worse than the fake piercings?”
“Far worse,” someone said. “Itches like hell.”
“And the stoop-and-shamble is rough on the neck after about the sixth hour,” someone else put in.
More zombie jokes went around the circle, everyone laughing, but by the time Shelley left, she began hearing bits of gossip that Mick Volkov’s next picture was going to be a zombie flick. As she drove home, she felt like she’d dodged a bullet.
Not that she cared if someone knew they were dating. If they actually began dating. It was the idea of stepping into the fishbowl world, where whatever you did ended up with its own Twitter hashtag. Especially as she still had to deal with her Rule One feelings, which were losing two falls out of three against her sizzling hot Bearzilla memories.
When she parked her car, she looked at the card she’d been handed. There was no way in hell she was going to make a personal call to him just to get screened by secretaries. Then she saw that the beautifully printed card only had two items: his name, and his number. That had to be his private number.
When she got upstairs, she found Jan alone in the cramped living room, the roommates thankfully out. Jan sat in slippers and sleep T-shirt, obviously waiting up. “Well?”
Shelley showed her the card. “Wants me to call in the morning. Suggested a trail ride in Malibu.”
“You’ll call, right?”
Shelley looked askance at her friend. “Since when did you turn into Aunt Minnie the Matchmaker?”
“Since you’ve been about as much fun to live with as a case of the bubonic plague. Seriously—”
“I’ll call,” Shelley said.
“Good. And what about Rule One?”
“It’s on hiatus. For a day.”
“You really don’t think he’s going to start conning you out of your bank account?” Jan asked.
“No. I’m not the least bit afraid that Bearzilla will steal from me. But you remember that cheating on me and then lying about it was another of Dominic the Doofus’s charming traits. And Mick did lie to me at first, with all that stuff about scouting a location that it turned out he knew better than anybody. That was kind of odd—”
Jan started to protest.
Shelley held up a hand. “No, I’m not complaining about it turning into the hottest sex in world history. But it was odd.”
“I thought it was sweet. And when you asked, he did say he just wanted to see you ride.”
“Yeah, that part was sweet. But why didn’t he come right out and ask me? What I’m saying is, I have a real low tolerance for lies or surprises.”
“Gotcha,” Jan said, clicking off the TV and getting up. “Well, lunch shift tomorrow. G’night.”
Next morning, Shelley waited until what she thought was a civilized hour and punched in Mick’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Hi.”
She shivered. “This is Shelley. Calling. Like you said.” I’m dithering . She shut her mouth.
She could hear the smile in his low, rough voice as he said, “Up for some riding?”
“Yes. No. That is, I don’t have a bike. I could probably borrow one from my brother if he’s not using his, some weekend.”
“Would you like to ride the KTM?” Mick asked.
“Sure! Where do I meet you? And when?”
“I’ll send a car to pick you up,” he said. “Is that okay?”
As he promised, a sleek new Lexus arrived to pick her up. She found herself smoothly wafted past clogged roads and expensive parking lots to private land north of Sunset Boulevard.
They pulled onto a dirt lot that overlooked Santa Monica and West LA, and found Mick waiting beside his big 610 and the KTM.
As soon as Shelley stepped out of the Lexus, Mick’s tired face transformed to a smile.
“You look great,” he said.
She could hear the genuine note in his voice, though all she wore were her usual jeans and her cotton driving hoodie. Her one concession to the occasion was that she had put on the Valentinos, which ordinarily came out for special occasions. But her old,
“Far worse,” someone said. “Itches like hell.”
“And the stoop-and-shamble is rough on the neck after about the sixth hour,” someone else put in.
More zombie jokes went around the circle, everyone laughing, but by the time Shelley left, she began hearing bits of gossip that Mick Volkov’s next picture was going to be a zombie flick. As she drove home, she felt like she’d dodged a bullet.
Not that she cared if someone knew they were dating. If they actually began dating. It was the idea of stepping into the fishbowl world, where whatever you did ended up with its own Twitter hashtag. Especially as she still had to deal with her Rule One feelings, which were losing two falls out of three against her sizzling hot Bearzilla memories.
When she parked her car, she looked at the card she’d been handed. There was no way in hell she was going to make a personal call to him just to get screened by secretaries. Then she saw that the beautifully printed card only had two items: his name, and his number. That had to be his private number.
When she got upstairs, she found Jan alone in the cramped living room, the roommates thankfully out. Jan sat in slippers and sleep T-shirt, obviously waiting up. “Well?”
Shelley showed her the card. “Wants me to call in the morning. Suggested a trail ride in Malibu.”
“You’ll call, right?”
Shelley looked askance at her friend. “Since when did you turn into Aunt Minnie the Matchmaker?”
“Since you’ve been about as much fun to live with as a case of the bubonic plague. Seriously—”
“I’ll call,” Shelley said.
“Good. And what about Rule One?”
“It’s on hiatus. For a day.”
“You really don’t think he’s going to start conning you out of your bank account?” Jan asked.
“No. I’m not the least bit afraid that Bearzilla will steal from me. But you remember that cheating on me and then lying about it was another of Dominic the Doofus’s charming traits. And Mick did lie to me at first, with all that stuff about scouting a location that it turned out he knew better than anybody. That was kind of odd—”
Jan started to protest.
Shelley held up a hand. “No, I’m not complaining about it turning into the hottest sex in world history. But it was odd.”
“I thought it was sweet. And when you asked, he did say he just wanted to see you ride.”
“Yeah, that part was sweet. But why didn’t he come right out and ask me? What I’m saying is, I have a real low tolerance for lies or surprises.”
“Gotcha,” Jan said, clicking off the TV and getting up. “Well, lunch shift tomorrow. G’night.”
Next morning, Shelley waited until what she thought was a civilized hour and punched in Mick’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Hi.”
She shivered. “This is Shelley. Calling. Like you said.” I’m dithering . She shut her mouth.
She could hear the smile in his low, rough voice as he said, “Up for some riding?”
“Yes. No. That is, I don’t have a bike. I could probably borrow one from my brother if he’s not using his, some weekend.”
“Would you like to ride the KTM?” Mick asked.
“Sure! Where do I meet you? And when?”
“I’ll send a car to pick you up,” he said. “Is that okay?”
As he promised, a sleek new Lexus arrived to pick her up. She found herself smoothly wafted past clogged roads and expensive parking lots to private land north of Sunset Boulevard.
They pulled onto a dirt lot that overlooked Santa Monica and West LA, and found Mick waiting beside his big 610 and the KTM.
As soon as Shelley stepped out of the Lexus, Mick’s tired face transformed to a smile.
“You look great,” he said.
She could hear the genuine note in his voice, though all she wore were her usual jeans and her cotton driving hoodie. Her one concession to the occasion was that she had put on the Valentinos, which ordinarily came out for special occasions. But her old,