Page 98 of All That Glitters

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Carrie reached under the table and gave Tony’s hand a firm squeeze. He looked at her, his eyes wide with panic. She gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of her head and a look that said everything. I’ve got this. Go.

Tony cleared his throat, interrupting the flow of creative genius. “Mr. Fisher. I’m so sorry. Something urgent’s happening in San Diego that I need to stop before it’s too late. I’m so sorry.”

Morgan and Eli both looked at him, surprised by the sudden, frantic energy.

“But I am one hundred percent committed to this project,” Tony rushed to say, his gaze flicking between Morgan and Carrie. “This story is everything to us. I’ll be back tonight, first thing in the morning, whenever you need me. I just… I have to go. Right now.”

Morgan, a man who had seen every possible kind of Hollywood drama, looked at the sheer panic on Tony’s face. He looked at Carrie, who gave him a small, supportive nod. He understood. This wasn’t a negotiation tactic; this was life happening.

Morgan smiled, with a warm, fatherly expression. “You run along, son,” he said kindly. “Handle your business. We’ll be here. I look forward to working with you on this.”

Relief, so potent it was dizzying, washed over Tony. He looked at Carrie, his eyes full of a gratitude he couldn’t put into words.

She just smiled and gave him a subtle little ‘shoo’ gesture with her hand. Go get your gold.

“Thank you,” Tony said to the table, the words feeling inadequate. “Thank you.”

He pushed his chair back and raced off the patio, weaving through the tables of stunned power-lunchers, a man with his priorities suddenly in perfect, crystal-clear alignment.

Carrie watched him go, with a proud, fond smile on her face. She then turned back to Morgan and Eli, her expression shifting, becoming all focus and confidence. The movie star was back, but this time, it was different. This time, it was real.

“Now,” she said, leaning forward. “Let’s talk about the second act.”

Debby and Veronica’s apartment was strangely empty. It wasn’t just the absence of Debbie’s clothes, it was a silence, a stillness that had settled into the corners of the room, hollowing it out.

The girls lugged Debbie’s suitcases over to the front door, dropping them with a thud. Debbie looked around the room, her gaze lingering on the armchair she’d spent so many evenings on. The ghosts of late-night conversations and shared pizzas seemed to hover in the air.

“Guess that’s everything,” she said, her voice sounding small in the suddenly cavernous space.

Veronica looked around too, nodding slowly. The usual energy of the place felt like it had already packed up and left with Debbie’s belongings. “I just realized how quiet this place is gonna be with you gone.”

“You’ll finally have the bathroom all to yourself,” Debbie offered weakly.

“Yeah,” Veronica agreed, but there was no enthusiasm in her voice. “No more fighting over the hairdryer.”

A sad smile touched Debbie’s lips. “No gum to pull out of your hair.”

Veronica managed a small laugh. “Or trash cans to hide in.”

“Or emergency fire extinguisher practice at 3 AM.”

“That was one time,” Debbie protested, but she was smiling now too. “And that candle was possessed.”

They both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like nothing was changing. But then Debbie’s gaze fell on her passport and plane ticket sitting on the now-bare coffee table, and reality came rushing back.

“I’m really doing this,” she said softly, a mixture of excitement and terror in her voice.

Veronica nodded. “You really are.” She crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne she’d been hiding. “Which is why I got this. We need a proper send-off.”

“Champagne at 4 in the afternoon?” Debbie eyed her curiously. “Who are you, and what have you done with my responsible roommate?”

“Hey, it’s midnight in Paris,” Veronica said, struggling with the cork. “You’d better get used to different time zones.”

The cork popped with a satisfying thunk, narrowly missing the last unbroken lamp in the apartment. Veronica poured the bubbly liquid into two mismatched coffee mugs.

“To Paris,” Veronica said, raising her mug. “And to my best friend, who’s about to have the adventure of a lifetime.”

“To Paris,” Debbie echoed, clinking her mug against Veronica’s. “And to the best roommate anyone could ask for, who always knew when to push me out of my comfort zone.”