Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [71]
“You quit?”
He nods. “I got a series.”
“Are you serious? Which one?” It never really crossed my mind that Adam would become a really successful actor; most of the aspiring actors I know seem to get, if anything, a small role in an indie that no one sees outside of Sundance, or like a one-line part on Without a Trace.
“The Agency.”
My mouth goes slightly agape: The Agency is Darren Star’s new dramedy about the lives of four young male real estate agents. “Are you serious?”
He nods. “It’s crazy, I know. I’m the only unknown.”
“Congratulations,” I say, leaning over to hug him. “That’s incredible.”
“Incredibly convenient, too,” he says as we disentangle, “seeing as I was getting so sick of Norm’s that I was on the verge of pouring soup on the next person who ordered it.”
I laugh but in my head I’m thinking, It figures. Just as soon as I’m sane enough to realize how adorable Adam is, he gets on a series and will now have women fighting over him like he’s the last pair of Hudson jeans at a sample sale.
Adam’s cell phone rings and he doesn’t answer it but glances at the time and seems to realize he has to be somewhere. “Damn, I have to go,” he says, looking like he doesn’t want to, “but it’s really fantastic to see you.”
I feel myself panicking. I could have had the moment we were having go on, like, forever, and yet it’s ending. I want to do something but I’m not sure what. He said he “really liked” me, I think as I sit there trying to look casual. Why did he use the past tense? When exactly do you stop “really liking” someone?
Then he says, “I have to go to New York for publicity stuff for a month or so, but can we go out when I’m back?”
I can’t help but smile. “Definitely,” I say, wondering if I should try to pin him down to a specific date. I had a roommate once who always said it was good to nail guys down to a time and place if you really liked them. Girls are allowed to be aggressive now, she’d say. This isn’t the fifties. But she also terrified most every man she came into contact with and stayed in on weekend nights so she could read the dictionary. “Have a great trip,” I finally say.
“I will,” he says, then leans down to give me a kiss on the cheek and adds, “I’ll talk to you soon.” As I watch him walk away, I wish that I had a time machine that could make it be “a month or so” already. Just then, Adam turns around and walks back to me. “How much do you know about puppies?” he asks.
I think about the dogs we had when I was growing up and then about Tiger. “Some,” I say weakly.
“Well, I got one—a golden retriever—and while she’s basically the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, I don’t know entirely how to handle her. I’ve only had her a week and she’s already chewed through almost my entire sneaker collection. And she runs in circles around my apartment, like she’s just inhaled helium or something.”
I laugh. “Inhaled helium?” I ask.
“Weird imagery for a dog, I realize,” he says. “Point is, right now she’s sitting in my apartment, potentially tearing the entire thing to shreds, and I could definitely use a wise woman’s help in taming him.”
I stand up. “Should we take two cars or one?” I ask.
“One,” he says, smiling. “You’re fun to drive.”
“If it hadn’t been for cocaine, I probably would have been a practicing, miserable alcoholic my whole life,” I say, as Adam drives us on the 10. I see a smile creep onto his face as he switches lanes, and I playfully punch him. “Glad you’re so amused by my sad tale of addiction and recovery.”
His tentative smile breaks into a mammoth grin. “I’m not amused. Just happy.”
I smile and ask, “And what are you so happy about?”
He gestures from me back to him. “This. You. The way you talk. All of it. If I could bottle your voice, pheromones, and words, I’d be a rich man.”
I laugh. I’m about to give him a hard time for being such a cheeseball, but instead I just grin. I reach over and grab his right hand, placing it under my left leg, and it feels like the most natural gesture in the world. “I feel lucky right now,” I say. Adam smiles as he exits