Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [3]
“Maybe eating half a pint of ice cream before dinner wasn’t such a good idea?”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.” As my stomach churned noisily, I said, “Well, maybe that didn’t help.”
“Have a rose.” He held out the flower again. As I accepted it from him, he added, “And tell me what’s wrong.”
“Sorcerer! is closing.” I wanted to cry.
Both brows rose this time. “That’s unexpected, I take it?” When I nodded, he said, “When did you find out?”
“About two hours ago.” I had come back from yoga class, done two loads of laundry, cleaned the apartment, and was just about to step into the shower when I got the call informing me I was out of work. I’d been in a blue funk ever since.
“So . . . just like that? The show’s over?”
I nodded morosely and sat down on my couch. I gently laid the rose on my coffee table, then I took another bite of ice cream. Lopez sat down next to me and took my free hand. Then he looked down at our joined hands, frowning a little.
“Sorry,” I said. My hand was sticky. “It’s the Turtle Soup.”
“The what?”
I waggled my Ben and Jerry’s carton at him. “The ice cream. Lots of caramel.”
“Oh.” When I tried to pull my hand away, he held fast and said, “No, it’s okay.”
“In times of stress, I need ice cream,” I explained.
“Of course.” He smiled. “Give me a bite.”
I scooped some out of the carton in my lap and brought the spoon up to his mouth. His lips were full and, I knew from experience, felt lush when he kissed.
Our eyes met as I spooned caramel-laced ice cream into his mouth. When I started to pull my hand away, he held it in place so he could lick the spoon. I also knew from experience that he knew just what to do with his tongue when he kissed.
“Mmm,” he said, still looking at me.
It should have felt sexy to feed him ice cream. Normally, it would. As previously noted, I wasn’t dating him because it was the smart thing to do; I just couldn’t keep away from him. And the way he looked tonight, with his thick black hair falling over his forehead and his open collar showing off his smooth throat . . .
I sighed dispiritedly. I was just too upset to feel sexy. I was also too unkempt and dirty. Some other time, when I felt better, I’d regret that I had wasted this moment. But right now, even Lopez couldn’t stir my hormones. That’s how bad I felt.
Evidently realizing that all he’d get out of this moment was a bite of ice cream, he let me lower the spoon. “That’s pretty good. But I’m still a Cherry Garcia guy.”
“Heath Bar Crunch is my usual poison.” I sighed. “But this was all I had in the freezer when I got the call.”
Since I’m an actress, I need to watch my weight. Especially while working in Sorcerer!, where my tight costumes left a lot of skin bare (albeit covered in green body paint and glitter). So I try to limit my ice cream consumption to special occasions and dire circumstances; since life is full of both of these, I always keep a pint or two on hand, just in case.
“So does this mean you’re . . .” Lopez shrugged, not quite sure how to phrase it. “Out of work?”
I nodded. “Out of work.”
“That was fast.”
“Welcome to my world.” I ate another spoonful of the Turtle Soup.
“What happened?”
I knew that to a normal, salaried person—even to a cop, who sees everything—the sudden, unexpected shift from employment to unemployment that’s a normal part of an actor’s life looks pretty dizzying. In fact, it makes actors dizzy, too. Right now, my head was reeling.
“Well, you know, reviews haven’t been so good,” I said. Sorcerer! was a tepid musical built entirely around the (rather mediocre) magician who was the producer’s husband. After sitting through a performance, Lopez had said that only the chance to see me scamper around stage half-naked for two hours had made it a good evening. Although this sort of comment is flattering coming from my date, it’s alarming coming from an audience member. I continued, “So our houses haven’t been good.”
“Your houses aren’t good?” he repeated with a puzzled expression. “You mean, audiences don’t applaud?”
“I mean, they don’t come. Ticket sales are weak,” I clarified.