TATE: Lou, I’m gonna pause it! You’re going now?
LOUISE: That’s what you’re wearing?
KAT: What’s wrong with this?
TATE: You look nice, Mom!
KAT: How’s the tooth?
TATE: Still there.
KAT: Ooooh don’t wiggle it too much! Does it hurt?
TATE: No.
LOUISE: If you aren’t gonna wear a skirt, wear a push-up bra or something. Show some skin.
KAT: Really? You’re telling me to show some skin?
TATE: Where are you going for dinner?
KAT: I think Ivy made a reservation at a tapas style restaurant in Hollywood.
LOUISE: But you’re going dancing after, I thought?
TATE: What’s tapas?
KAT: Small plates of food that you share. She’s having people meet up at some dive bar in Atwater Village. It’s not a show some skin kind of place and there’s no dancing.
TATE: But why are the plates small? Are they for kids? Can I come?
KAT: I wish! Gimme a hug. I gotta go.
LOUISE: Katherine. You’ve been moping around ever since we saw the King of Clubs –
KAT: I’m not moping!
LOUISE: -- you may as well get the ta-tas out and make some magic with someone else. If you’re gonna take the night off, you might as well ha--
7
Kat
Three days.
That’s how long it’s been since Nico found out about Tate.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen Nico.
That’s how long it’s been since I decided it was not at all weird or creepy to purchase all of the items that he had left in his Erewhon shopping cart—because I need more green juice and superfoods in my life.
I’m sure someone in our house will consume them eventually, but after he didn’t show up at The 101 two nights ago, or the next night, I’ve been going home to angrily eat Snickers and Greek yogurt while staring at my phone and wondering why he hasn’t called or texted. And then I’d remember that I never gave him my number. And then I’d just eat Snickers bars until I felt too sick to text him. My insides are about sixty percent nougat.
And by the end of the night they’ll be at least twenty percent gin, because hot damn this cocktail is delicious.
This bar is one hundred percent Ivy’s scene—it’s like getting drunk in Twin Peaks. Weird log cabin décor and plenty of guys who—while they may not possess man boobs—are certainly not of the pretty boy variety. She’s happy and I’m happy for her and I’ve been nodding my head and pretending to listen this guy. He’s been talking about the movie set he’s working on, in the lighting department. Fifteen minutes ago, I was having fun discussing LED lighting kits and hearing about how that technology has advanced since I was in film school. But now I’m starting to feel all warm inside and just loose-y goosey enough to do something a little stupid, so all I can think about is the phone in the back pocket of my jeans.
And how there’s a phone number in there that I can either use or lose.
If I don’t use it, I’ll never really know what Nico Todd’s deal is, and I don’t want to keep making assumptions about him. While the first rule of being a single mom might be Don’t Date Musicians, one of the most important rules of documentary filmmaking is Don’t Make Assumptions. And I am not only a single mom. I am also a mildly intoxicated, well-educated documentary filmmaker. Who happens to have a vagina that can’t stop thinking about a certain musician.
When bearded electrician guy finally takes a breath, I present him with the line I have been using to get out of talking to guys in bars for the past six years: “Excuse me for a minute—I have to call home to check on my mom and my son now.” I guess the push-up bra that my mother finally convinced me to put on gave him pause, but he politely lets me go without pressuring me for my number.
I signal to Ivy, who is deep into the Straight Face drinking game with three guys, but she’s clearly got her sights set on the scruffy one with the baseball cap that says The North Remembers. Ivy is impossible to beat in this game, because straight is the only face I’ve ever seen on her. I hold up my phone and point to the door, to let her know that I’m going outside to make a call.
The music isn’t terribly loud, and the bar isn’t particularly packed, since it’s a weeknight, but I want to get outside just in case Tate’s still up and I have to tell him to go to sleep. The last time I came to this place, I was in my third year at USC and ended up making out with a bartender in the parking lot of the neighboring animal hospital. The bartenders have changed, and so have I. But the animal hospital and its little empty parking lot are still there.
I stroll on over while calling my mom’s cell phone.
“He’s asleep,” she says, without even saying hello. “Go have fun.”
“I am having fun. I just wanted to check. How’s his tooth?”
My mother sighs. “It’s still there. It probably won’t fall out for another week.”
“Ohhhh, my baby.” I’ve been so emotional at the prospect of Tate losing his first baby tooth.
“It’s very cute that you’re so excited, hon. But get a grip. Where are you? You at the bar yet?”
“I just came outside for a minute.”
“Had a couple of drinks, I can tell. You’re yelling into the phone and trying to enunciate.”
“Just a glass of wine at dinner and one cocktail. I’m not yelling,” I say, lowering my voice to an appropriate level.
“Well get back in there and have another one. I’m watching Inception, I gotta go.”
She hangs up on me.
If I’d told her I wanted to drink and stay out all night, she would have told me to come home immediately. Telling me to do the opposite of what I want to do while also somehow being supportive is my mother’s special brand of momsense. I don’t know if I even have my own brand of momsense yet, other than feeling guilty about anything I do that doesn’t benefit Tate.
