"I'll trade you. I'll tell you one if you tell me the strangest casting call you ever went on."
"Deal!"
"Okay, let's see. There was a very strange conference in town not too long ago and it all had to do with Bronies..."
"What's a Bronie?" interrupted Richard.
"Bros who like ponies," I explained.
"I like ponies," said Richard.
"I bet you don't dress up like one."
"Uh, no. I prefer horseback-riding. There are some great trails in the mountains. But back to Bronies, Now, I'm intrigued. Do they race each other?" he quipped.
"No, one of them got stabbed. It was a crazy situation. All the lights went out, and there was screaming. Anyway, he survived and that made a great headline. Your turn."
"Okay. I got to a casting call that turned out to be for porn."
"You're kidding!"
"No! It was terrible. I thought I was there to read for a sitcom. As it turned out, I was there for a sitcom, only I exited the elevator on the floor below; and that's how I found myself being asked to drop my pants within ten seconds of opening the door!" Richard covered his face with his palm, shaking his head at his own bad luck.
I couldn't help laughing.
"What do you miss most about home?"
"I'm not sure I've been here long enough to truly miss anything yet," I admitted, pausing as the waitress reappeared with two glasses on a circular tray. She set the glasses on the table and swiftly ducked away. Reaching for mine, I took a sip of the delicious drink as I pondered the differences from my present life to my very recent past. "I definitely had a bigger apartment in Montgomery. Here, I can only afford a very small one-bedroom. It's not much bigger than a studio, but I didn't bring a lot of stuff with me so I just about fit. I still have my car, but the traffic here is insane."
"Ah, yes, the infamous LA traffic. We have to drive in it, but we hate it at the same time. Did you drive your car here, or have it shipped?"
"I drove. I took a week so I could visit some places on the way, which turned it into a fun road trip. I stopped by some places I never visited before and stayed in motels."
"So, you're the adventurous type?"
"Not really. I'm more of a chocolate on the hotel pillow after the turn down service type of girl, but every once in a while, I crave an adventure. It's always more fun with company," I admitted. The only thing I really missed about being on the road was another person to talk to. And someone to eat meals with. The rest of it was so much fun that I would consider taking a road trip again.
"I agree. Discussing the experience while you're there only adds to the pleasure."
"Absolutely."
"What else do you miss?" probed Richard.
"Right now? Just my friends. The point of moving here was because I wanted something different, a whole different kind of life. I wanted a better job, and better prospects, and to try a new lifestyle. That hasn't worked out quite like I expected, but I'm sure things will change. I just haven't made any friends yet."
"I hope you'll count me as a friend?"
"You're my first friend in LA," I told him, grinning. "And the best date, too." Not that he had any competition!
"I might just put that on my resume. Friend and best date of top reporter."
"I don't know about top... Not unless I can get a headline."
"How is the story coming?" Richard asked, his voice dropping so he barely mouthed the words and did a comical left and right side look. I was pretty sure he knew no one was watching us, much less, listening into our conversation. "Where are you with your... what do you call them... leads?"
"I decided visiting Jenna and Chucky's auto mechanic was a waste of time after you pointed out they couldn't tell me who drove the car, only what the damage was. To investigate further, I would have to ask Jenna if there were any witnesses to the various incidents; I can't do that without her wondering why after she gave a plausible explanation."
"I can see how that might become awkward. I don't know what she would do if she thought you were accusing her."
"I know I would get pretty mad," I admitted.
"I hate to say this because you're your own woman and you can look after yourself..."
"Uh-huh," I said, wondering where this conversation was leading.
Richard continued, "But could you stay away from Jenna? I know it's your story, but I'm worried about you. And what she could do if she feels threatened. Do you have any other leads you could run down before going public with the identity of the killer?"
"I don't know if Jenna is the killer. I really don't think she is."
"Do you have anything to prove she's not?"
"No, not yet."
