed in that sort of neo-rustic style that was popular in the hip spots right now, with lots of natural wood and stone elements. The ceiling angled up and contained a skylight that was hidden but flooded the interior with cool diffused sunlight and made everything look soft and comforting. In the center was a rectangular bar, its countertops made of a dark, rich wood, and the bartenders were all dressed up in dapper outfits that included suspenders and bow ties. There were tables all around the bar, and the walls had private nook booths. The place was busy but not noisy, a good mix of people drinking at the bar and sitting down at the tables for lunch.
“Hey, Will,” the hostess said, grinning as she came up to us. “Your usual spot is ready for you.”
“Thanks Casey,” he said, and I followed him over to a corner booth which was already laid out with a series of delicious looking appetizers. He slid in and I sat opposite of him, still looking around the place in awe. I’d been in fancy restaurants before, but nothing like this. This was LA exclusivity, the kind of place you only got to eat at if you had the right connections.
“I love the design of this place,” I commented. “It almost feels like I’m in someone’s home.”
He grinned that bright perfect grin that had captivated me on the day of the wedding. I had wondered if I was going to see him differently today after having listened to his music and seen his photos on the Internet, but I still felt that same casual ease I had when we had first met. There was just something about Will that made that happen, and it seemed like I wasn’t the only one who felt his down-to-earthness, judging from the familiarity the people here had with him. If you were to just look at Will’s photos on the Internet or see him in a music video, it would be easy to assume that he was a douchey celebrity playboy – but being around him in person, he was anything but.
My arms were crossed on the table, and he patted my wrist. The sudden warmth of his touch on my skin sent a jolt through me and shiver down my back, a reaction I did not expect. “I know, right?” he said. “When you told me about what your passion was the other night, I immediately thought of this place. It’s my go-to. I had to show it to you.” He picked up a slice of bread that was covered in what looked like cheese, lox, and some kind of sauce, and took a bite out of it. “Mm. You gotta try this, it’s probably the best thing they do here. You want anything to drink?”
Will spoke quickly and energetically, hardly giving me a moment to get a word in, but I didn’t mind. His voice was fantastic to listen to. I picked up one of the slices and took a bite. The smokey, fatty flavor of the salmon mixed with the creamy cheese and the tang of the sauce on top, and it was so delicious I had to close my eyes for a moment. “Damn,” I said finally.
“Right?” He waved his hand, and the waitress came over.
“Hey, Will. What can I get you guys?”
“MacCallan, neat,” he said. “Luke?”
“I’ll have the same.” I was a little worried that what I had just ordered would explode my wallet, but I figured this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, to be able to enjoy myself in a high end celebrity hangout, so I would do just that.
“Coming right up,” she said, and hurried off.
“So do you often go out to lunch with random people you meet?” I asked with a grin. “I wouldn’t think that would be standard procedure for a celebrity like you.”
“Not at all,” he said. The waitress came back with our whiskeys and placed them on the table. “Oh, try those,” he said, pointing to a plate of bacon wrapped around tiny eggs. “Bacon wrapped quail eggs. Delicious.”
I did, and they were. We cheersed and I took a sip of my whiskey, which tasted expensive.
“No, Luke, I don’t. But after talking with you that night, I just felt like I needed to meet you again.”
The way he was looking at me…the way he said that, I didn’t know if it was just his personality, but it sounded like he was…flirting? I brushed it off.
“I was that interesting, huh?” I said.
“As a matter of fact, yeah. You were. When you told me about your passion for home photography, the way you described it, well, it vibed with me, man. A lot.”
“Because you were in architecture school before you became a singer.”
He gave me a surprised look, and then laughed. “Did you read my bio or something?”
“Guilty,” said. “Sorry, that’s probably weird, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I went home and checked out your website, so call it even?”
“Yeah, but my website doesn’t have my whole biography on it.”
“True. But my Wiki isn’t exactly accurate, either. So don’t trip about it.”
I ate another one of the salmon breads and sipped my whiskey. He was right, they were amazing and I probably could eat five plates of them. I leaned forward, interested. “So you weren’t an architecture major before?”
“I was. But there’s a lot on that page that are half-truths, or truths told from other people’s perspectives. You know?”
I nodded. It made sense. After all, the thing must’ve been written up by complete strangers, or at the very least, his PR team.
“You don’t really meet too many people who are into that kind of stuff in my industry,” he said. “Not naturally anyway.”
We talked about the stuff I wanted to shoot someday, and he told me about how he had first started as an architecture major, despite protests from his mom. He told me how he loved the idea of being able to create a space for people to live in, a place to raise a family in. He took out his cell phone and showed me some of old designs, architecture sketches and mock ups that were startlingly good.
“I love sustainability,” he said. “Making something good for the world and good for people.” His face was glowing as he talked, and it suddenly struck me that this look had been missing from his face when I had asked what it was like to be living his passion. I wanted to ask him why he quit, but I had a feeling that would kill the energy and so I kept it to myself.
Talking with Will was easy and fun, and there was so much we agreed on. I didn’t understand a lot of the architecture terminology or process in designing a building or a home, but I could appreciate it, and much of what he talked about wanting to build were things I really wanted to photograph. He described his ideal home to me – a place out in the countryside that was constructed to make use of the earth’s natural energy to heat and cool it, to have a vegetable garden right at the center like a traditional Japanese house, to have all sustainable materials mixed with traditional craftsmanship. I could picture this place in my mind perfectly, and as he talked about it I found myself imagining how I would shoot such a place. We found ourselves caught up in a whirlwind of creative fantasy, sharing our ideas and dreams, and before long we had been in Mr. Nice for over two and half hours and had ordered quite a bit of whiskey.
I looked at him as he was pulling up some home photography he liked and thought, why did Will have to be straight? And why did he have to be from such a different world than I was? I’d never met anyone like him before, never had th
is kind of connection with someone before. He looked up at me and stopped talking, smiling his pearly white smile.
“What is it?” he asked.
I shook my head and scratched my neck, embarrassed at being caught staring. “Nothing. Just buzzed. And…having a really good time.”
His smile widened. “Me too, Luke,” he said. “Hey so…right now I live in a loft apartment. One of those places that was renovated from a warehouse, you know? It’s far from what I described to you, but I’ve done some work to the inside to change it to my standards. You should come over.”
His offer surprised me, and for a moment I thought maybe I had drank too much whiskey and misheard him, but no, I wasn’t that buzzed. “Come over to your place?” I asked doubtfully.