But I’m ready to find my way back to the part of me that’s a little more interesting.
The gin-infused part.
I search for the contact that I had programmed into my phone under “Trouble Donotcall,” and I change the contact name to “Nico Todd,” because that delicious cocktail is reminding me that it’s unfair to assume that Nico is trouble just because he makes a living by melting panties with his voice.
The part of my brain that’s still somewhat sober tells me to send a brief text that only gives the basic information necessary to let Nico know who’s texting him.
Unfortunately, my fingers appear to be taking orders from the other part.
ME: Hi. It’s Kat. You can call me Katherine. The Katherine you ran into at Erewhon. Three days ago. The one with the son and the mom. I’m not drunk texting you. I just happen to be a little bit drunk while texting you. There’s a difference. How’s it going?
I feel really good about that message for almost an entire second, and then I try to remember if there’s a way to unsend a text.
Five seconds later, my phone starts vibrating, and the screen tells me that Nico Todd is calling me.
The sober part of my brain tells me that I shouldn’t answer while I’m tipsy. That I can enjoy the rest of my night knowing that he hasn’t lost interest in me. That it would be better for everyone, including my son, in the long run if I take it slow with this guy. This guy who might actually be a responsible person and who my son actually likes.
And then my stupid tipsy finger accepts the call from the hot hottie hotster, before I can remember what to say when answering a phone.
“Wherever you are,” says the deep, sexy voice in my ear, “I will meet you there in an hour.”
Oh lord, the butterflies.
“Where have you been?” comes a shockingly girlish, almost whiny voice that I do not want to accept as mine.
“All over and never where I wanted to be, which is wherever you are.”
Oh lord, the words. The words that come out
of this guy’s mouth. I want to be skeptical, but part of me is telling myself that he’s being genuine. And it’s not just the part of me that’s a little bit drunk, either.
“If I’d had your number, I would have called to tell you that I’ve been busy with photo shoots and early morning radio interviews. So I haven’t been going out late.”
“It’s still doing well? The single?” I’m so happy for him, it’s silly.
“Yeah, it’s doing really well. Anyway, I was going to go by The 101 tonight after I stop by a birthday thing, but I’m guessing you aren’t there.”
“No. I took the night off for my friend’s birthday.” My free hand reaches out at nothing, trying to grab him even though he isn’t in front of me. “I just…I should get back in there. I just figured I should give you my number.”
“I’m glad we’re finally on the same page about that. I’m just leaving a photo shoot in Silverlake.”
Silverlake. He’s nearby. So close. And I do realize that it is mildly irrational of me to feel jealous of whatever photographer got to work with him, but this is stemming from my desire to do more photography work. I took headshot photos for a friend of a friend who’s an actress yesterday, and it reminded me how much I enjoy shooting performers. But I also just can’t help but want to be able to capture Nico Todd for myself, before he inevitably slips away.
“I said I’d stop by a little birthday thing for my manager’s assistant because he’s been doing so much for me lately, so I probably shouldn’t cancel. But I can meet you wherever you are after that.”
“I…I have to hang out with my friend.”
“Katherine. I’m really glad you texted me. I want to see you. I’m not asking you to leave your friend. Where are you?”
The butterflies in my stomach are tipsier than I am and it feels like they’re trying to hump each other in there.
“I’m glad I texted you too. Just…just call me when you’re done with your party.”
I hang up.
Hopefully, I will be sobered up by the time he calls again.
More likely I will be drunk enough to actually tell him where I am.
Very likely, in an hour, I will be in an Uber, heading home.
One hour.
Honestly, I don’t know if I can even wait that long to see him.
8
Nico
Half an hour.
That’s how long I’ll stay at this party, and then I’m calling Kat.
Katherine.
As soon as I was done with my interview in Santa Monica the other day, I’d called Shane. I wanted to tell him that Kat’s a mom. That was why she had been so hesitant. My crush has a son. And I still wanted to see her again.
But it went straight to voicemail, so I tried my sister.
She married a single dad, so she would be good to talk to as well, I figured.
She wasn’t.
She was a little turd.
“When is the twins’ birthday?” she challenged.
“About a week after you remind me of it,” I said, but then I remembered. “Oh wait—it was a couple of weeks after you guys got married. And what does that have to do with anything?”
“Trust me, if you’re going to date a single mom, you’re going to have to remember a lot more about her son than the day he was born.”
I proceeded to tell her everything that I remembered about Tate, from a couple of hours earlier. She was somewhat impressed, but adamant that I should not mess with Kat. “She’s more than one person. It won’t be like dating any of the other women you’ve been with.”
“Good,” I said. And then I told her I had to go and ended the call because I didn’t want it to turn into an argument, and I really didn’t want her to come up with some That’s So Wizard analogy.
