Page 84 of All That Glitters
Bob shook his head slowly, his expression softening with a hint of pity. “No, Tony. She didn’t. Not this time.”
“Does she know?”
Bob nodded. “Oh, she knows. The entire West Coast knows.”
Tony swallowed, as a cold feeling washed over him. The only reason he could think of for her not coming was the selfie he and Carrie had posted. Maybe it had worked too well.
Craig, standing next to him, saw the look on his face. He wrapped a beefy arm around Tony’s shoulder. “I’m thinkin’ maybe you oughta make a trip down to San Diego.”
Bob nodded in agreement, while the guard opened the cell door and let them out. “I think that’s a good idea. And you’re going to want to include flowers and plenty of groveling.”
Tony’s truck coughed and sputtered its way into a parking spot outside Debbie’s apartment complex, the engine dying with a final, wheezing groan. The drive from the L.A. jail to San Diego felt like the longest in his life, fueled by a mountain of chocolate bars and energy drinks. He tried not to think about what Bob said about groveling and flowers, since that just added to his anxiety.
This would be legendary groveling.
Tony walked up the stairs to her apartment, gas station flowers in hand, while his heart pounded a nervous rhythm against his ribs. He’d rehearsed a dozen different apologies on the freeway, but now that he was here, his mind was a complete blank. He raised his hand and knocked.
The door swung open, but it wasn’t Debbie. It was Veronica, and she was not smiling. She stood there with her arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe, her expression a perfect, frosty blend of disappointment and ‘you have ten seconds to explain yourself before I end you.’
“Hey,” Tony said, forcing a smile that felt flimsy and fake. “Is Debbie here?”
Veronica just stared at him for a long, silent moment, letting him stew in his own awkwardness. “No, Tony,” she finally said, her voice dangerously calm. “She’s not.”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Hard to say,” Veronica said, examining her fingernails with a great deal of interest. “Depends on how long it takes to buy an entirely new wardrobe suitable for strolling along the Seine.”
Tony’s brain went into record-scratch mode. “The… what now?”
Veronica looked up, her eyes narrowing. “Her trip to France, Tony. You know, for the study-abroad program she got accepted into? The one where she’ll be living in Paris for an entire semester?” She let the words hang in the air, each one a tiny, perfectly aimed dart.
Tony felt the blood drain from his face. France? Paris? A whole semester? This was the first time he’d heard about it. Bob said he needed to grovel, but he didn’t say anything about needing a passport and a plane ticket to do it.
“I didn’t know,” he stammered.
“No,” Veronica agreed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I don’t suppose you did. You’ve been a little busy.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and then held it up. It was the picture. The kiss. Tony winced.
“I can explain all of that, but I’ve gotta do it in person. Hopefully, with better flowers and a prepared speech, not something I ad-libbed between the jail and here. Please, Veronica. Please, please, please make it happen.”
Veronica folded her arms and eyed him skeptically. “What do you want me to make happen?”
“Just get her to come to the premiere for my movie. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll wear my cell phone costume, wash her car, wash her car while wearing my cell phone costume. Anything. Just please ask her to come.”
Veronica took a deep breath. “Okay, Tony, I’ll ask her. But no promises she’ll be there.”
“Thank you!” he blurted out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, V. And will you tell her how pathetic and remorseful I looked when I came here to grovel? Like a puppy dog who misbehaved and wants to make things right.”
Veronica let out a light chuckle. “I’ll tell her.”
Chapter thirty-two
All That Glitters
It was well after dark by the time Tony’s sputtering truck pulled up to the Rif Raf Produkshuns warehouse. The shabby downtown building looked even grittier at night, but a warm, yellow light spilled from the open roll-up door, along with the sound of easy laughter and the clink of beer bottles. The sounds of life.
He killed the engine and just sat there for a moment, the humming silence of the cab amplifying the roaring dread in his head. Veronica’s face, a mask of frosty disappointment, replayed in his mind. She’s going to France. The words felt like a physical blow, an anchor in his gut pulling him down. Finally, with a weary sigh, he pushed the truck door open and walked into the cavernous space.
The whole gang was there, a chaotic but cheerful bunch gathered around a makeshift poker table set up on oil drums. Roy was arguing passionately about whether a flush beats a straight, Carl was laughing so hard he was crying, and in themiddle of it all, sitting on an overturned crate with a beer in her hand, was Carrie.