Richard held up his hands. "I rest my case. Let's talk about something more cheerful than my best friend's untimely passing. What are your plans for the weekend?" he asked, swiftly changing the subject. I wondered if it was for his benefit or mine although I must admit feeling relieved. I didn't want to perpetuate his hurt.
"I thought I would find a place that sells paint and turn my apartment from monstrosity to marvelous."
"You're going to do it all yourself?"
I nodded. "I think it might be good therapy for me."
"You don't have an interior decorator?"
"Do I need one for white walls?"
"No, I guess not. You're so down to earth. It's a long time since I've been on a date with someone who didn't name-drop their interior decorator, stylist, personal trainer, and dog walker for their new Labradoodle-Tzu."
"Is that really a dog breed?"
"Probably not."
"Shame, sounds cute."
"But it could be a paint color."
I laughed, then stifled a yawn, the late hour catching up with me. "I hate to say it because I'm having a really nice time, but I'm tired. It's been a long day."
"No problem. Let me call the car service and I can take you home. I have to get up early tomorrow anyway."
"Shooting?"
"Don't laugh. Personal trainer."
Pushing our way through the crowd wasn't easy, but with Richard in front of me, blazing our path, we made it to the door eventually. He took my hand as we stepped outside, both of us searching for the car.
"Over there," he said, pointing.
"Dude!" someone yelled. "It's that guy from Not Just Chucky. Hey! Dick Splash!"
Richard's hand tightened around mine and I saw him wince as the unfortunate character name hit its mark. It couldn't have been easy going playing Richard Splash for so many years, especially when the onscreen taunt stuck around.
"That's your catchphrase, isn't it, man? Here comes Dick Splash! Here comes Dick Splash!" the man chanted, his friends joining in. "Let's get a selfie!"
"Back off," grunted Richard, elbowing the man out of our way.
"Hey!" The man stumbled briefly, but righted himself. "Just one photo, okay?"
"I said no!" Richard stepped out of his way as the man turned around and tried to lean between us, his phone camera on selfie mode. The man fell backwards, knocking into me and I collapsed, twisting my ankle in my high heels. I landed on my ass, my legs sprawling either side of me, and abject mortification coloring my face.
"Don't be a douche, man! Look, guys, it's Dick Splash!" The man who knocked me aside lifted the camera before Richard shoved him hard in the chest, pushing him backwards. The jovial atmosphere vanished as the previously cheery photo-seeker puffed his chest up while his friends jeered. "Here. Comes. Dick. Splash," he said, aggression lacing his voice.
Before I could scramble to my feet and step away, Richard swung his fist in an undercut, catching the man’s jaw and sending him sprawling backwards. He landed on the sidewalk with a loud grunt. Above him, Richard panted with anger and if it weren't for my feeble plea for help, he probably would’ve gone for another punch. Instead, he hauled me onto my feet and I had to run to keep up with him on our way to the car. He wrenched open the door and I slid in before he jumped in be
side me, barking my address to the driver.
For a few minutes, we just sat without saying a word.
"Richard..."
He held up a hand, hushing me. We rode the rest of the way home in awkward silence, our date completely ruined. I suddenly remembered Will's warning that Richard's reaction to the most appalling catchphrase in recent history was not pretty, but if I hadn't seen it for myself, I would never have envisioned Richard becoming so angry. The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became. By the time I exited the car after the long, silent drive home, I felt more than sorry for him. Who would want that silly phrase following them around for their entire life?
Pondering that as I shut the building door behind me, I hurried past Jacob's door as fast as I could, lest he come out and harangue me. My foot was on the first step when I heard my name being called.
Turning around, I saw Mike walking towards me. I couldn't see if he'd been at his Grandpa's apartment, inside the unrented apartment, or waiting in the communal area. I wasn't sure how if I liked him waiting up for me. Was he concerned that I would get home okay? Or get home at all? Both questions were puzzling. "You're home early. Bad date?"
"Great, actually." I plastered on a false smile and swung my hair over my shoulder like a shampoo model with a fan pointed at me. "You look smart. Another date with the model?"
