Page 43 of Scripted for Love and Poison (Sol and Luke Mystery #2)
“ S o then the conclusion you’ve reached—” Lola asked Sol in Catalan the next day over a breakfast of toasted levain bread with orange marmalade at Superba Food + Bread in Hollywood.
Sol had left Luke at the hotel ready to go for a run and seemingly integrated in Los Angeles—wearing a tank that showed lots of arms and shoulders, and a pair of short shorts displaying muscly legs.
He was even more tanned than when they’d first landed.
“That I’m too old to drink and that one should never order wine if it comes out of a can,” said Sol, who wore sunglasses indoors.
“No, no, no. We already knew that.” Lola dismissed her. “You just decided to ignore it because you were feeling thirty or something. And you’re now paying for the consequences, by the looks of it.”
“If you only knew,” Sol admitted. “My only solace is that Luke and Divya are also quite messed up. And they’re much younger. They also drank a lot more than me, so. We had to take an Uber back to the hotel! ”
“Weren’t you just going out for some burgers?” Lola stared at Sol with wide eyes.
“Don’t judge me, but we went to Cabo Cantina after dinner,” Sol said, referring to a Mexican bar famous for its signature margaritas served by the liter. “It gets blurry after the strawberry concoction that we shared.”
“I bet it does. But let’s not get distracted with your wild tale about yesterday night. What I meant was, what have you decided about Luke? Are you going to propose?” Lola asked.
Sol flicked a hand dismissively. “Oh that, I already did!”
“Sol Novo! You never told me!”
“Well, I had no time with the whole being chased down by a delusional, media-obsessed lunatic,” Sol argued. “I’m sorry to have gotten you and your family involved in the whole mess, by the way. And thanks for providing us with a roof and a mattress for so many days.”
“I hear it’s a very uncomfortable mattress,” Lola admitted.
“You don’t even know. You should get rid of that thing. But seriously, thank you.” Sol hoped her eyes conveyed everything she didn’t know how to put in words.
“No problem. We loved having you at home. Geoff was delighted with all the extra people telling him his cooking is delicious. And Alex really likes Luke,” Lola said. “It was a great visit.”
“It was,” Sol said. Now that she no longer had to sleep on the discomfort of Lola’s mattress, she could look at the past and recall all the ways in which it had been a great experience.
“But you haven’t finished telling me about your proposal.” Lola’s nosiness took Sol out of her musings.
“He said yes, obviously, or I’d be crying on your shoulder and wondering why everyone hates me,” Sol deadpanned.
“Please,” Lola dismissed her, and it wasn’t lost on Sol that of all her close friends, Lola was the one who took her less seriously. And she loved her for that.
“Anyway, I think I realized something,” Sol continued.
“That you can’t keep pretending anymore that you are thirty,” Lola teased her, gesturing at her general hungover state. “And that touristy bars with colorful decor and gigantic drinks should be reserved for tourists ?”
“No, not that. I already knew all of that! But I realized Luke’s main flaw is probably his aversion to travel,” Sol said, in all seriousness. “But I can live with that.”
“I mean, he was here for two weeks, so it’s a mild aversion,” Lola tried reasoning.
“Uh,” Sol objected. “I wouldn’t describe it as mild , but?—”
“Something you can tolerate?”
“Definitely. The moment I realized he’s not perfect, even if he looks the part sometimes, but that I didn’t mind this particular quirk, I proposed.”
“Congratulations.” Lola reached over the table in a hug. “And you’re still sure you don’t want to marry again, right?”
“Give me a break!” Sol protested, even if perhaps she no longer felt so strongly as before about that particular topic.
“You know who’s not having such a great day as you, right?” Lola asked.
“No clue who you’re talking about,” Sol said, ready for the gossip.
“The delusional, media-obsessed lunatic you were just talking about.” Sol could see Lola was enjoying telling her that story. But then again, Lola was a total gossip. “Simon Smith has been canceled.”
Sol didn’t follow. “Canceled? ”
“You know he got a seven-figure deal to publish that tell-all book of his?”
“Yeah, of course!”
“He got some headlines because of that. So some people got interested. A couple of journalists started unearthing some of his not-so-old reviews ...” started Lola.
“And apparently back in the day, he’d said Lady Bird was a silly coming-of-age story for teenage girls and a bit limiting in its perspective. ”
“The fucking idiot! That movie is perfection.”
“Oh, and he implied that The Hurt Locker could have been a better movie if it wasn’t Kathryn Bigelow who directed it.”
“Ugh! He meant if a dude had directed it,” Sol said, and she could feel her blood boiling. “Why are you so peppy about the whole situation?”
“Because Simon Smith has been stalking my house, and I don’t like that.
My kid lives there. My husband lives there.
I live there! I don’t like him, and I’m glad some journalists found some of his old writing and showed the world he’s an absolute idiot and a sexist. And that hardly makes for a commercial author these days,” Lola reasoned, a smirk on her face.
“So he’s been canceled for sure?”
“Yeah, the publishing company is backtracking, postponing the release. That book’s not coming out anytime soon—if ever,” Lola said.
“Is it bad to feel good about someone else’s misfortunes?” Sol asked, and then she looked at her friend and recalled what Simon Smith had said about Greta Gerwig’s perfect movie.
“Nah!” both Sol and Lola decided at the same time.
“I need to run something by you,” Sol said, suddenly remembering. “Emily told me something about not waiting for others to tell me what to do with my book. And it’s really stayed with me. I think I’m going to self-publish it.”
“So you’re following the advice of a husband-killer?” Lola asked, her face not letting on what she was thinking.
“Sí,” Sol said, reassured. “Let’s not forget the husband was going to incapacitate her.”
“Sounds good to me.”