Funny You Should Ask(17)

If I could get confirmation of their relationship or some quote acknowledging that they’d been more than just friendly, then that could make the article. It wouldn’t be special but it would have something new, at least. It would make people read. It would probably get me another job.

“She’s a friend,” Gabe said.

I tried to remember all the times I’d been photographed with a friend’s hand resting on my ass while we stumbled out of a bar in Paris. I’d also never wound my arms around a friend’s neck, pressing my face against his cheek. Nor had I ever nibbled a friend’s earlobe while sliding my hand into his shirt.

All of a sudden, I wasn’t sure if I really wanted Gabe to confirm that he’d slept with her.

Still, I had to try. For the article.

“A very good friend, I’ve heard.”

Unfortunately for me, Gabe was saved by Madison’s impeccable timing and an extra glass of water he hadn’t ordered. He finished his beer and drank the water in one long gulp.

The puppy had fallen asleep under the table—I could see her through the glass tabletop. She’d rolled around a few times, trying to get comfortable, finally resting her chin on the top of Gabe’s right foot.

“Is she going with you to set?” I asked.

“Considering she’s in the movie, yes, she’ll be going with me to set,” Gabe said.

It took a moment before I realized that he thought I was still talking about Jacinda.

I pointed through the table. “I meant your dog,” I said.

He looked down, and his whole body, his whole face, relaxed.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s going to be coming with me.”

“Is that why you got her?” I asked. “I’ve heard it can get pretty lonely, being on set, away from family and friends for months.”

“That’s part of it,” he said.

He stared down at his empty water glass as if it might refill itself.

I knew an opening when I saw it. “What’s the other part?” I asked.

He picked the puppy up and set her on his lap. She was still snoozing, with her head cradled in Gabe’s arm, her nose tucked into his elbow.

“I have this list,” he said. “Of things I’d do if I became successful. Getting a dog was one of them.”

He looked at me expectantly.

I looked back.

Because I’d heard about his list. Everyone had heard about his list. Every time he did an interview and it mentioned some new development in his life, it was usually connected back to the list. The seemingly endless list of Things Gabe Parker Will Do When He’s Successful.

The bookshop, of course, was always mentioned in this context.

There were all the trips he’d taken with his family—to Hawaii, to Bali, to Cape Town, to Paris (where everyone thought Momma Parker might have gotten a formal introduction to Jacinda Lockwood herself).

He’d bought his mom and sister cars. He’d put together a college fund for his niece.

I didn’t doubt that he had done all those things, but I also knew that it was very, very good publicity to talk about them. Personal, but not personal.

I also knew that he was expecting me to ask the same question everyone always asked—what else was on the list? And why wouldn’t he? I’d shown thus far that I was a thoroughly unoriginal interviewer.

This was probably one of the last questions I would be able to ask him.

“Do you want to hear about the trip we’re planning to Italy?” he asked politely. “I’m taking my whole family—my mom, Lauren, Lena, and my brother-in-law, Spencer. He’s never been out of the country before.”

I knew that’s what every other interviewer would ask him.

“How did you know that you’d become successful?” was what I ended up with.

Of course, it came out all wrong.

I flung it at him, like an accusation. Like I didn’t believe he was successful.

And that’s how he took it.

“You think I could do better than playing James Bond?” Gabe asked.

His tone was light, but it seemed like there was a hint of doubt underneath it.

Ridiculous. Gabe Parker did not need his ego stroked.

And it wasn’t really the question I was asking.

I shook my head. “I’m trying to ask how you knew that it was time to start fulfilling the list?”

It still wasn’t right, but at least it made a kind of sense.

Maybe not.

Gabe looked at me, visibly confused.

“I guess what I’m asking is what makes you—Gabe Parker—feel like a success?” I asked, continuing to blabber when his expression didn’t change. “You know, for some people, success might mean honors and accolades. My ex, for example, said he would never feel like a success unless he’d won a National Book Award or some other big-name award like that.”

“The Novelist,” Gabe said.

There was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

I ignored it. “But for me, I mean, I think of success as being able to work whenever and as often as I want. Being able to support myself comfortably just through my writing.”

Gabe leaned back in his chair, the puppy now propped up against his chest, the weirdest and most beautiful version of Madonna and Child that I’d ever seen.