Emmett bursts out laughing. "I can just see it now."
"I'd be perfect," I protest. "I play bitchy so well and who the hell is happy on their period? Um, no one."
Emmett suddenly leans over and kisses me quickly on the lips.
"What was that one for?" I ask him. The oddly tender way he's looking at me makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
"I have a feeling you don't tell anyone that. Not just your desire to be in a tampon commercial, but that you're still going on auditions. Still trying."
He's right. I haven't told a soul. My mother would support me no matter what I do, but she's been through so much and she was so happy when she found out I had gotten a steady job all those years ago and had put acting aside. My sisters don't really speak to me much, but they always thought acting was a joke. As for Tiffany and Jackie, I just get the feeling that they wouldn't understand. Or maybe they would, but they'd start asking me about it and cheering me on and I don't want that. I want it to just stay this private, secret thing.
Only now Emmett knows.
"I won't tell a soul," he says in a low voice, as if he can read my mind. "But for the record … I think it's great. Really. It takes a lot of nerve and courage to keep a dream alive when it's so much easier to give up on it."
I give him a shy smile. "Thanks."
Then it's our turn for tacos. We eat them at a brightly-colored picnic table under a buzzing streetlamp, the air warm and comforting. I don't even mind the smell of exhaust.
I'm just about to scrunch up the empty wrapper after I've scarfed down the last bite, when a man in a trucker hat with long, scraggly hair and a big belly stops at the foot of the table, camera at his side.
"Hey," he says loudly to Emmett and Emmett looks at him sharply. "You're Emmett Hill, right?"
"Who's asking?" Emmett says, not smiling.
The guy pats his camera. "Does it matter? I just have a question for you."
And then he raises the camera up and starts filming.
I glance at Emmett, not sure how he's going to handle this.
Emmett slowly gets to his feet. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't film us right now. My girlfriend and I just want some time alone."
"Girlfriend," the guy snorts but then doesn't elaborate. "Hey so, let me ask you something."
By now, some of the people in line at the taco stand are looking over at us.
Emmett stares at him with hard eyes, his patience starting to wear thin. I get to my feet and walk around the back of the table until I'm at Emmett's side. I take his arm, partly in comfort since this guy's vibe is totally messing with me, partly because I don't want Emmett to do anything dumb. Last time something like this happened, he broke someone's phone. If he does it to this guy's camera, he's going to raise a real stink.
"What?" Emmett asks deliberately, his jaw tense.
"Your mother," the man says and Emmett visibly stiffens, like he's just been punched. I hold his arm tighter as the man continues, "she was a heroin addict, died of an overdose. You're the one who found her, right?"
I stare up at Emmett. Holy fuck, is this true?
Emmett doesn't say anything. I don't think he can. He looks like he's frozen on the spot, every inch of him immobile.
"I'm just saying, you never talk about it and I was wondering if I could get a soundbite. Like, was she just a junkie or was she also a prostitute and was she on drugs when she had you, because -"
The man doesn't have a chance to finish his sentence.
Emmett lunges at him and with one swift, powerful movement, he grabs the camera with one hand while punching the man square in the face with the other.
///
It happened so fast, I couldn't even hold him back.
"Emmett!" I cry out. Not because I think he's in any danger, I mean, Emmett is strong like a bull and could probably take a beating and like it, but because he's throwing another punch at the side of the guy's head, just as the camera drops to the ground, parts breaking off.
If I don't do something, I'm pretty sure Emmett will kill him.
Somehow, I manage to wrap my arms around Emmett's waist and try and pull him back while an excited crowd starts to gather around. I'm pretty sure some of them are either chanting "Bruiser" or "Cruiser," I can't tell.
"You son of a bitch!" the guy yells, hands covering his bloody face. "I'm pressing charges!" He points at everyone around us. "I have witnesses, you're all witnesses! He attacked me! He attacked me!"
"Emmett, we have to go," I tell him, trying to pull him back. He's breathing heavily, his eyes wild, I'm not even sure he's hearing me right now. "Please, please, let's go."