We ate our sandwiches first, and everybody had to agree that they were as good as any they’d ever eaten.
When everybody was done with their tasty grilled cheese, we tried the first of the bourbons. We sipped it straight at first, then with a drop from the bottle of Ozark spring water the waitress had left when she delivered the flights.
“Shit, that’s smooth,” Teddy Bear said. “I like that a lot.”
“They sell the bottle for, um, twelve hundred fifty,” Darius said, looking at the photocopied list.
“Leah here told me she’s got a ten thousand dollar bottle of Scotch at home,” Teddy Bear said. “Makes this stuff seem like a bargain.”
“Damn!” Steve said, elbowing Aaron. “I thought you lived large, man, but that’s a whole ‘nother level.”
“You don’t even know,” Darius said, shaking his head. “Leah could probably buy the Rams, man. For reals.”
“Nah, I’m not that rich,” I said.
“Pretty damned rich, though,” Darius said.
“Yeah, I am pretty damned rich,” I agreed, sipping the second sample.
“So where’s Emmy and Angela?” Darius asked. “How come you’re hanging out on a Saturday night with an actor?”
“Angela’s with Emmy on tour,” I said. "They come back in a week. As far as hanging out with an actor, well, Teddy Bear here is one of my best buds,” I said, reaching over and giving Teddy Bear a pat on the shoulder. “I try to do my best to overlook the fact he’s an actor.”
“Prolly for the best,” Aaron said, nodding his approval.
The five of us enjoyed our whiskies, just shooting the breeze and talking about the Rams’ prospects next season, and how the Chargers were going to leave San Diego to move to LA.
Teddy Bear told some funny stories from the set, which started a round of one-upmanship of outrageously comical and embarrassing situations we’d experienced. When it came my turn, all I could think of was the portrait session in New York. I didn’t think it was all that embarrassing, but the guys sure did.
“So you were naked as a jaybird out on the balcony when they came walkin’ in?” Steve asked.
“Well, it was more like a terrace than a balcony, and they came walking out, not in, but yeah,” I agreed.
“You remember when that chick from ESPN walked into the locker room last season? Rog just stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but his sliders and the towel across his shoulder?” Aaron asked his teammates.
“Leah, what you gotta understand is that Rog is a big boy. I mean, a really big boy, if you get what I mean, and he just stood there, right behind and off to the side while this chick from ESPN tried to interview Case. He was just letting it all hang out, making sure the camera could see him.”
“What happened?” Teddy Bear asked, laughing.
“I don’t think they used that footage,” Aaron said.
“We all got a talk about ‘appropriate professional behavior’ after that,” Darius said, chuckling at the memory.
We stayed there at the bar for another couple of hours until it was clearly time to head home. I was glad I’d gotten a ride share, since I was in no shape to drive, and honestly, neither were any of the guys. The football players had talked about maybe finding someplace else to party, but when they actually stood up to leave the bar, they quickly realized that their night was over.
As we stood out on the sidewalk waiting for our rides, Aaron said, “Yo, man, Teddy Bear, it was good to meet you tonight. And Leah, you got style. We should hang out again.”
“Yeah, I’d be cool with that,” Teddy Bear said.
“Darius has my number,” I said. “Text me next time you’re going out- maybe I can make it.”
The three football players’ ride arrived first, and they left after fist bumps all around.
“So, make up your mind- is Andy your cousin or not?” Teddy Bear asked out of the blue. It took me a moment to recall that the players thought he was and I hadn’t bothered to correct them.
“No, he isn’t,” I said. “But I guess he might as well be. Closest thing I have, I guess.”
After maybe a minute of silence, Teddy Bear said, “Thanks for hanging out tonight. I had a really good time. It was cool getting to see a different side of you.”
“The ‘not driving’ side?” I joked.
“I meant the ‘not so intense’ side, actually,” Teddy Bear replied. “You’re usually, well, kinda intimidating.”
“This is from a guy who shoots people and blows stuff up for a living,” I rejoined.
“Pretends to shoot people, pretends to blow stuff up,” Teddy Bear objected. “It’s called ‘acting’.”
“And I pretend to be a mob boss and secret government assassin,” I said with a shrug.
“You do what?” Teddy Bear asked, surprised.
“It’s a long story. Well, two separate stories, but-”, I said, just as Teddy Bear’s Uber arrived.
“I’m gonna have to hear this,” Teddy Bear said. “Next week, driving day.”
“Sorry- I’ll be up in the Bay Area, playing mob boss,” I said with an apologetic shrug as he got into the car.
My own ride showed up just a few moments after Teddy Bear’s ride left, sparing me the ignominy of waiting alone on the sidewalk for too long.
