Page 29 of The Charm Offensive
“That seems like a low bar. I thought you were a hopeless romantic.”
“I am. When it comes to other people’s romances.”
The car goes quiet for a minute as the driver pulls onto the winding road that leads to theEver Aftercastle. Dev drops his eyes back down to Charlie’s pale fingers, still sprawled out on Dev’s knee. Charlie isn’t sure if he moves his hand first, or if Dev pulls back his knee first. All he knows is they suddenly aren’t touching anymore. “Enough feeling sorry for myself,” Dev announces. His face is all mischievous shadows, that crooked, amused smile. “You know what we should do tonight?”
Charlie’s mouth goes dry. “Um… what?”
“Practice date. But with bourbon.”
As soon as they get back to the guesthouse, Dev heads straight for the cupboard above the refrigerator and stands on his tiptoes to reach for the bottle of bourbon he’s stashed in the back. Charlie watches his white T-shirt ride up and his cargo shorts strain against his backside as he pulls the bottle down.
“Sit down,” Dev says, his back still to Charlie. “It makes me nervous when you hover.”
Charlie obediently shrugs out of his blazer, loosens his tie, and sits on one of the stools at the counter. Dev pushes a glass into his hands, and the first sip burns the whole way down, cutting a path of fire through his body.
Dev leans back against the adjacent counter, and the silence unspools in the small distance between them. Charlie isn’t sure what happens next. It feels like they should be talking, but instead they’re just staring, and any second now, Dev is going to realize Charlie is a terrible drinking buddy.
Charlie wants to say something—to find a way to keep Dev here, lazily propped against the counter, long limbs fluid like tributaries, but the longer the silence stretches, the more his anxiety mounts, and the harder it becomes to fill it, until Charlie blurts again, “Tell me about how you got into reality television.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you wanted me to practice asking personal questions,” he says in a rush. “We can just get drunk in awkward silence if you’d prefer.”
Dev’s mouth falls open. “Wow.A little bit of hard alcohol, and you’re already sassing me. I should’ve gotten you drunk a long time ago.”
The conversation hiccups for some reason, and they both take another sip. “I just loved movies and television as a kid,” Dev starts. “I’m an only child and my parents were both college professors who worked a lot, so I was practically raised on TV. When I was, like, seven or eight, I started writing scripts. My parents are indulgent, so they bought me a camera and editing equipment, sent me to film camp every summer, droveme thirty minutes to east Raleigh every day so I could go to art school.”
Dev smiles, but it’s not his usual amused grin, twisting the corner of his mouth. This smile is larger and fuller. Realer, maybe, causing ripples on either side of his lips, a dozen parabolas stretching up to his ears. “My parents used to host these premieres every time I finished making a movie, and I don’t know.… Writing for movies and television is all I ever wanted to do.”
“So you decided to work in unscripted television?”
Dev glares, but it doesn’t have any bite. “Yeah, I mean, I love this show, and I lucked into an internship with the network right out of USC. The experience I’ve gained these past six years has been incalculable.”
Charlie senses an ellipsis. Dev’s limbs are restless, fluttering at his sides the way they do when he’s got something to say. “But…?”
Dev reaches for the bottle to top off their glasses. “Butsure. Yeah. Someday I would love to write. I have a script, like everyone living in LA, but it’s a queer rom com that takes place on the set of a Bollywood movie—kind of like whatJane the Virgindid for telenovelas—so the entire cast is Desi, which is not something studios are seeking out right now. Which obviously sucks, because there aren’t exactly a lot of American movies where people look like me.” Dev gestures from his wide shoulders down to the sharp, narrow points of his hips. “Maureen said she would help me get the script to an agent, but she’s busy.”
Charlie takes another long sip of bourbon, lets it warm him from the inside out. “Can I read it?”
“Read what?”
“Your script.”
Dev pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Why would you want to read it?”
“Because you wrote it.”
Dev adjusts his glasses again, and Charlie realizes it’s a nervous gesture. Dev isnervous. Dev, who is always so confident, so charming, soextroverted, is nervous at the thought of letting Charlie read his work.
“I don’t have a printed copy of the script.”
“I can read things digitally.”
Dev squirms. “It’s… it’s super personal. The script is a lot ofme. It’s, like,all of me.I put all of myself into it, and if you hated it, it would be like…”
Charlie isn’t sure what to do with the knowledge that Dev Deshpande cares what he thinks of him. “I won’t hate it.”
“Okay.” Dev nods once, twice, seven times, shaking loose his nerves. “Yeah, okay. Fine, I guess you can read it.”
