Page 35 of All That Glitters

Jeff’s expression darkened with something resembling competitive anger. “Do you know where they went?”

“I think he said something about Luke’s Diner over on Mission,” Veronica replied, popping another chip in her mouth.

Jeff snorted. “Figures. He’s probably calculating the tip down to the tenth decimal point already.”

Veronica looked amused. “If you hurry, you can probably catch them before Debbie falls asleep.”

“I will. Thanks V.”

He hurried off. Veronica broke into a sly grin as she closed the door. ‘Operation Make Tony Jealous’ had just developed an unexpected subplot.

The creative hurricane had been raging for over an hour.

Empty beer bottles now stood watch next to half-eaten cartons of curry.

Napkins were covered in scribbled diagrams and character notes.

Tony paced back and forth, acting out a potential scene, while Carrie typed furiously into her laptop, trying to keep up.

“Okay, so what if the first time they meet,” Tony said, gesticulating wildly, “he’s not impressed by her looks. He’s impressed because she beats him at a game of high-stakes poker. She cleans him out. And that’s what hooks him.”

“I love it,” Carrie said without looking up from her screen. “He’s not attracted to the ‘honey trap,’ he’s attracted to her mind. Writing it down.”

“And then for the big action set-piece, we need a massive explosion,” Tony continued, getting swept up in the moment. “But, you know, a safe one. Not one that accidentally sends the lead actress chasing the entire crew with a baseball bat.”

“Ugh,” Carrie groaned, leaning back and running her hands through her hair. “Don’t remind me. It took an hour to wash the soot out of my hair.”

“You think those guys are still running?” he said with a light chuckle.

“If they’re smart, they are,” she said, unable to hide the amusement in her eyes. Even she had to admit, it was funny. “And they’ll have chocolates and flowers waiting for me on set when I arrive. And that mouse will be gone.”

Ding.

The sound of a notification from Tony’s phone broke the moment.

He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen.

Debbie had posted something on her Instagram and tagged him.

He tapped the link, and the page pulled up.

The laughter was suddenly gone from his eyes, replaced by confusion and something that looked a lot like hurt.

Carrie’s good humor faded as she watched him. She was an expert at reading subtle expressions — it came with the job — and the shift in him was seismic. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s… nothing,” he said, trying to force a smile as he shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Where were we? Explosions…”

“No. Hold on,” Carrie said gently, closing her laptop. “What was that? You looked like someone just told you your puppy got run over.”

He hesitated, then pulled the phone out again, a look of resignation on his face.

He handed it to her. The screen showed an Instagram photo.

A really cute brunette was posing with someone who had to be an accountant; he was right out of central casting, complete with glasses, a suit, and a tie.

The girl was smiling, and the guy looked like he’d been caught completely by surprise.

The account belonged to someone named Debbie, and she’d tagged Tony in the photo.

“Who’s Debbie?” Carrie asked, her tone neutral as she handed the phone back.

“She’s a friend of mine from Phoenix. We grew up together, and now she lives in San Diego too.”

“Just a friend?” Carrie said, leaning back against the sofa, an amused, knowing look in her eyes.

This was the classic, unbelievable lie of every guy or girl in love with their best friend.

“Let me guess. You two have a million inside jokes, you can finish each other’s sentences, and you’re pretty sure no guy is ever good enough for her. ”

Tony stared at her, dumbfounded. “How’d you know?”

“Because it’s a classic friends to lovers trope. Boy and girl grow up together. Puberty comes along. One or both of them develop romantic feelings for the other, but have no idea how to get out of the friend-zone.”

“You think she has romantic feelings for me?” he asked.

“I think you have romantic feelings for her. The jury’s still out on what she’s feeling, but there’s definitely something going on in that picture.”

“Besides her dating my college buddy.”

“You know the guy in the photo?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, that’s Matt. And I may or may not have given him permission to date her, depending on how hard you laugh at my stupidity.”

She did laugh, but in a good-natured way. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I was an idiot and wanted to prove to him I wasn’t in love with Debbie.” Then, he suddenly remembered something. “She’s probably going to tag me in photos of her dates with another friend, Jeff.”

“You gave two of your buddies permission to date her?”