I drank a couple of glasses of water, then took a shower to wash the night off me and get ready for bed. Pondering the evening, I thought about hanging out with a bunch of guys on a Saturday night. I’d never actually done that before, I realized. Sure, I’d gone out a couple of times with Jen so the strip club wasn’t a totally foreign experience, and of course I’d been to plenty of nightclubs, but almost always with Emmy.
Going as ‘one of the guys’ was novel, but in a good way. I’d been a little concerned in the back of my mind that I might have to fend off unwanted advances, but to their credit, none of the guys had even hinted at trying to make a move on me. Sure, there had been a little bit of ‘wish I could have seen that!’ joking when I told the story about the New York portrait incident, but that was as far as it went. Other than that, we’d just been a bunch of ‘guys’ out on the town, having a good time. I’d enjoyed myself.
Settling down in that big, empty bed, I wished I’d spent the evening with my two snuggle bunnies instead.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I woke with a hangover for the first time in quite a while, to no great surprise. I’d lost count of how many drinks I’d actually managed to put away the night before, and even though I tried to match every glass of alcohol with a corresponding glass of water, I’d known it was still going to come back and haunt me.
It was a three mile run mostly downhill down to the cafe I liked on Sunset, which seemed like a good way to clear my head.
A cyclist coming up the hill on Sunset Plaza waved and called out my name so I reflexively waved back, only realizing a moment too late that it was Olivia from just up the hill from us- the one that had just had little baby Laurence. Angela and Emmy had visited them several times now, but I’d so far failed to do so.
I pondered Angela and Emmy’s abilities to make friends so easily as I continued on, thinking that I really did need to put in an effort to be more sociable.
Angela and Emmy both really loved our Wednesday dinners- they loved having guests over, and enjoyed hosting decent-sized groups. To me, five or six people seemed like a lot, but for Emmy and Angela, the more the merrier.
It was wrong to say that I put up with it for their sake, but if it were up to me, I’d keep the get-togethers to a more manageable size.
The weather that morning was a bit coolish for Los Angeles so it was easy enough to score myself an outdoor table. The waitress asked if I wanted her to turn on a heater, but I said I was fine and didn’t need it, since my core temperature was still elevated from my run.
As I ate my French toast, I noticed the well-dressed woman at the next table eyeing me. I tried to ignore it, but the looks she was giving me made me feel as if I was the dessert she really wanted.
Finally she spoke up. “Excuse me,”she asked. “Are you a trainer at a gym around here? I’ve been thinking I should get myself in shape.”
Of course it was a way to start a conversation that would eventually lead to to compliments, flirting, and she was hoping maybe some one-on-one time, but I was polite.
“No, I’m not a trainer, sorry. I don’t know of any gyms around here.”
“You certainly look very fit,” she said, making a point of eyeing my shoulders and arms.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to brush her off but be polite at the same time.
“If you’re not a fitness trainer, are you in the Industry?” she asked, and I could hear the word’s capitalization, as if there really was only one industry that mattered. “Maybe a stunt woman?” she continued, ignoring the ‘don’t bother me’ vibes I was trying to send.
“No, not in the film industry,” I said, keeping my answers short.
“You certainly could be, with looks like yours,” she said, reaching into her purse. “Here’s my card. I’m an agent with United Talent.”
Waving it away, I said, “Thanks, but not interested.”
“You could make a lot of money,” she persisted. “Superhero movies are huge right now.”
“More than, say, Chris Evans? How much did he make for Captain America last year?” I asked.
“Well, no, you wouldn’t… I heard he cleared fifteen mil, plus residuals, of course,” she replied.
“What a coincidence,” I said. “I just bought my wife a penthouse in London for that same amount. I paid cash,” I said. “Of course, it’ll take a few more million for the designer to build it out to suit, but…” I shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ sort of way. “My baby gets what she wants.”
The woman looked at me for a moment, then asked, “Um, what is it you do?”
“My company does real estate development, investing, and management for the most part, but we also have a hospitality division,” I said. “So yeah, I took home a whole lot more than Chris Evans did last year. Hell, I probably have more money than Tom Cruise.”
Recovering her sense of humor, the lady said, “Well, I had been hoping that maybe you needed a sugar momma, but now I’m thinking maybe I could use a sugar baby instead,” she said with a saucy wink.
Relieved by her ability to roll with it, I laughed. “Sorry- I have enough snuggle bunnies in my life.”
“Lucky them,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.
Relaxing in the hot tub that evening with a pink gin sling, I thought about the woman that had tried to pick me up that morning. Back at Stanford I’d read Slaves Of New York by Tama Janowitz for my sophomore literature class, and the idea that some people become dependent on sugar daddies or sugar mommas just to get by had struck me as strange, but I’d certainly seen it as I got out into the world.
Angela had been that way, to a great extent, even though she made decent money by most standards. She’d been dependent on Antonio’s ability to provide a nice level of comfort with cars and a West Los Angeles high-rise condo that most people could never afford.