I didn’t like what she was implying. I never wanted to mess with Kat. Okay, maybe for that first week all I had in mind was getting her into bed. But that changed. Everything’s changing. Just because I hadn’t exactly been great with kids, just because they were barely on my radar, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t be great with a single mom or her son. With this single mom and her son.
Did my sister think she was the only one in our family who was allowed to get involved with a single parent?
By the time I was in my car, Willa had sent me a text. Coffee and vanilla and nighttime and longing and bacon… she wrote. I know you really like Kat. Sorry I was a turd. It’s lovely that you don’t want to be an asshat anymore. I want this to work out for you. Call us if you want to talk some more. Call me again if you want to. Just promise me you’ll take it slow. xo
I do really like Kat.
I don’t want to be an asshat anymore.
And I don’t know how I could possibly take this any slower.
With the response to the new single and the tour coming up, I am doing what I can to keep thing from spinning out of control, and there’s just something about Kat that grounds me.
I park on Los Feliz Boulevard, about half a block past the Bigfoot Lodge. I haven’t been to this bar in years. I probably should have just blown this thing off so I could go see Kat as soon as she called, but Troy’s been going above and beyond with scheduling and arranging things for me lately, and it’s not like my manager pays him enough. I emailed him a gift certificate earlier, but I have to stop by.
I just hope Kat answers when I call her later.
I spot Troy and his group of friends in a booth near the front as soon as I walk in, and he spots me. Nodding and waving back at him, I approach the table and shake hands with everyone. The people at the table behind them are also with the party, and he introduces me to every one of them. I tell everyone that the next round of drinks is on me, and go over to the bar to set up a tab. If I make a big splash now, it won’t look as bad if I duck out early.
It’s not too crowded in here, so the bartender comes over as soon as he’s done making a Moscow Mule. “Nico Todd, right?” he says, wiping his hands on a dishrag. “My girlfriend’s a big fan of you. We saw you at the Café a while back. Good stuff. I’m Eli.”
“Thanks, man. Good to meet you.” I shake his hand, give him my credit card and order a couple of pitchers of beer for the tables. Nodding my head to the Van Halen song that’s playing, I feel my phone vibrate and pull it out to check the Caller ID, in case it’s Kat. And it is.
I plug one ear to answer. “Miss me already?”
But I don’t hear her respond. All I hear through the phone is Van Halen, and the deep hum of conversation in the background. I turn around, and there she is, holding her phone.
Long dark hair, big blue eyes, red lips, button-down shirt and the kind of cleavage I have not had the pleasure of viewing on her before.
Yes I want it, all of it, give it to me.
I can’t tell which of us reaches for the other first, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except that my hands are cradling her face and my lips have found hers and she tastes like gin and lime and mint and sugar and desire.
She’s leaning into me, tugging on my jacket with one hand, resting the other hand that holds her phone against my chest and the heart that’s suddenly beating so much faster inside it.
The kiss starts out slow and surreal, but determined, and it builds to something urgent and beautiful and the only thing that feels real in my life right now.
It gets divided up into smaller kisses, multiplies in intensity, and then fades out as gracefully as a perfect song that both satisfies you and makes you want to hear it again immediately.
From this night forward, I will no longer listen to the bridge in the middle of ‘Jump’ and think about how brilliantly weird it is that Eddie Van Halen went with a long-ass keyboard solo instead of an epic badass electric guitar shred. I will think about how soft Kat’s lips are and the way she silently asked all her questions with them and how I answered with my lips and my tongue and my fingers in her hair and I knew that—at least in the moment—she believed everything I told her.
&nb
sp; “You’re here,” she says, her eyes still closed, her hands still on my jacket and chest.
“You’re here,” I say. I’m not even embarrassed by how fucking cheesy this is—that’s how happy I am to see her. We’re in the same place at the same time and I don’t have to be anywhere else.
Fuck yeah, Troy. Happy birthday to you.
I stare down at Kat’s gorgeous face as her eyelids flutter open and she rubs her lips together.
She grins that crooked, dimpled grin of hers and rubs at the skin around my mouth with her thumb. Her lipstick is only a little smudged, and it makes her look even more kissable. I have big plans for those lips, and I am beyond ready to put them into action.
I hold one finger up. “Don’t disappear. I have to deliver a couple of pitchers of beer to a couple of tables and then I’m going to mix you a drink.”
She nods once and looks over at a group of people who are sitting in front of the fireplace. I recognize the pink-haired waitress from The 101, give her a little salute and then carry the pitchers over to Troy’s tables. I tell him I’m going to mix him something special and return to the bar before he has a chance to comment on my public display of affection.
Kat is still standing exactly where I left her. I touch the small of her back as I lean against the bar to ask the bartender if he’d mind me joining him back there for a few minutes. I want to mix up a few drinks for a few special people. He agrees to it as long as I take a selfie with him so he can send it to his girlfriend—fair trade and I have every intention of giving him a huge tip on top of that. I remove my leather jacket and place it on the stool next to where Kat’s standing.
Charmer Page 6