He gave a slow nod. “I would say we should write a romantic comedy script about it, except no one would believe anyone could be that stupid.”

She gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Don’t beat yourself up, Tony. Stepping out of friend-zones is scary. And just so we’re clear, you are in love with Debbie, right?”

Tony took a breath before nodding. “I think so. I haven’t admitted that to anyone else, so can we keep it between us?”

Carrie couldn’t help smiling at this show of trust. “Of course,” she said. “And something else I noticed in that photo — I think she might have the same feelings for you.”

“Really?”

“It’s just a hunch, but look at the photo.”

He did. “What about it?”

“She’s not looking at him in the picture, she’s looking at the camera. She tagged you to make sure you saw it. I think she might be trying to make you jealous.”

Tony’s mood suddenly brightened. “Which is good, right?”

“It could be.”

His smile was back. “Thanks, Carrie.”

“Anytime. Back to explosions and lead actresses chasing crew members with baseball bats?”

He laughed. “Let’s do it.”

They picked up where they left off in their brainstorming activities, and for the next several hours they settled into a comfortable rhythm of bouncing story ideas off each other. It was well after eleven by the time they decided to call it a night.

“That was fun,” she said, closing her laptop while Tony packed his notebooks. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Thanks for having me. I’m really loving this story.”

Hearing this meant more to Carrie than Tony would ever know. ‘The Monaco Job’ was her baby, an idea she’d been wanting to develop for several years, but until now, she’d never found someone who wanted to work on it with her. “Me too,” she said.

He grabbed his notebooks, and she walked him to the door.

“Tony,” she said as they reached the door.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being you. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

Jeff’s car pulled into the parking lot of Luke’s Diner and skidded to a stop. He hopped out and hurried over to the front window. Peeking inside, he saw them sitting at a table, Debbie in a near-catatonic state while Matt performed a forensic audit of the bill, going line by excruciating line.

A slow, devious smile spread across Jeff’s face. He looked around the lot and quickly spotted Matt’s car, a Camry with a bumper sticker that read: ‘Accountants Do It With Interest.’ Jeff just shook his head. What a dork.

Jeff rushed over to his own car, popped open the trunk, and pulled out a tire iron and jack. He closed the trunk, then hurried over to Matt’s car and went to work on it.

Inside the diner, Matt meticulously traced his finger down the bill. A small pocket calculator — yes, an actual calculator and not a phone app — was on the table next to the bill.

“Let’s see,” Matt muttered, oblivious to Debbie’s soul having left her body ten minutes earlier. “You had the salad, I had the burger. Then two drinks.” His finger moved down the items one by one, checking each price and comparing them to the menu’s prices. “Looks like everything checks out.”

He carefully punched the numbers into his calculator, double and triple checking them. “So, twelve eighty-five, plus a twenty-five-cent coffee refill after your ninth one, times point-one-five, equals a dollar ninety-six and a half cents tip. We’ll round it up to a dollar ninety-seven.”

He pulled some change from his pocket and counted it out on the table. He looked up at Debbie.

“Do you have two cents?”

A few minutes later, Debbie and Matt strolled out of the restaurant and across the dimly lit parking lot.

“So where was I?” Matt asked.

“You were saying how people think accountants are cheap,” Debbie replied, her voice flat. She was already doing the mental calculations for how long it would take her to get home, change into pajamas, down a glass of wine, and forget this night ever happened.

“Can you believe that?” he huffed. “I mean, you saw how I made sure our waitress got paid a full fifteen percent-plus tip, rounded up.”

She rolled her eyes so hard she almost sprained something. The guy was completely clueless about how cheap he was. “It was fifteen percent.”

They reached his car. Or, what was left of it. All four tires were gone, and the car’s frame sat on a set of cinder blocks. It looked ridiculous, like a turtle shell without the turtle.

Jeff had definitely been busy while they were inside. If it didn’t work out for him as an attorney, he had a promising future as a criminal.

Matt just stared, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Oh,” he said, his voice shaking with a quiet, calculating rage. “He is so dead.”

Debbie sighed, looking from the crippled car to the long, dark street. The night, somehow, had gotten even longer. “Does this mean I’m paying for the taxi home?”