Funny You Should Ask(57)

I wasn’t sure I understood.

“I’ve been divorced for over a year,” I say.

His expression is pained and yet inscrutable.

“What?” I demand.

“You’ve been divorced for over a year?” he asks.

“Separated longer than that,” I say. “It’s been over for almost two years.”

He puts his head in his hands. For a moment I don’t know what’s happening and then I hear him laughing. It isn’t a “ha ha ha” type of laugh, more of a “what the fuck” kind of laugh.

“What?” I ask again. “What are you laughing at?”

He looks up at me, his eyes so green. There’s this kind of hopeless humor to them.

“I only knew about your divorce because you wrote about it,” he says. “A month ago.”

“Oh,” I say.

Of course.

How in the world could Gabe have known? If my newsletter was the way he kept up to date on my life, then of course he would have thought I had just gotten divorced.

“I was going to wait six months,” he says, almost talking to himself. “Six months seemed fair.”

I’m not sure if I’m hearing what I’m actually hearing.

“I was going to wait six months and then text you. Or call you. I hadn’t decided which would be better. I thought the timing would be right. The movie would be out, either my career would be revived or permanently in the toilet. I’d be more than two years sober. I would have made some decisions.”

“What happened?” I whisper as if this is a secret I’m not supposed to be hearing.

“My management. Your agent,” Gabe says. He lets out a laugh. Short. Pained. “I don’t know whose idea it was, but when it was pitched to me, I couldn’t say no.”

“No?”

“No,” Gabe says. “I wanted to see you. Like that night in New York. That’s what it was. That’s why I invited you. Even though I knew it was a bad idea at the time, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see you so badly. Wanted to see how you were doing.”

He lets out a breath.

“And now…”

“I’m doing good,” I say.

It’s the dumbest thing to say, but Gabe grins.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says.

Everything shifts.

“You’re two years sober?” I ask.

He nods.

“I’m divorced,” I say. “Happily divorced.”

“Are you?” he asks. “Happy?”

I lift a shoulder. “I could be happier, I guess. Couldn’t we all?”

He reaches a hand out, his fingers sliding through my hair, thumb brushing against my temple. I shiver. Not from the cold.

“I could make you happy,” he says.

I swallow. Hard.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Show me,” I say.





THE RUMOR MILL


JACINDA LOCKWOOD BREAKS HER “BONDS”


The only surprising part about Jacinda Lockwood announcing her divorce from shamed former Bond Gabe Parker is that it took this long for her to do it.

Reports about them being on the outs have circulated since he was fired from his third Bond movie, and when he checked into rehab (again), the countdown to the divorce announcement began in earnest.

The last time we saw the two together was at the funeral of Parker’s brother-in-law, who was tragically killed in a car accident. Grainy photos of the two of them in Montana circulated and gave Gabcinda fans a glimmer of hope that their marriage would survive his continuous fall from grace.

But it’s clear that whatever spark had them rushing off to Vegas all those years ago has finally gone out.





BROAD SHEETS


GABE PARKER:

Shaken, Not Stirred—Part Three


By Chani Horowitz


Remember what I said earlier about being a lightweight? Well, I wake up on Sunday morning with a pounding headache and the reminder that while they are beautiful and delicious, pink ombre drinks are not my friend.

The reason I’m awake, though, is almost enough to cure my hangover.

Because it’s a text from Gabe checking in on me.

Yes, the future Bond, James Bond, texted me the morning after a premiere—and after-party—that I basically weaseled my way into and drank too much at. Texted to check up on me and give me his cure for a hangover.

Eat a big breakfast, he tells me. No caffeine. Lots of water.

It’s very sweet.

Somehow, I’m able to roll myself out of bed and sit upright at my computer. My intention, of course, is to write this article.

Before I can—there’s another text from Gabe.

If you’re free, I’m having a party tonight.

If I’m free.

I’ve never been more free in my life.

I spend the rest of the day hydrating and telling my reflection that we are not allowed any drinks. Of any kind.

Reader, I’m sure it won’t surprise you to learn that these pep talks amounted to bubkes in the face of a celebrity’s house party and an open bar.

Let me set the scene for you.

There’s the aforementioned open bar. There’s a beautiful backyard with a pool and hot tub. It is filled with equally beautiful people. Yes, it’s December, but it’s also California and the pool is heated. I can see the steam floating off it from where I’m standing in the living room waiting for the next round of Running Pyramid to start.