Where You Are
“Yeah, I know the bassist and the drummer—they were classmates of mine at Columbia. Cool guys.”
Her mouth drops. “Get out.”
“Yeah. They’re supposed to do Unplugged later in the summer, I think. I could probably get you into the taping, if you’re going to be in New York.” Emma’s hand slips into mine and she pulls it onto her lap. I squeeze her hand and she squeezes back.
Emily blinks, stunned. I would guess she doesn’t stun easily. Or often. “Uh, yeah, that would be great.”
Derek clears his throat to hide a laugh. “So you went to Columbia, man?” he asks. I nod. “Theatre, right?”
“No. Literature.” I expect him to react like Reid: Ah, and nothing else to say. But no, he plans to study English at CSU Long Beach, where Emily plans to major in anthropology. When we start to discuss literary theory and writing programs the way some guys discuss sports stats, the girls mock our academic jargon, but they grin at each other, covertly.
And just like that, I’m in.
Chapter 29
REID
The last expression I expect to see on Emma’s face Monday afternoon is joy.
After makeup does their damage, we wait backstage to be called onto the Conan set. At first, I think she’s faking happy to get through the interview. Then I realize it’s legit. Four days ago, I showed Emma a photo that should have devastated her, and wrecked any would-be relationship she’d begun with Graham. Instead, she looks like sunshine.
“This is an unexpected transformation.” I smile tightly into her glowing face. The green room sofa is small and our knees touch, lightly. She doesn’t seem to notice. There’s no doubt in my mind that her current state of mind has nothing to do with me.
“You were right about that picture.”
“Oh?”
“They fell asleep next to each other, but nothing else happened. You must have been correct about her playing mind games with you or whatever, because it looks like you’re the only one she sent it to.”
So Graham didn’t own up, even after that photo—and he managed to convince her that nothing happened? I’m in awe. The guy has bigger cojones than I thought. I consider the two possibilities: either he intends to string them both along… or he considers Brooke a one-time hookup—a mistake that he doesn’t intend to repeat.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Emma says.
Doubtful. “What am I thinking?”
“That he’s lying to me. But I know he’s not.”
Unbelievable. Practically everything I did last fall earned Emma’s distrust, but this she’s willing to overlook? “So even after a compromising—some might say incriminating—photo of him in bed with Brooke, you aren’t worried that he might be cheating. I gotta hand it to the guy—he’s a god, if he can get away with that one.”
She sighs. “Not every guy is a player, Reid.”
“Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
I look steadily back at her, and don’t ask what other way she could possibly mean it. The possible responses are a jumble of pithy and serious and harsh and flirtatious, and in the end nothing works so I say nothing. After a few seconds, she looks away.
A set assistant pops in to tell us we have five minutes. We can’t go out there like this—awkward and avoiding eye contact. Intending to make small talk and bring us back to center, I ask what she did over the weekend.
“I hung out with Emily. And, um, Graham was in Sacramento Saturday and Sunday.”
“Ah.” The hell? My brain is whirring with the reasons why Graham would travel cross-country to make sure of her. I suspect Brooke is unaware of this little development.
“We saw a movie Saturday night, and they played the trailer for School Pride. I know it’s routine for you, but watching myself on that huge screen felt so strange. The movie looks pretty good, though.”
“You sound surprised.”
She laughs. “I guess I am, a little. The last time a Jane Austen novel was modernized well on film was Clueless.”
I smirk at her. “Book snob.”
She smirks back. “Guilty as charged.”
Before I can wrap my brain any further around Graham in Sacramento, the door opens and the set assistant reappears. “You guys are on.”
Conan goes well—the combination of the comedic venue and the fact that it’s our last interview help make it the best one we’ve done. When asked about the stories I ad-libbed on Ellen, I embellish them with help from Emma, who offers to let Conan feel the babies kick. The audience thinks we’re hilarious. I introduce a couple of clips from the movie—one of which includes a scorching kiss between Emma and me that gets everyone hot and bothered, and we’re out.
Before we part, I give Emma a swift hug and brush a kiss on her cheek—because the side of her face is what she offers when I lean towards her. Then she’s in a limo to the airport and I’m in my car, dialing Brooke’s cell.
“Are you aware that Graham was in Sacramento this weekend?”
“What?”
“I’ll take that as a no. He’s obviously playing both of you. Emma showed up to the Conan taping happy as shit. She was blissed out, and completely convinced that nothing happened between you guys. He’s more like me than I gave him credit for.”
“He’s nothing like you.” Her tone lashes me.
“Jesus, Brooke, seriously? He’s got you snowed, too? Or is he planning to screw you on the side—with your blessing—while he keeps Emma for a public relationship—”