Haze (27 page)

"Well, I did like the actual writing," I said, thinking back to how great it felt to put pen to paper and wind up with strange ideas sometimes. "Did you like your writing process?"

"Of course," he said. "I love my craft. It doesn't mean I like the final result years later, however. And you should write more if you like writing. You're probably really good, especially with how funny you are."

His overly optimistic praise of my ability made me rise to
his defense
, dodging the compliment. "Your albums are probably great. And they actually affected people. No one ever read what I wrote. It's not a fair comparison."

Jack straightened both his silverware and his posture. "We'll listen sometime, I promise. A listening party, I guess."

"Will there be booze?"

"Of course!" Jack lightly stroked my hand that was sitting on the table. Honestly, I hadn't even realized it was there. His smooth touch felt good, so real. "And you
will
write more." I nodded to acknowledge him.

Although we were lightly dancing around that dark secret of his, I didn't sense any misery or regret like I had last time.

Circumstances were different. No one had just knocked me onto the floor in a coffee shop.

Chicken
tikka masala interrupted our remaining snippets of conversation. "This is way too good," I said after my first bite. We had both gotten the same thing since Jack swore by it. And I was thrilled when he ordered for me. It felt so chivalrous.

She will also have the Chicken
tikka masala.

It was so simple, but I couldn't deny how good it made me feel. No one had ever ordered for me before. I blushed a little after he did it.

Jack laughed at me as I struggled with the spiciness. I had gotten mine medium, while he had requested spicy.

"It's more than I'm used to," I said in my defense.

"A little heat never hurt anyone. Good for your immune system."

"So is
sex
," I said matter-of-factly. "I just read an article the other day."

"Well, cold season is coming up here, so we'd probably better act preemptively."

Dammit.
I wished he could take me right then and there, right on that table after we shoved all the platters and everything on the floor like they did in the movies, our raw urges dictating such destruction and chaos. No one would stop us either.

It was just a fantasy.

Right about the time we finished stuffing our faces—we ate a
lot
, especially given the hummus snack we had on the plane—Jack's phone buzzed. "All right, we need to get going, little lady. We've got a special meeting tonight."

"Is
this
the surprise?" I asked. "The meeting?"

"Yep. We're going out for
drinks
." He said it so confidently, his features stone-cold and serious. The way he said it made me giggle.

"The surprise is a
bar
? Wow, Jack, you just keep blowing my mind!" My sarcasm was borderline cruel.

He flagged down the waiter and got the check, giving up his credit card without even seeing the bill. "There's more to it." He nibbled his own lip slowly, something I had noticed him doing from time to time. It was quite cute, actually.

The bill paid—and the waiter tipped handsomely, of course—we made our way back to the freshly-arrived limo and headed to a place called Bar 1200, part of yet another extravagant hotel on Sunset Boulevard. I didn't know what to expect, other than a surprise, whatever that meant.

When we got inside, it was busy, but not so busy that you couldn't hear anything. Jack punched another text into his phone and then ordered us a couple of Irish coffees to make up for our missed opportunity at the Indian restaurant.

We stood by the bar for a couple of minutes, and I just watched the crowd as if it were the rumbling cars in the subway. Everything was moving so fast, people coming and going and having a great time along the way. It was hypnotic. They were much happier here than in the subway, that was for sure.

"Let's go," Jack said as he smoothly wrapped his arm around my back and coaxed me in his desired direction.

I carefully walked with him toward a quieter corner of the bar, one with a couple of empty tables that had apparently been ignored by the numerous patrons. There was a woman sitting at one of the tables by herself, clad in sunglasses and a hoodie. We sat down at the table next to her.

"Okay, Effie, are you ready?" Jack asked.

I looked all around the restaurant, searching for whatever was about to surprise me; I could find nothing out of the ordinary. Was something about to mysteriously drop from the ceiling? I looked up, but couldn't find any incriminating evidence there either.

"I guess," I said. "Am I going to have a heart attack? I have insurance. Should I get out my insurance card?"

"Maybe." He turned toward the woman at the empty table, her expression distant and apathetic from what I could see behind the sunglasses. She started to look familiar the second I actually looked at her. "Ma'am?" he asked. "It's kind of dark in here, why are you wearing those?"

She pulled off the glasses, and my jaw-dropped—it was
none other than
Stacy Levons
. The combination of her ponytail and large glasses totally threw me off since I was used to seeing her made up in red carpet photos and movies. In my defense, the bar wasn't that bright either. Even without all of the make-up, she looked beyond gorgeous.

They stood up together and shared a brief hug before Jack turned and introduced us. "Stacy, this is Effie. Effie, this is Stacy."

Dammit, Jack
, I thought.
Of course I already know who she is!

"Effie, it's cool to meet you." I took her hand and shook it, over-thinking the gesture and worrying that I had shaken her hand
either too firmly or not firmly enough. They had talked about handshakes so much in my high school career courses that I had grown deathly afraid of them most of the time.

"Stacy, hi," I said awkwardly, desperately trying to sound cool and composed. When I realized this wasn't just a chance encounter and Jack was the one that made it happen, my guard fell. It all happened so fast. "You're actually my favorite actor," I admitted nervously. "I didn't know this was going to happen at all."

"Thanks, Effie," she said sincerely. My heart fluttered a little.

