When I came out, the last thing I expected to see was Trip still there, hunched over Coop with a black Sharpie marker.
I peeked over his shoulder to check out his handiwork: Coop was sporting a new handlebar moustache and unibrow.
I clamped my hand over my mouth and chastised the artist. “You’re awful.”
Trip capped the marker and tossed it on the nightstand. “No, I’m funny. Awful would have been if I used the razor.”
I had to agree with him.
We were both standing there, looking down at Coop- passed out and scribbled on- when Trip asked, “He your boyfriend?”
I stammered out, “Uh, no. God no. Why’d you think that?”
Trip raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know... Maybe because I saw him tonsils-deep in your ear a few minutes ago and yet he still has his balls.”
Crud. He saw that?
I don’t know where he got the impression that I was some kind of Amazon who would rip the scrotum off of an over-amorous seventeen-year-old boy, but maybe he falls into that group of every non-Italian outside of the tri-state area who thinks all Jersey girls are mafia princesses.
Just for the record? We’re not.
I ignored his “tough-chick” assessment and blurted out, “So, where’s Tess?”
Duh.
“She had another party to get to. Why?” His lips curled into a smirk after he said that and it was all I could do not to jump his bones.
“Oh, no reason. I just haven’t seen her. Hey, um, did you start that report for Mason’s class yet?”
That made him smile, probably because I’m the only girl to ever find herself alone in a room with Trip Wilmington who decided to use the opportunity to discuss homework.
But he answered my stupid question anyway. “No. You?”
“No.”
Then he said, “You think maybe we should work together on it?”
And I know I answered, “Yeah, sure. That’d be okay.” But I know I was thinking something more like, Yes! Of course! That’d be awesome!
“Great. I figure a girl’s perspective would be really helpful on it, you know? I never understand what the hell Shakespeare is talking about but girls always seem to get it. All that love story crap.”
“Crap? It’s not crap, it’s Shakespeare for godsakes! How can you say that?”
“Look. Just because some dude wrote stories a million years ago doesn’t mean he’s not open to some criticism. What’s so great about him anyway?”
“Well, for starters, he’s Shakespeare. Trip, are you serious? He wrote stuff like nobody’d ever read before.”
“Big deal. Nobody’d ever written anything before. It was probably cake to become famous back then.”
I rolled my eyes but realized he had a point. “You’re nuts. Let’s just go find Coop’s ride.”
We were still smiling as we began the search for Coop’s designated driver. Working as a team, first by taking care of our drunken friend, then by playing detective together, was actually a lot of fun.
It was weird, the way I was starting to feel comfortable around Trip. I hadn’t lost sight of the fact that he was still gorgeous and how it was completely unsettling, but he also had this... way about him. He just had this way of making people around him want more. Want to know him, figure him out, be around him. I couldn’t describe it at the time, but I suppose what I was recognizing, even way back then, was his Star Quality.
If such a thing exists, then Trip Wilmington had it in spades.
Chapter 9
OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS
The following Monday was my first day of work at Totally Videos. I scoped the store for Martin, the twenty-one-year-old, pasty and pimply afternoon manager who, obviously impressed with my non-existent resume and sub-par interviewing skills, called me on Sunday to offer me a job.
He was behind the counter when I walked over, gave him my best salute and said, “Hola, Señor Martino. Yo soy Layla Warren. Yo trabajo aquí.”
I suppose I should mention here that Martin is not Latino at all, and I, obviously, only had the most rudimentary understanding of the Spanish language even after two years of having taken it as an elective.
Martin looked at me as if he was sure I’d suffered a major head injury on my way to work that day, but proceeded to ask one of the other “associates” to mind the store while he dealt with me.
First on the agenda was to take me into the back office so he could print me up a new nametag. While it was running through the laminator, he went to a storage locker and grabbed me a navy blue vest. Along with my khaki pants and light blue Oxford (would my body never escape from a button-down shirt?), I was to wear my vest “at all times”.
“Even when I’m not here?” I joked as I put it on.
Martin didn’t get it. “Uh, no. Just while you’re working your shift.”
