Funny Feelings (14)

Oh my God, maybe Nick Farnum is out there in the world wondering if we are still together? The stupid thought makes me laugh out loud for the first time in nearly a week. I wonder if Meyer knew it would. If he realized that laughter is always the safest channel for me to communicate freely through…

Day six is a typical Los Angeles October day. Unseasonably warm; pool weather. I bought Meyer and Hazel’s former condo for a screaming deal when he bought their new house, the pool being one of the major selling points. The average age in the complex is, at minimum, 75, so the pool feels like my own private one more days than not.

I do my laps, mentally charting how I need to call Meyer and apologize for acting like this. It’s for me that he even agreed. It’s for a major tour. One that will be filmed, that might even end up on its own special. Plus, he already made it clear that we will have a whole outline, a clear and effective approach. I know that Meyer is too good, too balanced, and too intelligent to do anything that would put either of our careers at risk. The only base we need to cover is our friendship, and me hiding out for days certainly isn’t doing that any favors.

I break the surface on a gasp, anxious to get to my phone and rectify the situation. I hit call and start biting my nails, feeling inexplicably on the verge of tears. It starts ringing, and there’s an echo—or rather, I hear a secondary ringing. When I turn toward it, I spot Meyer, hanging on the outside of the pool gate with his phone dangling casually from his hand. He tips his head in a nod at me, and I sigh in relief.

“I was just calling to apologize!” I yell out.

He crosses his arms. Waits.

“I’m sorry!” I call, still hovering on the other side of the pool.

His arms stay folded. The only indication that he’s heard me is that his chin dips to his neck and pauses before he looks back up in my direction.

I begin my plank walk over his way, continuing down my verbal spiral.

“I just got a little freaked out. I know this is big. And I feel bad that you’re even doing this for me when you’ve already done so much…

“… I also worry about Hazel. But I know that it’s not even really my place to worry about her. I know you’ve got her covered, of course you do…”

I reach the gate and hazard meeting his gaze, only to find a stricken and horrified look.

“What?!” I yelp.

“What in the— your swimsuit…?” He says, shaking his head.

“Oh!” I look down at the one piece with the hairy nipples and beer belly printed on it. “I got this because I kept catching Arthur in 14D staring at me while I swim.” I smile, proud of my ingenuity. “No feet for free and all that.”

He shakes his head with a sigh. “If anything, you now owe Arthur and I reparations, Farley.”

I pull up my palm and pretend to write on it. “Dully noted. Must show boobs in bikini for the period of three months as compensation for damages to spank-banks incurred.”

“Always with the last joke.” One side of his mouth turns up. “You letting me in or what?”

“Oops. Duh.”

As soon as I let him in, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

“And Farley, I’ll forgive you just about anything if you talk to me about it. Just don’t disappear on me.”

“I know. It was stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

I turn and lead him over to my lounge chair. “Christ. The thing has back hair and an ass crack, Jones!”

I laugh and do a little wiggle.



We lounge in the sun quietly for a bit, and I revel in the peace. Meyer’s the only person I’ve ever been able to maintain this comfortable silence with. With everyone else it always feels… expectant. Which might just be my own projections, but nevertheless, I always feel like I need to do or say something for a laugh with everyone else. I always feel on.

“You ready for tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Yep. Sold out again like last week?”

“Yep. Clay and Kara want to meet on Sunday to go over your contract. Obviously, our little arrangement is more of an informal understanding, but Clay called to tell me that there will be some separate paperwork for that, too.”

“What’s it going to say? ‘At minimum, we expect to get these photos of you guys’ grab-assin’ on these such occasions’?” I laugh.

“If that’s the case, we’ll need to negotiate pay or make sure it’s you that’s required to do the actual grabbing. I’m scarred and traumatized by this thing.” He gestures down the length of my swimsuit. “It really doesn’t help that it’s exactly your flesh tone.”

I laugh at his annoyed pout. “So. We’ve covered the main work points. You mentioned something about guidelines?”

“I did. I think it goes without saying that while we’re doing this publicly, we uhhh, shouldn’t be dating other people.”

“Aw. I’ll break the news to my harem.” I pout when he turns his stern gaze on me. “Obviously, I’m kidding. That’s easy enough. For me, I mean. I have shockingly few prospects for a woman who openly tells a sexy tale about the time I puked in my purse and carried it around all night.” I sigh mournfully.

“Yeah, who’s not into that,” he deadpans.