Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
It’s official, I’m not getting any sleep tonight.
“What do you like about this show?” The question sounds tentative, as if he doesn’t quite know how to approach the subject. Heat races up my neck for the umpteenth time in the last twenty minutes.
“Don’t let the graphic sex fool you. The writing is excellent and the acting superb.”
Grunting, grunting, and more grunting. In the meantime, my sweat glands are getting a serious workout.
“Is that your type?” he asks, his tone cautious, his gaze still fixed on the sex scene I could be enjoying if he wasn’t sitting next to me.
“What do you mean by type?”
For fuck’s sake, is this scene ever going to end?
“Muscles, ink.” He doesn’t look at me and I don’t dare look at him. This line of questioning is rife with danger.
“I don’t have a type.”
“No type?” he turns to look at me and I do the same. No matter how hard he tries to look indifferent, his expression teeters on the brink of curiosity.
“Not physical. I think attraction is in the mind of the beholder. Everything else is lust and that wears off faster than an orgasm.”
He gets quiet, thoughtful, which compels me to explain. “I’m attracted to people with passion, that have figured out what theirs is and go after it. I’m attracted to kindness and intelligence…I guess I’m attracted to some kind of awesome.”
“Was Gregory awesome?” he says in a flat voice, not giving anything away.
And the groovy mood we were sharing a second ago takes a nosedive. The last thing I need is to be reminded of just how bad my judgment is, how astray I let it lead me. There’s nothing worse than not being able to trust yourself. It has a paralyzing effect on your entire life.
I turn to watch the television again, the scene mercifully over. “No, he most definitely wasn’t.” Time for a change of topic. “Andi said you’re selling your business.”
When he doesn’t answer right away, I steal a brief glance. It’s his turn to be under the microscope and I can tell he doesn’t like it.
“Only if I get the job as lead counsel for the Titans.”
“Why would you give up the business you’ve built to work for someone else? You’re obviously one of the best in your field.”
“Because I’ve always dreamed of being a General Manager. Getting the job as lead counsel gets me one step closer.”
There’s animation in his face when he speaks, a spark in his eyes. He’s suddenly full of energy where minutes ago he looked sleepy. Passion––he’s full of it.
“What about you? Have you always known you wanted to be an actress?”
“Since I was six. Whenever my mother was dating somebody new, she would drop me off at the theater and give the kid working twenty bucks to make sure I didn’t leave.”
“Jesus.”
I force a smile. Not because I harbor any pain about it, because I don’t want him to feel bad. His eyes fill with sympathy, his features softened by it.
“Put the Kleenex away, Fancy Pants. I’m fine with it.” He continues watching me with rapt attention. “I saw Little Orphan Annie one day and fell in love. I wanted to do what the kids in that movie were doing. My grandmother used to call me The Purple Rose of Cairo because I looked like I wanted to step into the screen.”
“Have you ever wanted to do anything else?”
“No. I love everything about it.” My thoughts drift to Marty and the weekly harassment I’ve been receiving from him to move. “My agent wants me to move to L.A. He says I have a much better chance of finding work there. He says I’m wasting time here.”
“Is he right?”
I give it a minute of honest thought before I answer. “Yeah,” I say, exhaling my frustration.
“How come you haven’t moved already, then?”
“My grandmother.”
He nods in understanding. “How bad is she?”
“Bad. It’s Alzheimer’s. She rarely recognizes me anymore.” Although he’s still nodding, something tells me he’s holding back. “What does that look mean?”
“I know you want to do right by your grandmother, but it sounds like you’re driving with your foot on the brake.”
“It’s too late for metaphors. Spit it out.”
“I think your grandmother would want you to move to L.A… to give it a real shot.”
It seems so simple from the outside. Logic tells me he’s right. That’s the reason my grandmother made Eileen trustee after all. But my conscience tells me she needs me, that Eileen can’t be trusted. And I would die a thousand deaths if something happened to her while I’m in Lala land living my dream. Either way, I lose.
“I can’t leave her. She was always there for me.”
The quiet is heavy, the moment transforming into something I could never have anticipated, something meaningful.
“Success requires sacrifice.” His voice is steel wrapped in velvet and packs a punch I can feel in my solar plexus. His eyes, filled to the brim with understanding, hold mine. Something tells me he knows something about sacrifice.