Funny Feelings (8)

Farley finds a bowl of cherries behind the bar and starts eating them one by one.

“I think this party is a hit after all,” she says.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “You saved it. I’ll, um—I’ll make sure Lance gives you your mic time tonight.”

She frowns and sets down the bowl of cherries. “I didn’t do any of this just to make you do that.”

“I know. But now I’m genuinely curious. I’ll come back and watch your set later.”

She eyes me suspiciously, chewing, before her face breaks into a huge smile.

She extends a hand for me to shake. “I’ve got a funny feeling this is the start of something great.”





NOW





I always wanted to be somebody, but now I realize I should have been more specific.” - Lily Tomlin





FARLEY


“A beer,” I announce in a panic to the waiter.

“A beer, Jones? You’ve never ordered a beer in your life,” Meyer says, exasperated.

I’m so worked up that I can’t seem to think of any other drink in existence, though.

“Miss, what kind of beer?” the waiter asks, patiently.

“Oh. Alcoholic, please.”

“Jesus, please excuse her. She’ll take whatever sugary lemon drop thing you serve,” Meyer says. The waiter nods and scurries away. I grimace when Meyer squints at me.

“You mind telling me what’s got you so spooked? I’ll remind you that the last time you drank some of my beer you said it tasted like something that was fermented inside of a belly button,” he says with thinly veiled worry.

“Alright.” I sigh. “I guess it’s only fair to prepare you before Kara and Clay get here.” I take a few breaths and spot our waiter returning with our drinks. “Oh, good. One sec.”

Mine hits the table, and I promptly toss it back.

When I reach for Meyer’s beer next, he lays his palm over mine, gently flattening it to the table to stop me.

“Jones, whatever it is, it’s okay. If they’re offering you something that requires you leaving… me…or whatever, and you want to take it… Don’t feel bad about it. Whatever it is, I promise you, I’ll support it.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes, though. Just keeps his gaze fixed on our hands.

“They want us to date,” I blurt, and now his eyes snap up to mine. The band that keeps his expression tightly wound appears to have snapped, his eyes wide and searching.

“For PR. Kara wants me to go on tour and open for her and Shauna Cooper, but they want us to beef up some publicity beforehand. Kara has SNL, and Shauna is dating the sports ball guy.”

“The three-time Super Bowl champion, Fee.”

“Yep, that one.”

My breathing becomes audible, and Meyer seems to suddenly realize that his hand still lays over mine, a moment before he snaps it back.

“Why would they think that anyone would be interested in us? We’re already together all the time,” he asks.

“Well, I gather that it’s you who’s the real allure. Just like when we got all those comments on Instagram from people assuming you were writing my jokes,” I say and his face pinches, remembering. “Before I took the one picture of the two of us down, of course. And I imagine that curiosity will grow when they announce the tour and their opener. Your name attached to mine… publicly… will be good, and I guess they want to play off that. I—I don’t really know how it will all play out, Meyer, honestly. Kara barely told me the idea before she asked us to meet here.”

“She doesn’t think I’m too old for you?” he sneers, his lip curling. It’s a gut-punch.

“Ten years is hardly scandalous, Meyer.” Maybe he thinks I act too young for him.

His only response is a snort. His expression grows furious.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.

His frown only grows in intensity. “Neither do you, Fee.”

I want to curl in on myself, noting the apparent disgust on his face. He is disgusted that I would ask him to do this with me.

“Fee. You don’t have to do this because your talent speaks for itself. It should be enough. I’m fucking pissed that anyone would insinuate otherwise.”

Oh.

Kara and Clay arrive then, sliding into the booth with the smooth confidence that comes with knowing you’re expected, knowing you’re important. The waiter immediately pops over and takes their drink order. He sure is quick and attentive, I observe. And then, over his shoulder, I notice two other waiters hovering by the bar, one of them raising his phone to snap a picture of us.

“So, did Farley give you an overview on what I presented her with?” Kara asks Meyer, before she takes off her bright red frames and begins cleaning them on her Biggie Smalls t-shirt.

“She did,” he says, jaw rolling.

“And?” she asks.

“And I think it sounds like pandering bullshit. We both know she is good and that you want her. She doesn’t need to do this. And frankly, I think it’s beneath you to even ask her to.”

I jerk back at the deadly tone he’s taken. While I can appreciate the protectiveness and the strong moral stance he’s taking, I reject the judgment implied. If it helps us achieve the hype we undoubtedly deserve, then who is he to judge us?