Page 7 of Totally Wrecked
Killian is explaining about some sound work he did at a museum in New York, Harvey is nodding, “The Metropolitan? I don’t want to name drop,” he says, “but I just got a Met Gala invite. It has a plus-one, Brooke. I can’t wait to find out what the costume theme is.” He gives me a wink.
“Oh, gosh, that’s great, that’ll be an amazing experience,” I gush at him.
The Met Ball? Yeah, I can see my sister being into that.
He looks from me to Killian. “And keep this on the DL, but I got some other big news this week—I’m going to be hosting the Oscars next year!”
The ‘wow’ that comes out of my mouth is genuine. I only know about Harvey Bannister from watching the TV show my sister is on, I had no idea he’s actually that big of a deal.
While Harvey explains how his Oscars gig came about, I flag down the waiter and ask for refills.
“Drink, Harvey?” I ask him.
“Thanks, Brooke. I’ll have my usual,” he replies casually, then turns back to Killian. “Do let me know if you have any interest working sound for the event, I’m sure I could pull some strings.”
Shoot, what would be the usual for someone like Harvey Bannister? Martini? Brandy? I have no idea what famous TV hosts drink.
I tug on his sleeve, “Err, vodka tonic?”
He gives me a baffled look, then tells the waiting server he’d like mineral water with a twist of lime. Looking back at me he raises an eyebrow. “Vodka tonic?”
Darn, gotta think on my feet. “Haha, just joking. Have you heard about the unbelievable farmer who cleaned his pigs with vodka?” I say. “He said it was absolut hogwash…”
Killian’s lip quirks, but Harvey looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Right, my sister is not the joke telling type.
Can someone else please pick up the conversational ball while I go and hide in a corner?
Luckily Killian asks Harvey some more about the Oscars gig, so Harvey is in the middle of discussing Jimmy Kimmel style hosting versus Chris Rock when the server comes back with the drinks. He offers me and Killian our whiskeys first, before giving Harvey his water.
“You’ve started drinking whiskey, Jackson? That’s very rock and roll of you.”
“I have,” I say. “Shall we go and eat?” The sooner this night is over, the better.
“Yes, let’s do that,” says Harvey.
This time his hand doesn’t just brush against my butt; he actually cups my cheek and squeezes it while propelling me forward.
“Professional!” I hiss.
Moving through the bar and towards a small dining area, progress is slow because Harvey stops to take selfies with every single person who asks. I get pulled into most of them, and my jaw gets so sore from grinning, that I wonder if I actually cut myself on a rusty nail somewhere. This has to be tetanus. Harvey is endlessly patient with it all, and charms everyone he interacts with.
Finally making it to the dining room, I quickly take a seat, as the server fills our water glasses.
“Could we also have a bottle of house white?” I ask.
“And have you decided on food?” a server asks. “Do you need me to repeat the specials?”
I must have spaced out for a moment; jet lag, tension, the fact that I’m thousands of miles from home pretending to be basically an iron-woman lover of Harvey Bannister—it’s a lot.
“Oh, sorry, no. I’ll take the burger and fries. Well-done, with extra cheese please.” Harvey blinks and I give him a bland smile.
Killian orders the same as me, but medium rare and no cheese. Harvey opts for a poached white fish and garden salad. I mindlessly pick up a breadstick to chew on.
“Carb-loading, dear Jackson? Whatever has gotten into you?” he asks.
“My trainer recommended it,” I say, then emphasize the point with a second breadstick. “She says paleo doesn’t suit my body type.”
I’ve just decided to play this game my way. Brooke now eats carbs and drinks whiskey. ‘Actual’ Brooke will just have to deal with it.