The thing was, although things were going incredibly with Jack, there was just one, glaring problem with everything—I'd get used to being on earth with him, and then he'd do some outlandish, dazzling thing like this and make me forget everything. I didn't even know how to respond. Stacy was just a normal person, and I knew I needed to treat her like that—but I wasn't kidding at all when I said she was my favorite actor.

I had spent years watching her on screen, loving her characters and her artistic, driven approach to filmmaking. She had gone beyond acting and had even directing credits to her name before turning thirty. In many ways, she was very similar to Jack. They had broken up, and maybe
that
was the reason why. Could two people that intense co-exist without problems, without constant antagonism?

Aside from our first date, I had never really mentioned her to Jack again. His memory was almost inhumanly good. Now I was really wishing that I had asked him for more information up front.

"What do you do, Effie? How'd you meet Jack?"

I cleared my throat and took a sip of that very rich drink. "I work at MCI Music Group in New York. Just accounting stuff. Nothing special."

"I came in for a meeting," Jack said, "and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She almost made me sign with them right then and there."

"Shut up, Jack," Stacy said playfully. "Unless the deal was perfect, you'd never just
sign with anyone
."

"Yeah, you're right." He gave her a wry smile, an admission of defeat.

Oh, yeah, the deal.
I had forgotten about it, but this was not the time or place to start remembering. The alcohol came to my rescue almost instantaneously, smoothing my troubles away and bringing me back to the very pressing matter at hand.

"Well, whatever. I don't really know these things," I said honestly.

"No, no. That's cool, Effie. I was actually an accounting major before I dropped out to go to acting school." She smiled and took a sip of what looked like a dry martini, apparently digging into her memories.

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I don't think I was cut out for it." She was being so humble and honest, not something I was used to. Stacy was always great and down-to-earth in her interviews, but this was another level of humility. I mean, give her a script and the resources and she's literally unstoppable.

It was as if I
wanted
her to be so far above me since that's what my phony assumption was. There was something so surreal about having a basic conversation with a person who, without these very unique circumstances, wouldn't have ever been accessible to you. Like a book on the very top shelf—when there's no ladder to get up there.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom, okay? You two ladies keep this conversation rolling." Jack's constant smile had changed the tone of his voice. I didn't know what to expect while he was gone, but I would just have to roll with it and do my best.

"How do you like L.A.?" she asked politely.

"It's really cool so far," I said. "I've never been here before."

"It's a long trip from the East Coast. It's definitely worth it if you have a guide. How do you like Jack?"

The question actually really hit me off guard. I caught myself before I blurted out something stupid. "He's...
he's great." A drink had never tasted sweeter—or comforting.

"He sure is," she said. "He's so talented, too. I definitely miss him sometimes, but our break-up was for the best. Near the end, we only saw each other like once a month or less."

"Seriously?" I asked. I hadn't realized they had become so distant. The tabloids only said so much.

"He's busy and so am I." Stacy's look became distant, her eyes casually surveying the crowd. When she was satisfied, she continued. "He goes on tour, and I'm acting in films and location scouting for my next project. When you're doing that and your schedules don't line up, you spend a lot of time alone. It's even harder when you love what you do so much that you can't give it up, even for someone you really care about."

The thought was scary. Could I deal with him being gone all the time like that? I wouldn't ever want to hamper his creative output, not when he had so much to offer the world. It was so weird to be having a conversation about my boyfriend with my favorite actor. How often did that sort of thing ever happen?

Stop, Effie.

Once again, now was not a good time to do this sort of analysis, analysis that would force me to arrive at these ostensible conclusions, given my inability to really know anything. Jack and I could communicate; I knew that already. The facts in our relationship had yet to be established. We could make it work. I knew we could...

"
Stace, did Effie tell you some guy was gushing to me about
Feedback
at Gangadin?" Jack was back—which meant our private discussion had concluded. He slid into the booth beside me and put his arm around my back.

She let out an almost maniacal laugh. "Really? I know how much you love it when people talk about that one."

All I could do was grin and feel slightly out of place.
Why had I never looked into his albums?
Well, when were together, I just didn't have the time. And when I was alone or on a break, I was doing my best to
not
think about him. I guess my total incompetence regarding research
did
fit into my grander scheme, as much as it felt like, well, incompetence. Thankfully, the conversation shifted away quickly.

"Yeah." Jack smiled. "It's probably like when people talk about
The Garden
with you."

"Shut up! I needed the money at the time. Besides, it was an 'art' film, not smut."

I started laughing. "That movie wasn't bad at all, Stacy." She had done a nude scene in it, one that had polarized some critics—some of the more conservative ones found it to be trashy or distasteful—from what I had read. The movie was an effort by a self-indulgent director, and she was just doing what was asked of her. "I liked it."

"Jack, what did you
really
think about that? Me doing a nude scene?" She gave him an intense look, one that was strange but acceptable. Actually, thanks to that movie, we had
both
seen her naked, something unusual for sure.

Slowly but surely making his way toward an empty drink, he sipped and gave a casual pause. "It was right before we met. And so what? You're an actor and some actors do that. You did it for your art, whether the final picture was cheesy or not."

I started to think about what he had told me, about not telling anyone the full story about his traumatic past. I wasn't going to bring it up, either. His relationship with Stacy had been very different from any relationship I had ever been a part of.