Page 9 of All That Glitters

“No complaints from me,” said Veronica. “It’s less stuff to unpack.”

“That’s what I told her,” Tony said.

Veronica turned to him. “So, what’s the new scheme this week?”

“The screenplay I’m writing,” he said. “I told you about it.”

“Yeah. But that was last week.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is my character about to get assassinated?”

Veronica grinned. “I think the bikini calendar you and Jeff were going to do already took care of that. Did you know he and Matt have a bet going over how long till you flake on the screenplay? I think the odds this morning were a hundred to one against you finishing.”

“It was Jeff’s idea for me to write it.”

“You know Jeff,” Veronica said. “Always looking for an angle to make a bet.”

Tony frowned. “I’m naming the first character that gets killed after him.”

Veronica laughed. “He also started a new Facebook group called ‘I Bet I Can Find One Million People Who Don’t Think Tony Will Finish His Script.’ I think he’s up to two hundred and forty-three members already. Your mom joined yesterday.”

“My mom?” Tony’s voice cracked.

“She posted a very supportive comment though,” Veronica added helpfully. “Something about loving you no matter what and maybe you should consider accounting like your father suggested.”

“And they wonder why I don’t move back to Phoenix.”

Debbie looked at Tony for a moment before turning back to Veronica. “Tell Jeff to put me down for ten dollars,” she said.

“Ten dollars that Tony doesn’t finish his script?” Veronica said.

Debbie shook her head. “No. Ten dollars that he does finish it. Because I’m going to kick his butt if he doesn’t.”

“Hah!” The word exploded out of Tony’s mouth. “See. Debbie believes in me.”

“Debbie believes in her ability to make your life suck if she catches you slacking,” Debbie said. “Consider me your new drill instructor, Harding.”

“Got it,” he said with a big nod. “Sergeant Debbie.”

“You better believe it.”

He smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Ready to go see the scene of our childhood crimes?”

“This place hasn’t changed since we were seven,” Debbie said, glancing out the window as Tony’s truck chugged and wheezed down the upscale street.

They were in La Jolla Village, a jewel box of a town perched on the cliffs above the Pacific, where the air itself smelled like money.

The engine made a sound like a dying whale, followed by a concerning rattle, as he pulled into a parking spot between a sleek German sedan and a Tesla.

He turned it off with a final sputtering cough of black exhaust.

“It really hasn’t,” he said, climbing from the truck. “So, what do you think?”

“I think you just killed half the plant life on the street,” Debbie said, climbing from the truck and fanning away the smoke.

“I mean, about the area.”

Debbie looked around at the pristine streets, the lush, perfectly manicured flower beds, and the designer storefronts with names she only recognized from magazines in her dentist’s waiting room.

A woman walked by carrying a purse that probably cost more than Debbie’s car.

“I think our presence here just lowered the property values by at least ten percent.”

“I was thinking fifteen percent,” Tony said, slamming his squeaky truck door shut. The truck responded with a dark cough of exhaust. Several well-dressed passersby shot them disapproving looks, the kind usually reserved for people who talk during movies.

“But that’s all gonna change,” he said. “Give me six months, and I’ll be buying a place here.”

“From dressing like a cell phone?” she teased, falling into step beside him as they began their walk through paradise.

“With the money from my screenplay,” he corrected. “You know, the one you’re not gonna let me flake out on under threat of an as yet unnamed punishment.”

“I’m impressed,” she said. “It’s been twenty minutes since we left my apartment, and you haven’t flaked yet.”

“See what a good motivator you are?”

“Hey, I’ve got ten bucks riding on this. I’d better not lose it.”

“You won’t. There will be zero flaking this time.” He gestured around. “That’s why I wanted to show you this place — it’s a reminder of what’s at stake. Generational wealth, or a lifetime of selling mobile family plans.”

They strolled down the sidewalk, past art galleries with single, abstract paintings in the window that looked like someone had sneezed colorfully and decided to charge fifty thousand dollars for it.

They passed boutique shops where silk scarves were displayed on headless mannequins and jewelry stores where diamonds glittered in display counters.

Chic women sat at outdoor cafes, sipping lattes from small shot glasses, while their tiny, well-groomed dogs nestled in designer carriers.