"Actress. And no. Her sister just left." Mike flashed a grin that instantly wiped the smile off my face.
"Ugh!"
Mike only laughed harder as I turned away and took the next few steps. Annoyingly, he followed me, dropping into step beside me as I headed to my apartment. "Go away," I ordered him as we ascended the last step.
"Did you find the killer yet?"
"Is that why you were lurking around? Lying in wait for me?"
"Lurking around? I just happened to be in the vicinity. Thought we could catch up since we're both suddenly free."
"I'm not suddenly free! I'm going home. To bed." I stopped at my door, pulled the keys from my purse and jabbed them at the lock, except I was one champagne cocktail away from perfect aim.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Alone?"
"Ugh!" I kicked the door shut behind me.
Chapter Eighteen
Moving into the center of the room, wet paintbrush in hand, I regarded my handiwork. "Not bad for a morning, Shayne," I complimented myself, taking in the creamy white walls. Even after two coats, the vile color underneath still peeked through. One more coat and hopefully, my bedroom wouldn't give me nightmares. I even ordered a brand new bed frame and mattress, which I purchased on sale. It was due to arrive in several days. I could hardly wait to unpack my bed linens and enjoy a proper night's sleep. I had struggled to sleep the night before after remembering I was still sleeping on Mike's mattress and my dreams had been punctuated with images of his bare chest. Getting rid of his bed seemed like the best solution to a good sleep.
Crossing over to the window, I pushed it wider open, allowing the warm air to circulate. I hoped to cut down the drying time while I attended to other things. Below the window, I could just make out the top of Mike's hair as the rest of him was concealed in the overgrowth. A power cutter roared as he disappeared, twigs and branches flying above him. I had to give him credit. He might have been a pain in the neck, but he also helped Jacob improve the building and all of its communal spaces. Mike was repainting the railings as I left the building on my paint run this morning, while his grandpa lounged on a wicker chair, cigarette in hand, so I suspected it was more a case of Mike doing all the work himself.
I'd been overly harsh on him the previous night and he didn't deserve my grumpiness in retaliation to his teasing just because my date ended so badly. Moving into the kitchen, I resolved to grab him a soda and take it downstairs, but as I opened my fridge to search for a cold one, my cell rang.
Richard.
I paused, staring at his name on the screen, wondering if I should answer. Just as it was about to ring off, I decided it would be churlish to ignore him. Besides, it wasn't really Richard's fault that some drunken guy decided to taunt him with the worst nickname and catchphrase in TV history, nor was it his fault that I got knocked over in the scuffle. It was, however, his fault for ignoring me the whole way home.
"Hi," I said, trying to make the single syllable sound somewhere between cheerfulness and curiosity.
"Hey, you. I just called to apologize. I'm so sorry about last night, Shayne. I feel terrible," he began, his voice wavering with uncertainty and regret.
"It's okay, really. I understand completely."
"You do?" Richard exhaled a relieved breath that sounded like a sigh. "I hope I didn't make a total ass of myself."
"I think you did what anyone would do in your position."
"It's that damn name and catchphrase. It makes me see red. You have no idea what it was like to grow up with kids chanting that every time I stepped out my door, along with a bunch of really unsavory add-ons. I loved that show, but it really made my childhood suck."
"I'm amazed people still remember. I would never have recalled it," I lied, aiming for a breezy attitude. "I've already forgotten."
"I don't want you to think I shove people around as a rule. I'm generally pretty easy going."
"So I've noticed."
"Good! Anyway, I thought I could cook brunch for you to make up for what happened. And how about taking that swim in my pool? I’ll send a car for you tomorrow, say around ten?"
"Sounds great!"
"I'll see you then. And thanks, Shayne, for giving me another chance. You're so unlike most girls."
We said our goodbyes and hung up. His apology left me ridiculously pleased. Plus, the invitation for brunch and a private swim made my weekend shine even brighter. This was why I moved to LA! This was the life I always wanted! And it was finally happening, bit by bit. All I needed now was a few more friends so I could develop a social circle with whom to share my new existence.
