Page 90 of Up In Smoke
That little voice in the back of my head whispers yet again that one day, Rico and I could move into a house with plenty of space for the three of us. That seems like something way,wayin the future, though. It’s going to take me a long time to straighten out my credit rating enough to be approved for a mortgage. I suppose we could rent, but even that would take time to organize. Klaus needs a forever home now.
But not tonight.
I shake myself and turn my attention back to the chicken I’ve got going in the pan. Honestly, I do find it difficult to simply be happy in the moment. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop or for the next disaster to strike. I know it’s because I still don’t really think I deserve good things, but I’m working on it. For a second, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply.
“I am grateful for today,” I say out loud.
The doorbell pulls me back to reality. I frown at Klaus, whose ears perk up. I’m not sure who that could be. The last unexpected visitor turned out not to be so bad in the end, though. So I switch off the stove and wipe my hands before heading to the front door.
I should have checked the peephole.
“Jesse!” Emerson cries as soon as he sees me.
My blood runs cold. “Emerson…what are you doing here?” I demand.
He shakes his head and shrugs. “I wanted to apologize about the other night. I think our wires got crossed, but I shouldn’t have surprised you like I did. You were working and I should have respected that. Can you forgive me?”
“Uh, yeah,” I tell him distractedly. Klaus is by my knee, growling softly.
He never growls at anyone.
“You’re forgiven. But Emerson, I’m not kidding. How did you find my address?”
He grins like it’s all a big joke. “Oh, I have my ways. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
My blood runs cold and it’s pathetic, but I wish Rico wasn’t at work. I should be able to handle one guy on my own. However, the fact that he tracked down my home is deeply unsettling.
“Um, I’ve got dinner on,” I say apologetically, still hoping he’ll take a damn hint. “It’s not really a good time.”
“Well, I’d love to keep you company,” Emerson says, completelynottaking the damn hint. “And I didn’t come empty handed, of course!”
Then he reaches into his frayed record bag and pulls out…
A fucking bottle of whiskey.
My stomach drops.
“Emerson, I don’t want that,” I stammer as I stumble backward a step. Klaus’s growling isn’t so quiet anymore. “I don’t think you do, either. Why don’t you put it away?”
He scoffs. “It doesn’t count if you don’t getdrunk,Jesse. Come on, I’m trying so hard to be nice here. Why do you have to keep pushing me away?”
It turns out that my politeness does in fact have a limit. Fury blasts through me and I step forward again, gripping onto the door and the frame, blocking Emerson from even thinking about coming into mine and Rico’s home.
“Listen to me very clearly, Emerson,” I snap. “We’re not friends. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but apparently being subtle just isn’t working. You crossed a line by coming to my work and now my home. But showing up withalcoholis the last fucking straw. I am an addict, but I am a hundred and sixty-seven days sober. I’ve worked my ass off to get this far, and I’m disgusted you’d try and sabotage that for me. So I need you to leave and never come back, and if I ever see you in a meeting again, I expect you to behonest about what happened here tonight. Because if you’re not, I will be.”
His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are wet. “You’d snitch on me?” he snarls.
That’s all he took from my whole speech?
“I’m protecting myself,” I retort.
He scoffs, trying to come across annoyed but I can see how hurt he is. I hate that, but I’m not his keeper. He’s brought this on himself.
“Typical celebrity, only thinking about yourself,” he spits.“Ididn’t snitch onyou!I didn’t tell anyone who you really are, but I worked it out the moment I saw you! Jesse, I’m such a huge fan of Leroy Puck! I bet you don’t have many of those left. I still watch it all the time! You’ve helped me through some of the worst days of my life. Why won’t you let me help you now? We’d be such great friends!”
“That wasn’t me who helped you,” I say coldly. “That was a room full of TV writers, most of whom were strung out on coke. We’re not friends, Emerson. I’m sorry, but friends lift each other up, not drag each other down like crabs in a bucket. If you want a drinking buddy, you need to look elsewhere.”
Desperation flashes across his face and he hastily shoves the bottle back in his bag. “Then we won’t drink! I’m sorry. I just wanted to impress you. That’s why I studied baseball so hard! And why I starting learning Mandarin and listened to all those detective podcasts! I messed up but I just wanted to show you how much we had in common. I know we can be friends! Can’t you forgive me?”