Page 21 of For You, Sir

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I wish I knew more about wine. Then maybe I could say something more about its, uhh,notes.”

Jun laughed, a sweet musical sound. “If you like it, that’s all that matters. You don’t have to be a cork dork to enjoy fine wine.”

“Acork dork?”I laughed, thrilled to hear Jun speak so informally. I expected he’d use a more predictable term like “wine snob” if he was still on the clock.

“Did Olsen have a Sphynx because she was allergic to normal cats?”

Jun shook his head. “They’re not actually hypoallergenic, because of their saliva and skin oils. But they’re wonderfully friendly, and it’s nice that they don’t shed.”

“What’s petting one feel like?” I was morbidly curious.

He chuckled. “Kind of like a velvety hot water bottle.”

Gross.But Jun lit up whenever he talked about the cat, so I asked him more. I learned about Mr. Cuddle’s favorite treats, how snuggly he was(lucky bastard), and how he needed a monthly bath to keep his skin oils in check (double gross). Jun was more animated than I’d ever seen him, and it was a pleasure to listen to him ramble.

“If you’re ever in the neighborhood, you can pet him, if you want,” Jun said.

Was he inviting me over? My heart leapt, then sank. I grimaced a smile. “Would if I could.”Unfortunately, that would require leaving the house.

Jun dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “If you don’t mind me asking, Sir…”

“Why don’t I ever go out?”

He nodded.

I sighed and prodded a corkscrew noodle with my fork. “As long as I’m home with my curtains drawn, I feel okay,” I said. “I’m just a regular guy, not the shitty movies I make. As soon as I leave the house, I see myself through other people’s eyes. How everyone’s disappointed in me.”

Jun took a bite of pasta. His eyebrows drew together slightly. “That’s how you think people see you?”

I huffed a bitter laugh. “Iknowit is!”

Jun went silent. “Not everyone’s like that,” he said finally.

“That’s a nice thought.” I scoffed and took a sip of wine. “You’d be surprised what strangers feel free to scream at me. Online and on the street.” And Jun didn’t know how it felt to have paparazzi lurking in the bushes, waiting to take an unflattering picture of a pimple, a stained shirt, a bloated belly.

“Idon’t see you that way,” Jun said. “I like your movies.”

I felt naked when he mentioned my work, and not in a good way. I believed in separating the art from the artist, but some people couldn’t help psychoanalyzing moviemakers based on their films. What did Jun think he knew about me? Did he judge me based on what he’d seen? “I guess you never read the script for the ill-fated sequel.”

“I haven’t,” he said. “You don’t seem proud of it.”

I blinked at him, impressed. If the circumstances were reversed, I probably would have been nosy and read it. “Yeah. I’m not.”

Jun gave a half-shrug. “It was just an early draft, wasn’t it? Not everyone’s read it or has a negative opinion of it. What with all the fan mail in your inbox…”

I ran a hand down my face. Dammit. He’d seen my inbox, and now I had, too. I had more supporters than I’d expected to find in there. As well as plenty of people like my sister, who didn’t give a shit about my movies one way or the other. I’d resigned myself to give up moviemaking, and now Jun was ripping the scab off my wound.

“I know the writing is important to you, Sir. Maybe you could give it another try?”

I already did, and it went exactly as I’d expected.“Leave it, Jun,” I said with an edge of warning. “I’m done.”

“If I may, Sir. This black-or-white way of thinking…” He cleared his throat. “Have you, ehm, considered resuming your medications?”

The warm feelings growing inside me froze over. God damn it! It was bad enough he got me feeling shitty about my inability to write. Pestering me over my meds felt even more intrusive.

I drowned my resentment in a gulp of wine. “No. Thank you, Jun,” I said icily.

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