Grabbing the cold soda as a peace offering, I made my way downstairs, prepared to start anew with Mike. I found him, perspiring and shirtless, under a bush that had grown wildly out of control. "New home?" I asked, indicating the canopy of leaves above us.
"Yeah, I'm going for the nature look this season," he said, barely glancing at me as he bent over to pick up a pair of pruning clippers.
"I brought you a cold drink."
This time, he straightened. "Why?" he asked.
"Because you've been working all morning and I thought you might be thirsty."
"Thanks." He took it, popped the ring and drank the entire can in one big, noisy slurp. "Why are you being nice?"
"I'm always nice."
He gave me a suspicious look. "Do you need something fixed? What broke in your apartment?"
"Nothing!"
"Uh-huh."
"I really am just trying to be nice. I finished painting my bedroom and I know how hot it gets when you have to do hard work. I figured you must be boiling after painting the railings and cutting back whatever this green thing is."
"You're right," Mike said, grinning now. "I am pretty hot."
I braced myself for a comment about hard work, but none came. "You really love yourself, don't you?" I asked, trying hard not to be amused.
"Someone has to."
"Is that why you're squatting? Because your girlfriend didn't love you?" Unfortunately, that shot out of my mouth before I could stop it.
"Yes, and because I found her in our bed with another guy," Mike replied, without looking offended.
I winced. "Ouch!"
"Yeah. He was short, unlike me. Fat, unlike me," Mike said, sucking in his barely-there stomach and puffing out his chest. "He owns a hotel, too. Also, unlike me. They're getting married next month."
"I am so sorry."
He reached over my head, clipped a thin branch, and tossed it onto the pile. "I'm not. Dodged a bullet on that one. Better to find that out now than a few years down the line."
"That she w
as a gold-digger?"
"No, that she was into fat guys. She might be a feeder."
I burst out laughing.
"You laugh now, but in ten years’ time when you're not all that..." he said weaving a shape across my body with his clippers.
"I will never be anything less than fabulous," I replied. "Why are you working on Saturday anyway? Why don't you take a day off from whatever you usually do?"
"Who wants to work on a Saturday? Not me, but the building is getting inspected next week. Grandpa wants it to look nice."
"Where is Grandpa?"
"Taking a nap."
"So you're doing all the work again?"
"It's fair. I get a place to stay for free and he gets all the help he needs. If he doesn't keep the building maintained, he could be evicted. He doesn't have anywhere else to go, and he's too old to get a job elsewhere. Plus, I'm a lot fitter than he is, so it just makes sense."
I looked at Mike with new eyes. Maybe he wasn't one hundred percent an ass with a few good moments. Maybe he was full of good moments with the occasional assiness. I snuck a look at his ass as he bent over to grab a towel to wipe his face, quickly averting my eyes when he straightened up again. Checking out asses was not the best way to make friends. "That's really nice of you."
"I know. How can anyone be this good looking and so nice too?" Mike laughed at his joke before continuing, "I saw you got a headline."
I frowned. "No. I'm still researching my story."
"Not the Who Killed Chucky story. I mean, the one that happened last night. I can see why you were so pissed when you got home."
"What? What are you talking about?"
Mike pointed to the magazine on the plastic chair. "Number one brought this home."
"Number one? No, wait! Don't tell me!"
"Chill! I'm talking about the tenant in 1A. She reads all this crap."
"I still don't know what you're talking about," I said as I picked up the magazine, thumbed it open, and searched for my byline. I briefly wondered if something I had worked on had been syndicated.
"Page seven," Mike supplied helpfully.
"Argggghhhh!" I squealed when I saw a grainy image of me. I was sprawled on the floor while Richard swung at a person that was almost out of shot. To anyone who didn't know me, I might have been hard to recognize, but Mike saw it and identified me instantly. "How did they get this?"
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