Page 73 of All That Glitters
“Isn’t that the twelfth one in the series?” Debbie asked.
“Fourteenth,” Jeff corrected. “They did a prequel and that spinoff with the guy’s cousin.”
Again, the audience turned, a chorus of angry shushes aimed in their direction.
“I was being quiet!” Jeff protested to no one in particular.
Just then, a figure squeezed down their row, blocking the screen. It was Matt. He plopped down in the empty seat on the other side of Debbie and shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
“What’d I miss?” he asked, his mouth full.
Now the entire section turned to shush Matt. Jeff and Debbie both looked over at him in disbelief. Matt just looked at Debbie and offered her the bucket.
“Want some popcorn? I got extra butter. And I found these candy corns in my jacket pocket.” He held up a linty, squashed handful of orange, yellow, and white candies. “I think they’re from last Halloween, but candy corn doesn’t go bad, right? It’s already bad to begin with.”
“What are you even doing here?” Debbie hissed, sinking lower in her seat.
“Dude,” Jeff hissed. “It’s not your turn. You already had your turn. Which was supposed to be my turn. We had verbal confirmation.”
“Which you wrecked by stealing my tires,” Matt countered. “The date was compromised. So I get a do-over. It’s in the friend-code bylaws.”
“What bylaws?” Jeff demanded. “You just made that up!”
“Section four, paragraph three,” Matt said confidently. “Right after the section about dibs on the last beer.”
A man in the row in front of them turned around completely. “You guys wanna shut up?”
“Sorry,” Debbie whispered to the man, then turned to her companions. “Let’s just talk about it later,” she pleaded, wishing the ground would swallow her whole. At this rate, Tony would see the selfies and just feel sorry for her.
Jeff and Matt slumped back in their seats, defeated. A beat passed. Then, simultaneously, they both leaned forward to shoot each other a defiant frown before leaning back again. Jeff slowly slid his arm along the back of the seat behind Debbie. At the exact same moment, Matt did the same from the other side. Their hands met on each other’s shoulders. They both looked over, saw they were touching, and yanked their arms back as if they’d been electrocuted.
Tony knocked on Carrie’s door, a fresh six-pack of beer in one hand and a stack of notebooks in the other. He heard the familiar yip-yapping of Buster, but this time, he also heard a muffled, “Crap, crap, just a second!” from inside.
The door flew open. Carrie stood there, looking flustered. She was wearing a pair of worn gray sweatpants, an oversized, faded Ramones t-shirt, and cheap flip-flops. Her famous blonde hair was pulled back into a messy, haphazard ponytail, and her face was completely bare of makeup. She looked like a real girl, not the B-movie goddess; still exceptionally pretty by anyone’s standards, but now in a real, approachable way.
“I am so sorry,” she said, running a hand through a loose strand of hair. “I was on the phone with Eli and completely lost track of time. I haven’t even showered.” She gestured to her outfit. “This is a disaster.”
“You look fine,” Tony said.
She ushered him in, Buster doing his usual welcome dance around Tony’s legs. “And by fine, you mean, gee, Carrie, you look like you’ve given up on life and are about to eat a whole pint of Ben & Jerry’s.”
Tony laughed.
“You do realize you’re the only person in LA I’ve ever let see me in this level of full-blown disarray,” she said.
He followed her into the living room, which was once again strewn with notebooks and script pages. “Why am I the lucky one?” he asked, popping open two beers and handing her one.
She took a long sip of her beer before answering, her expression turning serious. She hadn’t intended to start off the evening with a discussion of her insecurities, but Tony had always been open with her about his insecurities and failings, and that trust meant a lot to her.
“Honestly, because I don’t think it matters to you if I’m not runway perfect,” she said. “I mean, I know you’re a guy, and I seethe way guys look at me when I bring my A-game. It’s kind of like my superpower and curse, all rolled up in one blonde package. But you didn’t look at me the way most guys in the industry do, even when I showed up at your motel looking like Barbie on the prowl.”
“Look at you what way?” he asked.
She thought about it for a moment, trying to find the right word to describe it. “Hungrily,” she finally said. “Like I was a piece of meat they wanted to devour. You were shy and blushing, and it made me feel the way I did in high school before things got so crazy. And you talked to me, too, like I was an actual person with a brain. And when I asked you if you thought the movie was going to be good, you didn’t lie and tell me what you thought I wanted to hear. You told me what you really thought, and about your own insecurities. Guys don’t do that with girls like me, and it really meant a lot.”
“Why do you think your looks are a curse?” he asked.
“Because they are a lot of the time,” she said. “Especially when I want to talk about fun and creative things.” She looked down at her hands for a moment before taking a small breath. “The way I look can get me in doors and meetings, but nobody wants to hear my thoughts about movie ideas. You’re the first person who’s ever wanted to talk to me about developing movie ideas, and who’s spending time with me doing that. And I know it’s not because you’re trying to get me into bed, because I gave you every opportunity to do that the night at the motel. You’re just this really legit nice guy, and I’m glad I get to call you my friend.”
