Page 97 of Kiss My Glass
“You are?” I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head. “Seriously? You’d leave San Diego?”
Her amazing blue eyes are clear and sincere. “I don’t want a long-distance romance,” she says. “And I think I can get a job there pretty easily. But, if it’s okay with you”—the slight hesitation is there again—“I’d like to set a deadline of a year. Because I think what I really want is to come back here. Come back home.”
I can’t stop staring at her, so I have no idea how my parents are reacting to all this.
“What about the TV show?” I have to ask. If we were in a room instead of outdoors, this would be the elephant.
She shrugs likes she’s annoyed with herself. “I just got all hung up thinking about what the trolls will say. You know, about your chubby, gold-digging girlfriend…”
Okay. Now I understand.
“Fuck those people, Frankie,” I say, with all the intensity I can muster. I hear my mom suck in a breath but I do not care. “Anyone who talks like that is either a moron or fucked up and evil, and whatever they are, they don’t deserve a secondof our attention. And besides, I…”
She notes my sudden pause and looks at me with deep suspicion. Which in this case is entirely justified.
“What did you do, Danny?”
“Um… I might have sent the production team a photo of you and me that I took when we went vintage clothes shopping…”
Her gaze could fry an egg. But it’s too late now.
“I … uh … thought it was a great photo of me, and you just happened to be in it. And they … uh … they loved it. Loved you and your look. Wondered if you’d consider an audition for?—”
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s what I told them you’d probably say.”
“That’s what you told them, is it?” Frankie says.
I am that egg. I can smell my extremities sizzling.
“Well, I … uh … wasn’t sure, but…”
Thank the lord, the corner of her mouth is twitching. Of course, she might be about to go for my jugular, but I really hope she’s finding this funny.
“You’re impossible,” she says. “Absolutely impossible.”
Dad clears his throat. Fair enough. He and Mom have been shut out of this conversation.
“May I ask?” Dad begins. “What is this TV show you’re talking about?”
Here we go. I brace for battle.
“Mine,” I tell him. “I’ll be fronting a reality show about selling classic cars. It’s been picked up by Netflix.”
“Goodness, Danny!” exclaims Mom. “How wonderful!”
Dad looks as if “wonderful” is the last thing he’d call it.
“Television can be a fickle business with no guarantee of financial reward,” he says. “You might even lose money. It sounds to me like a highly risky venture, especially as you have no experience in this area at all.”
I expected this kind of response, but I still can feel my whole body getting hot and angry. I need to stay calm, breathe, and not let him get to me.
“Yes, Dad, there’s a risk,” I say. “There’s also a risk I might be hit by a bus tomorrow, or choke to death on a peanut. Nodecision in life comes without risk, and I’ve done pretty well so far not playing it too safe. I know you’ll never acknowledge that, but it’s the truth.”
Dad stares at me. Normally, his poker-face is impenetrable, but right now, I see regret, and what looks like shame. I have the urge to rub my eyes, in case I’m hallucinating.
“Danny, I invited you here to apologize,” he says. “And I’ve ended up falling immediately back into old habits. That was wrong of me.”
