by JD Hawkins
I feel myself getting worked up again, but then Nate’s hand press itself against my shoulder comfortingly and my breathing instantly slows.
“Look, you’re obviously pushing yourself too hard. Stressing yourself out at work, where you’ve spent years steaming cop uniforms and they don’t pay you enough to even keep your lights on at home. And then your boyfriend – ex – cheating on you just tipped you over the edge. It sounds like you need a little time off, is all. Maybe evaluate where your life is at.”
I smile and look up at Nate.
“You’ve been talking to Kyle, right? You sound just like him.”
Nate looks forward through the windshield, avoiding my eyes. “Is he wrong?”
“Probably not. But it’s a little rich for my brother to be lecturing me about overworking. I don’t think he’s slept since last October. Besides, even though it drives me crazy sometimes, I love what I do.” It’s only half a lie – I do love what I do, I just don’t love the show where I’m doing it. If only I’d gotten that movie job.
Nate shrugs, finally turning the key in the ignition and driving us out into the L.A. traffic. I let my eyes lose focus as Nate revs the car, the store fronts and parking lots flying by in a blur. Soon I’ll be back at work, grinding my hopes and dreams into dust as I try to squeeze out a living long enough to get that big break that only seems to get further away.
“You wanna grab something to eat?” Nate asks. “It’s past lunch. And it sounds like you could use an Oreo milkshake.”
I grin, pleased for some reason that Nate still remembers my favorite treat. “Sure.”
In a few minutes we’re at a drive-thru, picking up our orders. Nate finds a spot, kills the engine, and we tear open the paper bags with child-like glee.
“So how’s the glamorously sleazy world of ego-management these day?” I ask, after a couple of bites.
“Same as always,” Nate says, sipping loudly from his milkshake. “The egos get bigger, and then the money does, too. Your burger’s leaking.”
I look down to see the extra mayo I ordered seeping out of the bottom of the bun, some of it already on my jeans.
“Shit! Gimme more napkins!”
Nate quickly fishes around in the bags while I slam open his glove compartment. Eventually he hands them to me and I manage to stop the flow before spattering my jeans so much they look like a nineties fashion statement.
“Um…Nate?” I say slowly.
“Mm?” he mumbles, his mouth full.
“I think there’s a pair of women’s lingerie in your glovebox.”
Nate swallows, smiles, and leans over. He picks them out and throws them in the paper bag with the dirty napkins. I raise an eyebrow, and look back at the glovebox.
“What the fuck? Are you selling condoms as a side-business? Why are there so many in here?”
“Because I’m too young to be paying multiple child support.”
I laugh like it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in awhile, which it is, but when I recover I just stare at him, open-mouthed, while he takes another gigantic bite of his quarter-pounder.
“Are you really getting that much action?” I ask, equal parts awed and repulsed.
Nate thinks as he chews, swallows slowly, and carries on thinking for a few more seconds.
“I get enough.”
“Wow. And you’re still nowhere near getting serious with anyone?” I’m suddenly more fascinated than disgusted. I can’t imagine playing the field forever like Nate does, but there’s something undeniably attractive about the idea of never having a broken heart again.
“I’m not getting thrown into jail for any of them soon, no.”
I punch him playfully.
“That’s awful.”
“Why is that awful?”
“It just is. I thought you’d grown out of all that.”
Nate looks at me with a furrowed brow, as if I just told him the most offensive joke he’s ever heard.
“‘Grown out of it’? What do you mean?”
“That whole ‘alpha-male, swinging-dick’ thing. Seducing all of those girls. ‘One-night stands.’” My voice trails off as I force myself to not-remember the one we had a few years ago. Never happened, Jessie. “Don’t you think it’s kind of…I dunno…asshole-ish?”
“No,” Nate says, and I can see how much difficulty he has in even understanding me. “Asshole-ish is your ex-boyfriend making you think you were his only girl when he was seeing someone else. Asshole-ish is telling a girl you love her when all you love is her body. Asshole-ish is lying to yourself about what you want from a woman because you haven’t got the balls to be true to your own instincts.”
Nate caps off his rant by tearing another bite out of his burger. I get what he’s saying, but I still feel like his logic is faulty. Has he really never been in love?
“Whoa. Calm down. I wasn’t trying to wind you up,” I soothe. “I’m just saying it’s weird that you won’t consider the possibility of ever having anything more meaningful.”
Nate glares at me, and I can feel his disappointment almost telepathically.
“How many ‘meaningful’ relationships have you had, Jessie? And how many of them ended up with someone – usually you – getting hurt? Is that what you mean when you say ‘meaningful’? Look, do you know how many women I’ve hurt in my life? Zero. Because I don’t promise them anything I don’t intend to give. I love women. I fucking worship them. Nothing on this planet is as beautiful, as mesmerizing, as capable of giving as much joy, as a woman. I want to celebrate every beautiful woman I meet. And the day I stop loving women, is the day I start looking for something ‘meaningful’ with them.”