“You see that place,” Tony said, pointing to a restaurant with no visible menu and a line of people waiting outside despite the empty tables. “Le Bernardin. Best seafood in San Diego. I read about it in Food and Wine.”

“You read Food and Wine?” Debbie asked.

“I bought a copy at the grocery store for research and motivation,” he said. “I need to know where I’ll be eating when I’m rich and famous.”

“Not the all-night taco shop?”

He shook his head. “I’ll save that for hangovers.”

All around them was the world Tony had been reading about online, the lifestyle he’d seen in the glossy pages of magazines he could barely afford.

He’d been studying it and memorizing it like a foreign language.

To Debbie, it felt like walking through a theme park she was only visiting.

To Tony, it was the future. It was the reward for finishing The Frat and getting it sold.

“Check this out,” he said, pointing at a bright red Ferrari parked at the curb. “That’s my next car.”

“And give up your truck?” she teased.

“I’m pretty sure it’s already given up on me. It’s just waiting for the right moment to let me know.”

“What about me?” she said. “I should at least get a Porsche for surviving fifteen years of your schemes.”

“Could we settle on a shiny new bicycle with training wheels and a helmet?” he offered. “I’m just thinking of what could cause the least amount of damage.”

She playfully swatted his arm, but even she had to admit, there was something infectious about his enthusiasm whenever he came up with one of his new schemes.

Debbie had always been the practical one, who calculated risks and made sensible choices.

Tony was the dreamer, the one who saw possibilities where others saw obstacles.

For as far back as she could remember, it had always been like this, with Tony leaping, and Debbie looking before they leaped.

Sometimes his impulsiveness led to disaster, like the time they ‘borrowed’ his dad’s car to go skiing, and ended up stranded when it ran out of gas.

But other times it led to adventures they never would have experienced otherwise, like the time they’d sneaked into a closed water park and had it all to themselves for an hour before security found them.

She hoped this was one of those times.

They grabbed food from a gourmet sandwich shop, something with names she couldn’t pronounce, and walked to the bluff overlooking the cove.

They found a patch of soft green grass, sat down, and watched the sun begin its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in fiery strokes of orange and gold.

The ocean below was a deep, tranquil blue, dotted with sailboats and kayakers.

The sandwich, which had cost three times what she would normally pay for lunch, turned out to be worth every penny.

“Okay,” she conceded, her eyes fixed on the sky. “You were right. This is pretty cool.”

“Told ya,” he said, his mouth full of food. “I wanted you to see it at sunset. It’s like God’s showing off.”

She smiled and gave a big thumbs up at the sky. “Good job, God. Ten out of ten for that one.”

He smiled too. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the easy kind of quiet that only fifteen years of friendship can build.

She watched him as he stared out at the water, at the way the sea breeze ruffled his hair.

She still saw the boy she had always known in him, but there was something new too.

He had a determination in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.

He really wanted this screenplay to work.

“You really want this screenplay thing to work, don’t you?” she said.

He turned to look at her. “Yeah. I really do.”

“Then I’m gonna help you. But I’m warning now, I won’t go easy on you.

If I see you slacking, I will be your worst nightmare.

I will follow you around. I will hide your video games.

I will change your Netflix password.” She leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I will make you run up and down the beach naked.”

He laughed, a startled, happy laugh that surprised even him. He looked at her. “Did I mention that you’re awesome, Deb?”

She smiled. “No. But feel free to keep mentioning it.”

“Good. Because you’re awesome. I know you won’t let me quit, and that’s what I need.”

“A slave driver?”

“My best friend.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into an affectionate side hug. “So, I was thinking — when I win, does that mean you have to run down the beach naked?”

She snorted, playfully swatting him with the back of her hand. “In your dreams, Harding. And you’d better not be imagining it right now.”

“Too late,” he laughed, receiving another playful swat. He squeezed her into him, and she was grateful for the fading light that hid the furious blush that had warmed her cheeks.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Deb,” he said, his voice softer now.

“So you can watch me trip while I’m running on the beach?”

He smiled and shook his head. He nodded at the sunset. “So I can have my favorite person to share moments like this with.”

She snuggled closer to him. The air felt charged with something familiar, and yet new. She looked at him briefly, wondering if he felt it too, but his gaze was fixed on the sunset. She turned to watch it with him. “I’m glad too,” she said softly.