Confessions of a Bad Boy(14)

“It was the other girl, right?”

I nod grimly, and see a look of tight, restrained anger on Nate’s face. The same kind of protective aggression Kyle wears constantly, but which Nate understands when to keep in check.

“After bitching at each other for a few minutes, we started talking. She was actually pretty cool. Turns out the * had been stringing both of us along. I got so pissed, I couldn’t think. I felt like I was burning up. I managed to get through the work day, and after we wrapped around midnight, I got in my car and left. I stopped at a bar near his house, thinking I’d have a drink and then go tell him off. But the next thing I knew I was hiding outside his apartment, scrawling everything I wanted to call him on his car in lipstick.”

A smile twitches at Nate’s lips. “They said you smashed in his headlights too. And pulled off the windshield wipers. And then you tried kicking in the bumper. At some point the car alarm went off, but you didn’t seem to notice.”

I sink my head into my hands.

“Fuck. See, I don’t even remember doing that. It was such a shit day. I’d just found out I didn’t get a job doing the costumes for this indie film about a single mom who’s a kingpin in the Russian mafia –I really wanted that gig. And then those bastards at Edison turned off the electricity at my apartment while I was at work because the bill’s past due and my roommate had to pay to get it turned back on and she’s ready to kill me over that. And then Hank. It’s like absolutely everything is f*cked.”

I feel myself getting worked up again, but then Nate’s hand press itself against my shoulder comfortingly and my breathing instantly slows.

“Look, you’re obviously pushing yourself too hard. Stressing yourself out at work, where you’ve spent years steaming cop uniforms and they don’t pay you enough to even keep your lights on at home. And then your boyfriend – ex – cheating on you just tipped you over the edge. It sounds like you need a little time off, is all. Maybe evaluate where your life is at.”

I smile and look up at Nate.

“You’ve been talking to Kyle, right? You sound just like him.”

Nate looks forward through the windshield, avoiding my eyes. “Is he wrong?”

“Probably not. But it’s a little rich for my brother to be lecturing me about overworking. I don’t think he’s slept since last October. Besides, even though it drives me crazy sometimes, I love what I do.” It’s only half a lie – I do love what I do, I just don’t love the show where I’m doing it. If only I’d gotten that movie job.

Nate shrugs, finally turning the key in the ignition and driving us out into the L.A. traffic. I let my eyes lose focus as Nate revs the car, the store fronts and parking lots flying by in a blur. Soon I’ll be back at work, grinding my hopes and dreams into dust as I try to squeeze out a living long enough to get that big break that only seems to get further away.

“You wanna grab something to eat?” Nate asks. “It’s past lunch. And it sounds like you could use an Oreo milkshake.”

I grin, pleased for some reason that Nate still remembers my favorite treat. “Sure.”

In a few minutes we’re at a drive-thru, picking up our orders. Nate finds a spot, kills the engine, and we tear open the paper bags with child-like glee.

“So how’s the glamorously sleazy world of ego-management these day?” I ask, after a couple of bites.

“Same as always,” Nate says, sipping loudly from his milkshake. “The egos get bigger, and then the money does, too. Your burger’s leaking.”

I look down to see the extra mayo I ordered seeping out of the bottom of the bun, some of it already on my jeans.

“Shit! Gimme more napkins!”

Nate quickly fishes around in the bags while I slam open his glove compartment. Eventually he hands them to me and I manage to stop the flow before spattering my jeans so much they look like a nineties fashion statement.

“Um…Nate?” I say slowly.

“Mm?” he mumbles, his mouth full.

“I think there’s a pair of women’s lingerie in your glovebox.”

Nate swallows, smiles, and leans over. He picks them out and throws them in the paper bag with the dirty napkins. I raise an eyebrow, and look back at the glovebox.

“What the f*ck? Are you selling condoms as a side-business? Why are there so many in here?”

“Because I’m too young to be paying multiple child support.”

I laugh like it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in awhile, which it is, but when I recover I just stare at him, open-mouthed, while he takes another gigantic bite of his quarter-pounder.

“Are you really getting that much action?” I ask, equal parts awed and repulsed.

Nate thinks as he chews, swallows slowly, and carries on thinking for a few more seconds.

“I get enough.”

“Wow. And you’re still nowhere near getting serious with anyone?” I’m suddenly more fascinated than disgusted. I can’t imagine playing the field forever like Nate does, but there’s something undeniably attractive about the idea of never having a broken heart again.

“I’m not getting thrown into jail for any of them soon, no.”

I punch him playfully.

“That’s awful.”

“Why is that awful?”