I stare at Nate for a few seconds. He turns his head and looks at me, his face completely serious. That’s when I burst out laughing again.
“Ha! Are you fucking kidding me, dude?”
“Alright, alright,” he says, sorely, turning the key in the ignition.
“Are those the kinds of lines you use on them? Jesus Christ, Nate. I can’t believe that works.” I suck at my milkshake through the straw and suppress another giggle.
He frowns. “Okay. I get it. You’re not down with my methods. End of conversation, then.”
“You should write a book or something. ‘The Player’s Philosophy.’”
“You done? Because I’m ready to go now.”
Before I can answer, his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers it.
“Will? What’s the news? You already met with him?” Nate listens and then does a fist-pump, banging his hand against the BMW’s headliner. At least someone’s getting good news today. “That’s awesome…okay. Leave it to me… Don’t worry. I’ll get him the reel right now…good…okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.” He hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket, then eases the car out of the drive-thru parking lot with a grin on his face. “I’ve got to run by the office real quick. Do you mind?”
“I don’t have any plans for the immediate future except feeling sorry for myself,” I say.
After about thirty more minutes of weaving between traffic as if we’re in a car chase, Nate pulls up outside the fancy glass-tower building of his office.
“Stay here. I won’t be long,” he says, tossing me the keys.
“Sure. I’ll be here with the radio on.”
I watch Nate jog towards the entrance and slam through the doors, then start the car and turn my attention towards the stereo, flicking through stations as I impatiently search for a decent song. After quickly realizing that either every radio station in L.A. sucks, or I’m just too on-edge to enjoy anything, I get out of the car to stretch my legs a little. I step up onto the sidewalk and lean up against Nate’s car.
“Why hello there!”
I look up to see who said that, and find a tall, handsome, old guy who looks like he should be farming cattle in the mid-west.
“Hello?” I reply, caution and confusion mixed with a little politeness.
“Th
is is Nate’s car, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. He just went inside for a minute.”
“I thought he left early to attend to a family emergency?”
“Yeah,” I shrug, scrambling for an excuse that does not include explaining to this stranger that I needed Nate to bail me out of jail. “He, uh, had to come back and grab something though. We’re leaving soon. It wasn’t like a big emergency or anything. More of a medium-sized one,” I finish lamely.
The man smiles at me as broadly as if he’d just heard I was having a baby.
“That’s wonderful! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you! I’m Dennis Robinson,” he says, offering me his big, flat hand to shake. “I’m Nate’s boss.”
“Um…great to meet you. Nate’s said…so many good things about you. And, uh, about working here.” This is quickly turning into the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had.
He nods, pleased. “You know, Nate talks a lot about you, too. I feel like we’ve already met.”
“Really? He talks about me?”
“All the time! But I must say, he still didn’t do you justice. You’re really very beautiful, I can see why he’s so enamored with you.”
If anyone else complimented me that directly, I’d probably cringe, but coming from a guy like this, with his gentleman-of-Old-Hollywood style and old-west sincerity, it works.
“Thanks?”
“Hey!” Nate calls from the entrance, coming towards us. “Hello, Mr. Robinson.”
“Hello, Nate. Working off the clock? Thought you took a personal day.”
“You know me,” Nate says, putting his hands gently on my shoulders and guiding me to the passenger side of the car, “I can’t quit until the job’s done.”
Mr. Robinson laughs. “Good, good. Well get on back home, then. Great to finally meet the little lady.”
“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Nate quickly jumps into the driver’s seat, flashes one more innocent smile at his boss, then revs the car away like a starting gun just went off.
“Sorry about that. My boss always turns up when you least expect him.”
“He seems nice.” I’m still a little baffled by the weird exchange.
“He is. But give him a chance to start talking and you can forget about the rest of your day.”
I settle back in the car seat and we drive in silence for a little while.
“Your boss,” I say, after a little while, “said that you talk about me a lot at work.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. He said you mentioned me a lot to him.”
Nate’s face screws itself up with deep confusion.
“No offense, Jessie, but why would I talk to my boss about—” He stops himself mid-sentence to smack a palm against his face. “Oh, fuck.”
“What?”
“What did he say to you exactly?”
I shrug. “Nothing much. Just that you talked about me a lot. And that I was more beautiful than you’d told him.”
“Fuck!” Nate slams his hands against the wheel, and I’m glad for the stop sign that causes him to slow down.
“What’s going on?”
“He thinks you’re Tessa!”
“Who’s Tessa?”
He sighs and shakes his head as he eases the car up to the curb outside my building.
“My boss is old-fashioned.”
“He looks it. And?”
“And to him, a guy who isn’t married by twenty-five and a father by thirty has to be either a sexual deviant or a criminal.”
“So of course he owns a talent agency in Hollywood,” I say, incredulously.
Nate shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. He really loves this business, though.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, laughing now that I realize what Nate’s saying. “I think I understand. So being the opportunistic bullshit-artist that you are, you figured you’d make yourself look good by telling him you have a loving wife at home named Tessa.”
