This Is What Happy Looks Like(14)
Graham was thinking about that now as he turned and cut up toward the town, leaving the fishing boats behind. Maybe that’s what it was like with Ellie. He’d cast his e-mail out into the world in search of a trout, and what he’d found instead was a salmon. He couldn’t help smiling at this, though he suspected a girl like Ellie might object to being compared to a fish.
He smoothed the front of his shirt as he passed the movie trailers, now dark and silent. They’d already shot a few scenes on a soundstage in L.A., but there was an air of excitement about being on location, especially in a place like this, and Graham couldn’t help getting caught up in it. He’d spent the past two years playing the same character and working with the same actors, so it was refreshing to be doing something different. The new director, the new script, the new costar—all of it helped him remember why he enjoyed acting in the first place. It was the challenge of it all, being set down in the middle of someone else’s life like a tourist and feeling your way through it.
The Lobster Pot wasn’t far from the beach; Graham could see it as he made his way up the street. It was just after seven thirty, which meant Ellie was probably already in there. Outside, there was a knot of photographers, their dark clothing giving them away, even as they tried to look casual among the tourists. A few motorcycles were parked nearby; on more than one occasion, Graham had been chased by paparazzi as he tried to slip out of some restaurant or club. There was a breathless absurdity to these pursuits, and though he understood that they had a job to do, he had little respect for the way they did it, and even less for the people who were so desperate to read what they reported. The truth was, he wasn’t really worth reading about. He was a better-than-average-looking seventeen-year-old guy who occasionally took a pretty girl to dinner and who played a part decently well, but who mostly sat around at home reading books with his pet pig.
As he approached, the photographers began hoisting their cameras and calling out his name. He ducked his head as they gathered around him. There were fewer than earlier, only four or five; the rest probably had the sense to go get some dinner, or to stay behind and watch TV in their hotel rooms. Those who had stuck it out clicked away like mad, though, the flashes popping as they peppered him with questions, each more relentless than the one before.
“Who’s this girl, Graham?” asked one of them, a brick wall of a guy with a diamond earring and a head so pale and bald that it reflected the last of the day’s light. “Was that the first time you’d met? What does Olivia think? Are you two official?”
He ignored them all, shoving his way past, and when he reached the door of the restaurant, he was greeted by a thick man with enormous arms and a trim beard.
“Joe Gabriele,” the man said, extending a meaty hand. “I’m the owner. Listen, you like lobster?”
Graham nodded, surprised by the question.
“Good,” said Joe. “You eat enough lobster while you’re in town, and I’ll keep these clowns out of here. Deal?”
“Deal,” he said, looking past him to see if Ellie had arrived yet. The walls of the restaurant were covered with well-worn buoys and old maritime clocks, fish netting rigged like bunting and framed paintings of schooners and lobsters and whales. At a seat in the corner, beneath a huge iron anchor that appeared to have come straight off a fishing boat, Graham recognized the back of her head, her dark hair pulled up into a low ponytail. All around her, the other tables were empty, and he was grateful to Joe for clearing the way. There was nothing worse than trying to have a private conversation with the faint click of camera phones going off at every angle.
Joe waved toward the table, in case Graham wasn’t sure where to go, and then headed off to the kitchen. But Graham remained where he was, suddenly frozen with uncertainty. It wasn’t that he was disappointed. How could he be? She was unquestionably beautiful. But ever since leaving the ice-cream shop that afternoon, Graham had been trying to work out his feelings about tonight. After all this time, and all those e-mails, shouldn’t he be more excited? Shouldn’t he be overjoyed? Shouldn’t he be… something?
Maybe the problem was that he’d been forced to read too many scripts with happy endings. Maybe he’d been in Hollywood for too long already. Graham had never been in love before, so he had no idea what to expect. Maybe this was it: you strike up a long-distance conversation with a girl, you enjoy talking to her more than anyone ever before, then you show up and she’s gorgeous, and you count yourself lucky.
But still, he thought there’d be something more. He thought that when he saw her, when their eyes first met, that it would feel different. That all those Hollywood clichés were clichés for a reason. It was supposed to be unmistakable, that feeling, wasn’t it? Like a punch to the stomach.
But here now in this restaurant, he was feeling curiously empty as he approached the table. When she turned around and their eyes met, there were no stars or fireworks or anything else. There was only the two of them, gazing at each other, each a little bit awkward in their nervousness.
“Thanks for coming,” he managed to say as he slid into his seat. As soon as he did, he realized he should have kissed her cheek, but the moment had already passed. He unfolded his napkin and looked at her from across the table, trying to match up the girl before him with the one who had written to him about how much she loved poetry.
“Did you have any trouble with the photographers?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky. He could tell she was anxious, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. The first few times he’d gone out with girls from home after his face started appearing in magazines, he’d tried to put them at ease by telling them not to be nervous, but this always seemed to have the opposite effect, and they’d just become more jangly, more pink-cheeked, more self-conscious. He watched now as she twisted a silver bracelet around her wrist, unable to quite sit still.