Confessions of a Bad Boy(5)

“Ew! Stop!” Jessie says, covering her ears dramatically for a second before grinning and punching my arm. “What about my brother? Where is he?”

“I already told you I don’t know,” I say, as I pretend not to inspect whether she’s damaged the sleeve of my suit. “I’ve been waiting for him for nearly an hour.”

“But I really need to talk to him. He said he’d be here.” The worry on her face is real, and I slow my pace and turn towards her.

“Look, it’s Kyle. He probably had a load of work dumped on him at the last minute. I’m sure he’s fine. Let me know when you find him. You still have my number, right?”

She nods. I move to go again. “Wait,” she says, tugging at my sleeve. I turn back to look at her. “I came all the way downtown by myself.”

Then she hits me with the full puppy dog eyes. I’ve seen that look a million times since we were kids. Usually it came when Kyle and I were going out and Jessie wanted to tag along. Sometimes it came when Jessie did something bad and needed me and Kyle to cover for her. Whatever it was, when Jessie made her eyes big and her lips pouty, as if she were about to cry, like she was the most vulnerable thing in the world – she always got her way.

“Let me guess. You’re low on cash, right?” I say, defeated.

She shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I spent what I had coming down here. I don’t get paid til next week.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “One drink. Then, if your brother still hasn’t shown up, I’ll get you a cab home. After which I’m definitely going to—”

“Go back to being a douchebag, I got it.” But her grin’s so wide now, I can’t even get mad that she’s teasing me again.

We enter the glass enclosure that houses a few couches and the bar. It’s nearly empty, everybody preferring to stand out on the roof and have their drinks delivered. I pull out a stool for her like a gentleman – and yeah, I can act like one when the situation requires it.

“Two beers please,” I call to the barman.

“And a couple of shots,” Jessie adds, without even looking at me for approval. I stifle a grin. She’s still a little troublemaker.

The drinks are in front of us within seconds. Jessie picks up her blue shot glass and raises it, waiting for me to do the same. She smiles, winks, clinks her glass against mine, and we down them.

“So how’s the talent agent-ing going? Taken advantage of many actors this month?”

I snort and take a long drink of my beer. “I don’t take advantage of actors.”

“Sure you don’t,” Jessie grins behind her beer bottle. “You just let them do all the work and then take a nice slice of what they make.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Right.” She rolls her eyes as she wraps her lips around the opening of her beer bottle to take a swig, a sight I have to force myself to look away from. “You’re totally not a leech at all.”

“Jesus,” I grin, taking her abuse with good humor. “You should know how it is, Jessie. You work in a costume department. You think actors can negotiate their own deals, set up meetings and networking opportunities, not to mention vet contracts and make career decisions? They can’t even dress themselves!”

Jessie laughs. “Truth,” she says, pointing out our empty shot glasses to the barman. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all.”

The bartender slams a couple more shots on the bar. We repeat the clink and drink again. “How about you?” I ask. “How’s the TV gig going?”

“Honestly? It’s a shitty job,” she says, suddenly sounding a bit empty.

“What do you mean? I thought you were living the dream.”

My tone is light, with no sarcasm in it, but still she pauses for a long time before answering. I don’t even notice the barman replace our empty shot glasses again.

“Well, when I left UCLA,” she says, peeling at the label of her beer bottle, “I thought I’d be working on period dramas, interesting TV shows, sci-fi projects…I don’t know. Something creative. And now I’m just stuck doing detective dramas. I mean, they’re great shows, steady gigs, but a police uniform is a police uniform. I feel like my job right now is to be as least creative as possible. Like a robot could be doing my job.”

I watch her take a slow swig of beer. It’s been a while since we really talked like this.

“It’s a step,” I say sympathetically. “You’re starting out, making connections, paying your dues. You do this for now until something better comes along. It’s just a step.”

“Is it?” Jessie asks, almost as if I can change it. “It feels more like a dead end.”

This time it’s me who picks up the shot and waits for Jessie to do the same. We clink, smile, and drink.

“Do you remember that time when we were in high school,” Jessie says, smiling from the drink hitting her, “and you and Kyle took me to see that shitty punk band I liked?”

“The night he knocked me out?”

Jessie laughs and slaps the bar.

“Yeah I remember,” I say, laughing along. “But I still don’t know what the f*ck set him off like that.”

“I was hitting on the lead singer, and Kyle found out. He went for the other guy but then you tried to stop him—”