“Something like that. We’re not married. I haven’t proposed yet. She still has her own place.”
I laugh so hard I nearly smack my head on the dash from doubling over.
“Really, Nate? How long are you planning to keep that lie up?”
Nate looks out of the windshield.
“Well, me and Tessa have been a happy couple for a few years now. No reason why it can’t go on for many more.” He looks at me and chuckles. “Tessa’s a good woman. She’s stuck by me through all the late nights and hard times.”
“Of course,” I smile. “Does she wear little plaid dresses and bake you apple pies too, this sexist archetype of yours?”
“It’s not an archetype. She’s just…old fashioned. But she also likes her independence.”
We both laugh a little more, until the good mood drains out of us and is replaced by the quiet emptiness of the end of this little adventure.
“Anyway, I should get going.” I hoist my purse onto my shoulder and reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the shake. And everything else.”
Nate nods. “Give me a call. I always miss hanging out with you when we finally do.”
“Yeah,” I smile. “Me too. Listen, don’t tell Kyle about…what happened. Please?”
“You know I won’t.”
“You’re the best. I really appreciate it, Nate.”
“It’s nothing. Just…try not to drive yourself into the dust. Your brother’s at least right about that.”
“Yeah. I know. As soon as I have another option, I’ll take it.”
“I know you will. See you, Jessie.”
“Bye, Nate.”
I slam his door shut and he waves as he eases his car around in a U-turn and drives way too fast back down the street. I don’t move for a few seconds, staring blankly as his car disappears over the horizon. A soft sensation of yearning suddenly blossoms inside of me, as if I already kind of miss him, as if something was left unsaid.
Then I remember that this is a man with a random woman’s underwear in his glovebox, and turn back home.
5
Nate
They say it’s the things you don’t do that you end up regretting. Now think about all the things you never do because you settled down, or God forbid, got married. All the places you never went, the people you never met, the dreams you never fulfilled… For what? So that you can be sure that when you go home, somebody’s waiting there for you? So that you don’t have to worry about dying alone?
I know what you’re all going to say. Don’t bother sending me the same comments. ‘It’s love, it’s companionship, it’s loyalty, you just don’t get it, Bad Boy.’ Right. So how’s that working out for you all, then? Have you seen the divorce rates lately? The truth is that I do get it. The alternative to settling down is actually living your life – and that’s fucking scary for a lot of people. That’s why most of you are watching this channel in the first place. It ain’t easy living like me, sleeping with beautiful women every night of the week, taking things one second at a time, searching for that one beautiful connection, then throwing it away the morning after – but I’ll tell you this: It’s pretty fucking awesome.
But everyone’s different, right? Every situation specific. Some of the emails you guys send me are so hopeless, like you’ve given up. Well, that’s why I’m going to answer some of them right now, during my weekly advice vlog…
As the elevator doors open I check my watch – only half an hour late. Big improvement. At this rate I might even ask for a raise soon. I step beside Chloe’s desk and lean against it, picking up a magazine she laid aside.
“You seem like you’re in a good mood this morning,” Chloe smirks. “Who was she?”
“‘She’ was a glass of Scottish malt and a good night’s sleep.” It’s not technically a lie, but it leaves out the adrenaline rush I always get after uploading the latest Bad Boy vlog.
Chloe eyes me over her thick-rimmed glasses.
“Right,” she s
ays, returning her gaze to her computer screen. “And I didn’t binge-watch trashy reality TV shows until three in the morning.”
“You should have told me, we could have shared the bottle.”
Chloe shakes her head, but she smiles as she does so.
“And then one of us would have to look for another job. No thanks.”
“Do you really think all I do is sleep with women every night?”
Chloe pulls her glasses down a little and looks at me.
“No. Not always at night. Sometimes you sneak them in here during your lunchbreak.”
My smile drops like a stone.
“Don’t worry, Nate. Your secret’s safe with me. But you should be more careful. I think the cleaning lady is up to three lost earrings, a half-dozen fake nails, and a lace thong.”
I sigh and look over towards the office.
“I really should do something about these women leaving their underwear behind.”
“Anyway,” Chloe says, pushing her glasses back up her nose and checking her pad, “Will left a message. He wants to speak to you. Good news, it sounded like.”
“Great. Can you tell him to meet me at Blake’s, the bar near his place?”
“Can do. Oh, and the boss wants to see you in his office.”
I wince.
“Now?”
“He said as soon as you got in. So…”
I drop the magazine back onto Chloe’s desk and make my way towards Robinson’s office, quickly reminding myself of all the excuses I’ve used recently – meetings with the boss usually end with me trying to back out of something. After knocking lightly, his always-enthusiastic voice beckons me in.
“Come in! Nate! Good to see you!”
“Morning.”
If my office is impressive for its corner windows, Robinson’s is impressive because of its gigantic size. The walk from the entrance to his desk alone is bigger than any other office on the floor, and the second you step inside you can easily convince yourself you’re actually in some East Coast billionaire’s country house.
