Page 81 of Business or Pleasure

“It’s been ages since we did something like this,” Cooper says, reaching for a slice of bread. At forty, he’s the oldest of the group, mostly retired from acting to focus on the farm he runs with his wife in Northern California. A much quieter life.

“Because Ethan’s usually too busy jumping out of an airplane just so he can say he does his own stunts.” Juliana gives him a tight smile that makes me think pretending she was in love with him for four seasons required some top-notch acting. She’s a little sharp-tongued, not unlike Alice, and dressed in corduroy overalls and a floral sweatshirt. Overalls have never looked cooler. “Where were you last month? I can’t keep track.”

“Fiji,” Ethan says. “But that was just for vacation. I start shooting the Indiana Jones reboot in Majorca after the reunion.”

“Rough life,” Finn says.

Ethan raises his glass of bourbon, flashes his glimmering white teeth. “That’s why they shell out the big bucks.”

I have to fight rolling my eyes. Next to me, Finn is inspecting his water glass, and when the server swings by with another tray of appetizers, he quietly, politely asks for a new one. And I don’t miss the way Ethan watches the whole interaction.

“What do you hate more?” Bree’s asking. “ ‘This is more of a comment than a question,’ or ‘I have a two-part question’?”

Cooper runs a hand across his salt-and-pepper beard. “I don’t think I do enough of these to get too bothered by any of it.”

“More of a comment, definitely.” Juliana takes a sip of wine and blots her red lipstick with a napkin. “That one, they always want to bring up some super specific detail, just to make it seem like they know the show better than anyone else.”

Ethan shakes his head. “No, no, no. The two-parters are the worst.”

“I don’t mind them,” Finn puts in.

“Well of course you don’t,” Ethan says. “You practically live at these things. When was the last time you were on a channel that isn’t exclusively watched by grandparents?”

With the exception of Hallie, the rest of them laugh, and even in the dim light, I watch Finn’s cheeks turn pink.

The conversation moves on to everyone’s current projects. “I’m working on an indie film right now,” Hallie says from across the table. “I’ve been dying to do something with A24, and it’s been an absolute dream.”

“What’s it about?” I ask.

“It’s about... well, there’s this woman, and she feels sort of directionless in her job and her love life.” Hallie frowns for a moment. “I guess there isn’t really that much emphasis on the plot. It’s mostly just vibes.”

Bree laughs. “Oh my god, Hallie hates plot.”

“It’s true. Give me interesting characters over explosions any day of the week,” she says. “Boise Med is a great paycheck, but it’s not high art, by any means.”

Finn gives me an apologetic look, I’m guessing for all the industry talk. And then beneath the table, his hand lands on my leg.

Everything in me tightens up.

I expect him to move it after a few seconds, for it to be a gentle pat, a hi, I see you kind of gesture. But he doesn’t. And I find myself inching my leg toward him, just as his thumb starts stroking a slow circle on top of the corduroy fabric.

“Have you tried the carrots?” Hallie asks, passing me the plate. I decide not to tell her I’ve calculated the price per carrot and that it’s exorbitant. Instead, I smile and take one, and it does, in fact, turn out to be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

After another round of drinks, Ethan snaps a finger, points it at me. “I just realized where I’ve seen you before. One of the cons.”

“Twin Cities,” I put in. “Supercon.”

“Right, right,” he says, eyeing me quizzically. “What do you do for Finn, exactly?”

“I’m working on a memoir,” Finn says. “Chandler’s ghostwriting it.”

At that, Ethan bursts out laughing, silencing every side conversation at the table. “You have a ghostwriter? What, you can’t find time to write your own book with your busy schedule?”

And now everyone’s listening to us.

“You’re working with a ghostwriter?” Cooper asks. “On... a book?”

“Plenty of people use ghostwriters,” I say. “There’s no shame in it.”

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