Page 37 of All That Glitters

Chapter twenty-eight

Bad Dates and "Guy Brains"

A cherry-red Trans Am sped across the screen in the San Diego multiplex theater, its tires squealing as it ripped around a corner. Two police cars barreled after it. The Trans Am swerved past several cars then suddenly spun out, crashing head-on into a semi-truck. It exploded in a massive fireball.

In the audience, Jeff was on the edge of his seat next to Debbie.

“Yes!” he shouted, a little too loud. “Did you see that? That was like a quadruple-barrel roll into a reverse-detonation! Classic!”

All around them, people in the audience shot him annoyed frowns and shushed him. Debbie slid down in her seat, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The evening had gone from bad to worse, beginning with the bad theater hotdog that had her stomach in a full-scale revolt.

Of course, she couldn’t let any of that show. Tony had to believe she was having the time of her life. She pulled out her phone and forced a bright smile.

“Okay, selfie time!” she announced, leaning in close to Jeff. This was her fifth one of the night. She was building an airtight alibi of fun.

“Again?” Jeff asked, but he grinned for the camera. She snapped the picture.

Debbie immediately began cropping and filtering the image. “Hmm, should I go with Valencia or Nashville? Which one says ‘I’m having so much fun I might actually explode’ better?”

“Are you actually asking me, or—”

“Nashville it is!” She tapped away at her screen, adding a string of emojis that would suggest to anyone looking that she was having a great time.

To: Tony. Guess who’s having THE BEST time EVER? #NoRegrets #BestDateEver @JeffSlew

She hit send, then looked up at the screen, where a new car chase had begun.

“After this is over,” Jeff whispered, only slightly quieter this time, “we should sneak into the theater next door. They’re showing Faster and Furiouser.”

“Isn’t that the twelfth one in the series?” Debbie asked.

“Fourteenth,” Jeff corrected. “They did a prequel and that spinoff with the guy’s cousin.”

Again, the audience turned, a chorus of angry shushes aimed in their direction.

“I was being quiet!” Jeff protested to no one in particular.

Just then, a figure squeezed down their row, blocking the screen. It was Matt. He plopped down in the empty seat on the other side of Debbie and shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

“What’d I miss?” he asked, his mouth full.

Now the entire section turned to shush Matt. Jeff and Debbie both looked over at him in disbelief. Matt just looked at Debbie and offered her the bucket.

“Want some popcorn? I got extra butter. And I found these candy corns in my jacket pocket.” He held up a linty, squashed handful of orange, yellow, and white candies. “I think they’re from last Halloween, but candy corn doesn’t go bad, right? It’s already bad to begin with.”

“What are you even doing here?” Debbie hissed, sinking lower in her seat.

“Dude,” Jeff hissed. “It’s not your turn. You already had your turn. Which was supposed to be my turn. We had verbal confirmation.”

“Which you wrecked by stealing my tires,” Matt countered. “The date was compromised. So I get a do-over. It’s in the friend-code bylaws.”

“What bylaws?” Jeff demanded. “You just made that up!”

“Section four, paragraph three,” Matt said confidently. “Right after the section about dibs on the last beer.”

A man in the row in front of them turned around completely. “You guys wanna shut up?”

“Sorry,” Debbie whispered to the man, then turned to her companions. “Let’s just talk about it later,” she pleaded, wishing the ground would swallow her whole. At this rate, Tony would see the selfies and just feel sorry for her.

Jeff and Matt slumped back in their seats, defeated.

A beat passed. Then, simultaneously, they both leaned forward to shoot each other a defiant frown before leaning back again.

Jeff slowly slid his arm along the back of the seat behind Debbie.

At the exact same moment, Matt did the same from the other side.

Their hands met on each other’s shoulders.

They both looked over, saw they were touching, and yanked their arms back as if they’d been electrocuted.

Tony knocked on Carrie’s door, a fresh six-pack of beer in one hand and a stack of notebooks in the other. He heard the familiar yip-yapping of Buster, but this time, he also heard a muffled, “Crap, crap, just a second!” from inside.

The door flew open. Carrie stood there, looking flustered.

She was wearing a pair of worn gray sweatpants, an oversized, faded Ramones t-shirt, and cheap flip-flops.

Her famous blonde hair was pulled back into a messy, haphazard ponytail, and her face was completely bare of makeup.

She looked like a real girl, not the B-movie goddess; still exceptionally pretty by anyone’s standards, but now in a real, approachable way.