Continuing that line of thought, I mused on how she’d certainly traded up in that regard. I was providing her a much nicer lifestyle than Antonio ever could have done, including, of course, the new London penthouse that was beyond Antonio’s wildest dreams.
Emmy and I had talked way back when about whether we thought Angela was a gold digger and we’d both felt that she wasn’t- in the time since it had become obvious that Angela really did love the two of us and the money was nice, but not a real part of the equation.
Of course, all the money I had earned over the last handful of years wouldn’t have been possible without Emmy’s incredible trust fund to get the ball rolling. Sure, I’d been the one who had invested it, and I’d been the one who had used that money to build a small empire, but if I’d had to start from zero I would still be fairly close to zero. There certainly wouldn’t have been any Century City high rise apartment, and no meeting Angela.
Sure, what ifs are of no real use, but sometimes the mind wanders in those directions. What if Emmy had never come to Fallbrook? What if Stephanie and I had gotten together before Emmy showed up? What if… Like I said, no real use, but the mind can’t help itself on occasion. Focusing on the real, what is actually happening, that is what matters. And in real life, we were rich. In real life, Emmy and Angela were my wives, and we all loved each other very much. In real life, soon we were going to have a couple of daughters.
In real life, Angela and I were going to raise our two daughters, once Emmy left us in probably less than ten years. In real life, Angela was going to be the woman I would grow old with.
Knowing that we had Emmy’s blessing made it easier. Of course, she had been the one that had seen the possibility and set it in motion. In retrospect, our trip to Chicago was Emmy sealing the deal. When she’d said that she “wanted this,” at the time I thought she meant having threesome sex with Angela. In hindsight it was much more than that. Emmy wanted Angela for me, and for whatever child she might have. She had seen possibilities in Angela, seen what could develop and gave it the nudge it took to get things moving.
I could easily picture myself growing old with Angela. Angela was a very loving woman, and I simply couldn’t imagine a better mother for our two girls. I had no doubt that she would love Emmy Jr as much as she did Angela Jr, and I had to believe that Emmy was just as confident.
If I couldn’t grow old with Emmy, I mused, Angela certainly wasn’t a terrible companion for the rest of my life. In fact, I couldn’t possibly want for better.
I got up and made myself another drink and lounged on one of the deck chairs to cool off from the hot tub, enjoying the mild Santa Ana’s warm, dry air. Sipping my second pink gin sling, I reflected on Angela’s side of the coin. She’d made it clear that she would want to stay with me after we lose Emmy, and I’d promised Emmy I’d make the marriage to Angela legal when that happened. Our girls would lose one mother but still have the other to raise them with love and care.
I would do whatever it took, I told myself, to keep Angela happy and fulfilled in our life together. Sure, people can change with time and relationships can and do fail, but I was ready to do whatever I had to to make our lives together as long and content as possible.
Getting a bit cold, I wrapped myself up in one of the fluffy robes from the cabinet by the little pool and went inside. Looking for something to do and not finding myself interested in work, I grabbed my iPad and made my way to the living room to watch some Downfall videos on Youtube.
In addition to all of the official videos and live performance footage there were a ton of analysis videos from guitar teachers, vocal coaches, and even one guy that billed himself as a ‘composer’, whatever that actually meant. I watched a few of those and found them interesting, but when they started talking about ‘vocal fry’ or ‘aeolian pentameters’ or 'drop D tuning' and 'polyrhythmic counts' or whatever they just lost me.
Still, it seemed that they were pretty unanimous in saying that Emmy and the boys were the real deal, but of course I knew that already. Still, it was nice to see it confirmed.
Randomly following the ‘suggested videos’ I stumbled across phone-camera footage of Emmy playing at Fallbrook High School’s Winter Carnival with the Prodigal Sons. Somebody had recorded the whole thing, but broken it up into the various songs.
Even though the videos were poor quality and the sound was terrible, they had hundreds of thousands of views- undoubtedly the most widely viewed videos that person had ever posted.
I watched Emmy’s version of the classic Eruption intro and then You Really Got Me. She looked so young in that faux prep school outfit of hers, the one that Courtney had dismissively referred to as stripper-adjacent.
Emmy’s guitar solo had clearly been inspired by Eddie Van Halen’s playing, but she’d put her own spin on it even way back then. Mr Pacheco had seen it, that Emmy could succeed with her talent and her unusual looks, and he’d been right.
Growing bored with watching videos and feeling restless, I wandered around the house, trying to find something, anything, to do. I eventually gave up and drew myself a bath for an early bedtime.
I realized that I was feeling lonely, and felt guilty for wishing that Angela had skipped the rest of the European tour and come home with me.
Telling myself that it was only a few more days until they were home, I slid into that great big, empty bed of ours, all by myself.