All That He Requires(2)
I had assumed that speech back there in the parking deck was just another ‘winning moment’ for him. That he’d figured out how to get me back. Just say the right things – beautifully, passionately, movingly – and boom, Lily comes running!
But in that one sentence… I didn’t want him to be there if you said ‘no’… he let me see that, no, actually, he hadn’t known he was going to win me back.
And it had scared him.
Enough that he didn’t want to risk having his friend see him get hurt.
I suppose I could be cynical and say it was just him protecting his ego… but Connor had the healthiest ego of any human being I’d ever met. I don’t think he would have cared if Johnny saw him get burned by a dozen supermodels in a row (though I doubt that scenario was even remotely possible).
I think he was actually scared.
And my heart broke a little for him because of it.
I was silent for a few seconds, and then I brushed the back of my hand softly against his cheek.
He smiled, took my fingers, and kissed the palm of my hand.
I stayed silent a few seconds more, just savoring the realization of how much he cared… and that he hadn’t taken winning me back for granted.
Then, of course, I got back to business.
“You have to call Johnny.”
He sighed. “I’m planning on it.”
“Is he going to drive us to Vegas?”
“No, I am.”
“You’ve only had a couple hours of sleep!”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine – ”
“I’ve been up 72 hours before during a touch-and-go acquisition, closed it successfully, and finished with an off-the-cuff investment presentation in front of 300 of the wealthiest people in the world. I thrive on stressful situations.”
“Well, whoop-de-doo for you, but I’m here now and the buyout thing’s off, so there’s no more stress. So I doubt you’re thriving anymore.”
“No, right now I’m deliriously happy and hopped up on adrenaline.”
I gave him a wry smile. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”
He grinned. “It’s what I’m good at.”
“But promise me… when you come down off your ‘deliriously happy’ cloud of hopped-up adrenaline, we’ll stop and you’ll get in the limo and let Johnny drive us to Vegas.”
“I promise.” He took my hand and kissed it again. “I got you back… I’m not going to do anything to endanger that again.”
“Awwwww… but I don’t want you endangering yourself, either, so call Johnny.”
Connor sighed and slipped his cell phone out of his suit jacket pocket. “Yes, dear.”
4
Johnny was piiiiiissed.
I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but whatever it was, he said it loudly enough for Connor to make a face and hold the cell phone away from his ear.
It sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher’s wah-wah-wah-WAAAH crossed with a fire-and-brimstone preacher.
Connor let him vent for a few seconds, then said, “I’m getting on 10 East… you can find me, I’ll be the maroon Lamborghini Aventador.”
More wah-wah-wah-WAAAAH.
“Yes, fine, okay, I’ll drive under the speed limit so you can get to me… jeez, man, I don’t know who’s worse, you or Lily.”
Things quieted down on the other end as Johnny asked something in a lower tone of voice.
Connor smiled. “Because she’s with me.”
Silence. Then Johnny said something else, and Connor pulled the cell away from his ear and hit a button for speakerphone.
“Lily?”
I smiled. “Hi, Johnny.”
“You made him call me, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. At least SOMEBODY’S brain is working right.”
“Hey,” Connor warned.
“Where’d you get the car?”
“I called Frank D’Agostanzo.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Owns an exotic car dealership in Beverly Hills,” Connor explained. “He gave me a loaner.”
I looked around, stupefied. “This is a loaner?”
“With an option to buy.”
“Wait…” I said as I struggled to do the calculations. “You would’ve had to have called him at, like, six in the morning or something.”
“I’m a regular client.”
“Oh, well, that explains it,” I muttered sarcastically.
“Why can’t you be like normal rich people and just FLY to Vegas in a private jet, huh?” Johnny asked.
If I hadn’t been virtually brain-dead from sleep deprivation – and if I actually had the kind of lifestyle where ‘private jet’ and ‘Vegas’ could appear in the same sentence while referring to me – I might have thought of that earlier.
“Yeah!” I agreed.
“I want to drive,” Connor said. “I need to clear my mind.”
“You’re going to clear your mind completely when you nod off, flip the car, and shear off the top of your skull.”
“Ew,” I winced.
“Little much, don’t you think?” Connor asked.
“No. Lily, don’t let him be stupid, okay?”
“Too late,” I teased.
“True.”
“Et tu, Brute?” Connor scowled at me.
“But if he gets tired, you make him stop and let me take over, you hear me?”
“He already promised me.”
“Alright.” There was a pause. “Lily?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s good to talk to you again.”
I smiled. “You too, Johnny.”
“I’ll see you guys soon. And Connor, I SWEAR TO GOD, if you go one MILE over the speed limit, or start feeling sleepy and don’t pull over – ”
“I know, Mom, you’ll take away the keys,” Connor said in a deadpan voice. “Love you too.”
Johnny grunted in exasperation, then hung up the phone.
5
Connor took the on-ramp to the 10 East. (By the way, just as a little aside, LA folks call their highways ‘the’ blah-blah. Like, ‘the 10,’ ‘the 101,’ ‘the 405.’ Like their freeways are one of a kind or something. I know, I thought it was stupid too, but then six months after I got here, I was doing the same damn thing. When Connor told Johnny he was getting on ‘10 East,’ I almost pointed it out… then decided to keep quiet.)
As promised, he kept the car in the far right lane and did a few miles under the speed limit.
“Look, there goes an 80-year-old woman,” Connor lamented as an Oldsmobile sped past us.
“It’s the little old lady from Pasadena,” I murmured sleepily.
“More like the little old lady from the Encino Retirement Home,” Connor said bitterly. “I can’t believe I said I would – ”
I cut him off. “Well you did, so keep your promise.”
He sighed.
As the road (and miles of cars) stretched out before us, I asked, “Why Vegas?”
“Why not Vegas?”
I shrugged. “No reason, I guess. I just didn’t see you as a Vegas kind of a guy, that’s all.”
“What, not a gambler?”
“Oh, you’re that, alright. No, I mean… leisure suits, sleazy gangsters, showgirls with pineapples on their heads…”
“I think your idea of Vegas is a bit dated.”
“Yeah?”
“Like, from a bad 1970’s movie.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered.
“It’s more like Disneyland now, all cleaned up for family consumption.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hm.”
“So are you a Disneyland kind of guy, then?”
He smiled. “Not really, no.”
“‘Cause we could just go down to Anaheim. It’s only thirty minutes away.”
“Only if we can have sex on Space Mountain.”
I laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think the House of Mouse would approve.”
“Come on, just think of it… us going at it as we sped through the dark…”
“With little kids on the ride? NO.”
“Ugh, that’s sick,” he scowled. “No, we’d be the only ones on there.”
“And how would that happen, exactly?”
“I know a guy.”
“Who runs the Space Mountain ride,” I mocked him.
“Who runs the company.”
Touché.
I sighed. “I’ll bet you do. Although maybe we ought to make it Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.”
Connor laughed out loud, then shook his head. “Nope. Space Mountain.”
“Okay, you obviously have a Space Mountain fetish, so I take it you’ve been to Disneyland.”
“One of my companies rented it out for their employees.”
“Why aren’t I surprised…” I muttered. “So why are we going to Vegas, when you obviously want to go hump on Space Mountain?”
He grinned. “I have some urgent business that cropped up there.”
My half-lidded eyes suddenly opened wide. “Oh my God, I almost forgot – what happened at the meeting?”
Connor looked grim. “A whole bunch of unpleasantness.”
“Like what?”
“Shouting, recriminations, accusations of bad faith, threats of lawsuits, you name it.”