“I am so sorry,” she said, running a hand through a loose strand of hair. “I was on the phone with Eli and completely lost track of time. I haven’t even showered.” She gestured to her outfit. “This is a disaster.”

“You look fine,” Tony said.

She ushered him in, Buster doing his usual welcome dance around Tony’s legs. “And by fine, you mean, gee, Carrie, you look like you’ve given up on life and are about to eat a whole pint of Ben & Jerry’s.”

Tony laughed.

“You do realize you’re the only person in LA I’ve ever let see me in this level of full-blown disarray,” she said.

He followed her into the living room, which was once again strewn with notebooks and script pages. “Why am I the lucky one?” he asked, popping open two beers and handing her one.

She took a long sip of her beer before answering, her expression turning serious. She hadn’t intended to start off the evening with a discussion of her insecurities, but Tony had always been open with her about his insecurities and failings, and that trust meant a lot to her.

“Honestly, because I don’t think it matters to you if I’m not runway perfect,” she said.

“I mean, I know you’re a guy, and I see the way guys look at me when I bring my A-game.

It’s kind of like my superpower and curse, all rolled up in one blonde package.

But you didn’t look at me the way most guys in the industry do, even when I showed up at your motel looking like Barbie on the prowl. ”

“Look at you what way?” he asked.

She thought about it for a moment, trying to find the right word to describe it.

“Hungrily,” she finally said. “Like I was a piece of meat they wanted to devour. You were shy and blushing, and it made me feel the way I did in high school before things got so crazy. And you talked to me, too, like I was an actual person with a brain. And when I asked you if you thought the movie was going to be good, you didn’t lie and tell me what you thought I wanted to hear.

You told me what you really thought, and about your own insecurities.

Guys don’t do that with girls like me, and it really meant a lot. ”

“Why do you think your looks are a curse?” he asked.

“Because they are a lot of the time,” she said.

“Especially when I want to talk about fun and creative things.” She looked down at her hands for a moment before taking a small breath.

“The way I look can get me in doors and meetings, but nobody wants to hear my thoughts about movie ideas. You’re the first person who’s ever wanted to talk to me about developing movie ideas, and who’s spending time with me doing that.

And I know it’s not because you’re trying to get me into bed, because I gave you every opportunity to do that the night at the motel.

You’re just this really legit nice guy, and I’m glad I get to call you my friend. ”

The raw honesty of Carrie’s confession hung in the air, and Tony felt a whole new level of respect for her.

“Hey. This is gonna sound selfish, but I’m glad those other guys didn’t want to hear your movie ideas, because now I get to do them with you.

And I think we’re gonna crush it. And for the record, this real Carrie Thompson is way cooler than Barbie. ”

A small, grateful smile touched her lips. “Thanks, Tony.” She took another drink. “I wonder if those Rif Raf guys have had a chance to talk to Preston yet.”

“You mean ‘negotiate’?” he said.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “It would break my heart if their movie got sunk because of that scumbag. I even called Eli to see if he could pull some strings, but Preston won’t take his calls.”

“It would break my heart too.”

“You know, between us, I’ve actually grown really fond of those weirdos.” A small laugh escaped her. “They’re actually kind of funny when they’re not blowing me up or shooting ketchup-filled condoms at my butt.”

Tony laughed with her. “They’re a special kind of... special.”

“They are,” she laughed. “And they really came through for me with my psycho ex-boyfriend.”

“What happened?”

Carrie took a breath. “He was stalking me, wouldn’t leave me alone, texting, calling, showing up at my yoga class.

I had to have the landlord install a security system in the apartment because I was afraid he’d break in.

The guys overheard me talking to Eli about it and paid the ex a visit that night to ‘have a talk’ with him.

” She made the air-quotes with her fingers.

“I take it their ‘talk’ worked,” Tony said, making the same air-quotes.

“Spectacularly,” she said. “The psycho ex moved to Seattle the next day. Didn’t even pack all his stuff.”

Tony smiled. “I suddenly have a good feeling about the ‘talk’ they’re gonna have tonight with Preston Jordan.”

Preston Jordan was on his office couch, aimlessly flipping through channels on his giant TV, when the door burst open. Craig stalked in, looking like he owned the place.

“Your name Preston Jordan?” he demanded.

Preston sat up, a bolt of fear shooting through him. He swallowed hard. “Yes?”