The light-emitting diodes filling my living room dried out my eyes. Well, to be fair, the marijuana wasn’t doing a very good job of lubricating them either, but I preferred to blame the television, which drained my soul and showed me nothing useful. I probably would have died there had it not been for my neighbor emerging from my bedroom, announcing, “Your window’s open.”
Blinking in gratitude, I mumbled, “It’s a beautiful night.”
“Anybody could come crawling inside,” she told me.
Emma squinted at the screen. “Is that the Oscars? I thought those were, like, six months ago.”
I looked at my watch. “Three years ago, actually.”
“You know they have those every year.”
“I have to review those too.”
“Why?” she asked.
Hours ago, my editor, Myron, had the answer: “Jack Lagattuta.”
“Nobody talks to Jack Lagattuta,” I’d reminded him. “Last time I tried, I ended up smeared all over a movie set.”
“You’re going to have to try harder.”
“There are more humane ways to murder me,” I told him.
“Max,” he said earnestly, “we need to do something about your friend, Allen Dean.”
“Allen Dean is no friend of mine,” I replied.
“Regardless,” Myron said, “he’s eating our lunch.”
“Well, I hope he doesn’t a peanut allergy, because I ordered Thai.”
“Actually,” I added, “maybe it would benefit us if he did have a peanut allergy.”
He ignored me and paced behind his desk. “Up until this little twerp came out of nowhere, we had the best entertainment coverage in town. It’s up to you to turn this around.” With a whole lot of gravitas, he stopped moving and turned to me. “We need to scoop him on a grand scale.”
“Did you say scoop?” I laughed. “Does this mean I get to wear a fedora with my press badge sticking out of it?”
“No, you do not.”
“You never let me have any fun.”
“Nobody’s having any fun until we fix this!” he barked.
“Your plan is flawed,” I said after giving him a second to cool off. “He lives in Bel-Air, and he won’t take my calls.”
“You’re in luck,” he told me. “He’s going on tour soon, and he’ll be hitting New York around Thanksgiving.”
“A press tour?”
Myron shook his head.
“Then what kind of…?” It hit me. “Oh, shit. He’s one of those middle-aged white actors.”
“He’s one of those very wealthy middle-aged white actors, so he can front a blues band if he wants.”
“A blues band?” I moaned. “Oh, fuck.”
“While he’s here,” he continued, “I want an unscheduled one-on-one.”
“How?” I begged. “He’s locked up tighter than the president. Last time, his people actually pressed charges. Nobody presses charges, Myron. I was in jail for a week.”
“That’s why I’m giving you a month and a half to come up with a plan,” he concluded.
This is how I found myself immersed in talk shows and award shows, probing for the slightest weakness in the armor of Hollywood royalty. “Homework,” I told her. “Boring, pointless homework.”
She settled into the love seat beside me. “Last time I watched the Oscars, I got so bored I ended up seducing the guy I was hanging with.”
I picked myself up and moved to nearby the easy chair and attempted to fill the air with small talk. “Your boyfriend?”
“Not up to that point,” she replied.
My imagination started acting up. “You should probably go home.”
“Relax,” she assured me. “I was twenty-four. It was a different time.”
Ancient history or not, the subject needed to change. “And what brings you here this evening?”
“I had a really bad day, and when that happens, only two things make me feel better.”
“I think you know what the first thing is.”
“And Tyler’s working late.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”
She exploded with laughter and covered her mouth to hold back what was left. “No, no, no, dude! My TV’s broken.”
“Remember when we knocked it over?”
It came back to me. “After Gretchen and I had that blowout…”
“When you assaulted me with that amazing…”
I bit the inside of my cheek again, this time drawing blood. “But I thought you said it was okay. The TV, I mean.”
“It was only mostly okay,” she told me. “And it just now quit for good.”
“Crap,” I said. “Sorry.”
“It was totally worth it,” she replied. “But when I don’t have sex to turn to, I watch movies to unwind, so you owe me.”
“You know what?” I shrugged. “I could use the break anyway. What’s the name of the turd in question?”
“On & On.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a period piece set in the eighties–a sort-of satire about the Cold War,” she told me.
“Lots of running,” she admitted.
“Just one,” she replied. “At the end of the first act.”
“Not as many as you’d think.”
Her eyes rolled before they closed, and a grin spread across her face until she interrupted it by biting her lip and sucking in a lungful of air with a helpless squeak. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “So… much… punching.”
I shook my head to dislodge the thoughts forming there. “You are a sick person.”
We coughed and averted our eyes from each other.
“Look,” I told her after taking a deep breath, “I can’t talk to you about fucking anymore.”
She sat up. “Sorry?”
“You heard me.”
“But that’s all we have in common,” she replied defensively.
“Em,” I told her, “I am as surprised as anyone by what I’m about to tell you, but I honestly think you’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met, and I actually enjoy being around you with all your clothes on. Plus, you bailed me out of my little birthday breakdown last week. I mean, you listened to me. No one else really does.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
I cleared my throat and said slowly, “I’m okay being friends, but please no more talk about fucking.”
She frowned. “Why not? I thought you said we were friends.”
I grunted. “Because I miss it, Em.”
“You miss fucking?” she asked breathlessly. “You, of all people, haven’t been fucking?”
“Are you kidding?” I snorted. “I’m on a roll!” This much was true. Ever since she gave me the pep talk that night, I seemed to have developed some kind of homing system for women looking for one-night stands. “I miss fucking you.”
“This is awkward now.” She stood and sighed. “I think I should go home and watch this on my laptop.”
As she left, I whispered, “Yeah.” I rubbed my eyes and resumed my research with renewed vigor. I was going to find a goddamned victory somewhere.