Detract one point for the sarcastic new employee.
I didn’t really think it was necessary for Martin to actually pin my nametag on my vest himself. I mean, I have arms and all. But I figured that was the closest his hands had actually ever been to a real live boob before, so I didn’t make a big deal about it. Hell, why not give the poor kid a thrill? Besides, if I even dared to make a joke (which he wouldn’t have gotten anyway), he’d have probably blushed twelve different shades of red before passing out from embarrassment.
We left the office and Martin gave me a quick tutorial on the register before showing me around the store. Most of my “training” was pretty ridiculous and unnecessary.
Here’s a sample conversation:
Martin: “Okay, see the wall, here? This is where we keep our New Releases.”
Me: “Oh, you mean you keep the new releases along the wall under the HUGE SIGN that says ‘New Releases’?”
Martin (not registering my sarcasm): “Yes, that’s right. A new release is any video that has come into the store recently. Mostly, it’s the category for movies that are less than a year old.”
Me (bored): “Uh-huh.”
Martin: “So let’s give you a pop quiz. Say I’m a customer-”
Me: “You’re a customer.”
Martin (seriously): “Uh, yes. I’m a customer and I ask you where I can find Lethal Weapon. What do you do?”
Me: “Call the cops?”
Martin (finally realizing that I was screwing with him): “C’mon, Layla. You need to know this.”
Me: “Martin, look. Don’t worry about it. It’s pretty self-explanatory. I know how to read and I’m sure I’ll be able to steer any customers in the right direction.” And then, to toss him a bone and make him feel all managerial, I added, “What I really need is another lesson on the register. Think you could go over that again with me?”
This made Martin puff up a little with authority. “Sure, no problem.”
He spent a good twenty minutes going over checkout with me and I knew I should have been hanging on his every instruction so as not to look like a big dummy later on. But instead, I became mesmerized by the patterns of zits on his cheek. I was mentally connecting the dots to form The Big Dipper... and that’s when Trip walked in... with Tess.
They didn’t see me as they giggled over some private joke on their way over to the Comedy section.
I was planning on busying myself behind the counter checking in the pile of returned videos, but Martin asked me to set up a cardboard display of Back to the Future Part III instead. I took the stack of cutouts from him and sat down in the middle of the store to put it together.
So it was in the midst of attaching a “Coming Soon” sign to Christopher Lloyd’s kneecap when I heard Trip say, “Hey, Layla! There you are.”
I put down my project and tried to look surprised to see him. Had Tess not been standing right there, I would have thrown out a flirty line like, “Why, were you looking for me?” but I figured it probably wouldn’t have gone over too well in front of the girlfriend.
Instead, I went for, “Hey, Trip. Hi, Tess. Renting a video?”
DUH.
They both said, “Yeah,” and Trip added, “So, I guess you got the job. Cool.”
I tucked a strand of hair back into my banana clip and countered, “It’s really not, but thanks.”
Trip smiled as Tess checked her watch. He said, “No, it’s cool. Working here’s gotta be better than my dad’s office. Are you guys hiring?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Here?”
“Yeah, why not?”
I shot a quick look at Tess, but she didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter. “Umm, let me check.”
I mentally crossed my fingers as I went into the office to ask Martin. I made a huge point not to mention that the potential employee was a friend of mine and simply said, “Some guy out there was asking about a job opening?” Martin didn’t say whether they were looking for more help or not, but dug out an application for Trip to fill out.
Tess wandered around the candy display looking bored as Trip met me at the front counter to fill out the form. He had his license out- copying the numbers onto his application- and that’s when I saw it.
Terrence C. Wilmington III’s middle name was Chester.
Chester! This was just too good. But I made the decision to keep it to myself for the time being. It was awesome enough just having the inside scoop on him, knowing something NO ONE else knew about the infamous Trip Wilmington, so I didn’t want to call him out on it right away. As trivial as it was, his middle name was something only he and I knew about. Even though he was unaware of it, there was some tiny little unspoken bond between us now, some inherent bit of information that even Tess Valletti wasn’t privy to. It was like I had a piece of him all to myself.