“If you say ‘falafel,’ I’m not going to give you even a single bite of that tiramisu.”
“Hey, that’s mean. What are you, a physiotherapist?” He shudders and his hand comes up to rub his wrist unconsciously.
“Wow, that’s random,” I mumble around a mouthful of salad.
“You’ve obviously not had the pleasure of meeting the resident torture expert on the staff here,” his nose crinkling as he says it.
“I mean, who decides, ‘you know what? I’d like to cause mortal pain to people all day, every day, and get paid for it.'”
“Well, it’s not what I would’ve chosen, but hey, guess some people have a knack for it.”
“What would you have chosen, I mean, forgive me, but surely you didn’t spend your childhood thinking, you know what? I want to work in a takeout place my whole life.”
“Hardly. No, I moved to L. A. for a very specific reason.”
“Let me guess. Celeb dog walking?”
I guffaw and almost spit out my food. I take a slow drink from the water glass before I continue. “No, I moved here to… don’t laugh, I wanted to get a record deal.”
“Playing the uke?”
“I said, don’t laugh.”
“Hey, Noemie, look at me. Does it look like I’m laughing?”
He touches my arm and it’s impossible not to look at him. He isn’t laughing. If anything, he looks like he believes I’m being completely serious.
“Anyway, it was a pipe dream. I got laughed out of a few studios and agents’ offices and I realized how ridiculous I’d been. I mean, I came from a small town in Maine. I didn’t know anything about the music industry, I didn’t know what was and wasn’t selling or was popular. I just knew that I like playing my music and listening to it, and I thought, hey maybe there would be people out there who would too. It didn’t have to be hundreds of millions, but a few. And I would be okay with playing to those few.”
I take a long breath and realize I’d just blurted out feelings I hadn’t thought about in years. It sounds funny to hear me talk about dreams I’d had three or four years ago. A lifetime ago now.
“So, why did you stay?” he asks. Like he’s reading my mind.
I just shrug, putting my fork down.
“I don’t know. Because it’s easier just to stay than go home a failure, I guess.”
“Or is it because you still had a part of you that still dreamt?”
“I… huh. If you’d asked me six months ago, hell, six days ago, I would’ve told you, no, not a chance. but now… now that I’ve been playing again the last few days, I guess. I guess, yes, the dream never really went away.”
“It shouldn’t. You are going to be a superstar one day, Noemie. Mark my words. You can write it down and I will sign it for you, that I make that prediction. I mean, my signature will be a handprint cos, you know,” he holds up his hand, and it hands limply.
I reach out and take it, holding it between mine. It’s warm, almost hot. He has long, thin fingers, large knuckles and cleanly clipped fingernails. Artistic hand features. I turn it over and smooth my palm over his, running my fingertips over the lines, reading his fate. Then I bring it to my mouth and lay a kiss on his palm.
“Ah, the kiss of healing,” he says and smiles at me.
“You’re going to be okay.”
He takes a deep breath. “How do you know?”
“The same way you know I’m going to be a musical star.”
“No, I have evidence. I’ve heard you play.”
“I have evidence as well. I see how strong you are. You complain like a little bitch. But you’re strong. You’re going to make it through this.” I nod to emphasize my point.
“Thank you. The little bitch inside me is offended, but only because she wants you to be right.”
“So, you know what my unfulfilled dream is? What’s yours?”
“As of now, it’s the same as yours.”
“You want to be a uke star?”
“No, I want to see you become one. And I promise you, I’m going to do everything I can to make it happen.”
“What can you do? Buy up all my albums?” I poke my tongue out at him.
“No, I won’t need to, I’ll be fighting everyone else off to get one.”
I clutch my chest, like I’ve been hit by an arrow at his smooth line. “Just how many women’s hearts have you broken with that silver tongue of yours?”
“Hah, none that counted.”
“I bet they counted.”
“I never led anyone to believe anything that wasn’t true. They may have believed it was going to be truer for longer than they thought…” He gives me a wink and I feel both envy and pity for the women who have been lucky enough to have had their hearts broken by him.
“Playboy.”
“I’m only about 70% guilty of that.”
“Honestly though, I never told any woman I loved her, I never told her I’d be exclusive only to her. I may have told her she had eyes that sparkled like the moon. But I meant it, at least in that moment. Not my fault the next morning the sun dims the moonlight.”
“You are terrible.”
The grin he flashes me tells me he has no regrets. And I can’t blame him. If I looked like him, I’d probably want to have some fun as well, and as someone who had been flashed that smile and fed those lines, I don’t blame the women for falling for it either.
The question is do I allow myself to fall for them now? And do I even have a choice.
We spend the next half an hour devouring the food and arguing over who is the best Batman. The sexual tension of the lip licking and the seriousness of the dreams spilling conversation is temporarily over, and I feel more comfortable with him than I do with almost everyone else in my life.
Comfortable, with a side of complete terror of what’s happening between us.
Our spoons battle for the last piece of the decadent tiramisu, which I win, and we both fall back against the couch, clutching our stomachs.
“Oh my god. That was amazing.”
“Yeah, Brad is a lucky, and probably very soon to be, fat man.”
“Is there any way I can get her to make me lunch every day?”
“Actually, she’d be happy to. She’s great. She has a little boy, Ben, who is going to grow up to be president of the world, or a pineapple. He hasn’t decided which just yet,” Jez tells me, a chuckle on his lips.