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Nodding, Hudson says, “Yeah. Most of the people I hang out with try really hard to seem like nothing impresses them. They’re all about looking cool no matter what. It’s refreshing to be around someone who’s passionate about what they do.”
“Well, if I’m anything, it’s passionate about my work. Some would even say obsessive.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“According to my parents, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not exactly getting them any closer to having more grandkids.”
“Ah, I see.”
“What about your parents? Do they ever bug you to settle down?”
There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, just for the briefest of seconds, but then the breezy look returns to his face. “Not really. I think they’re just happy I’m earning a good living.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what he means. “I’d say you do more than that.”
“Yeah, I do all right,” he says with a wry smile.
“But they didn’t think you would?”
“Nah, it’s not that. Well, sort of. I was a bit of a screw-up as a kid. I wasn’t really into school,” he says. “Your typical class clown. In fact, I’m pretty sure if we’d have grown up together, you would’ve hated me.”
“I doubt that very much,” I tell him, opening a bag of upscale pretzels.
“I don’t. I’m pretty sure the words used most often on my report card were ‘disruptive’ and ‘would benefit from taking his education seriously.’”
“School’s not for everyone. For some people it’s just a thing you have to get through until you can get on with your real life,” I say, taking a tiny bite of a pretzel. “And look at what you’ve accomplished. You’re an outlier. Rich, famous, powerful.”
“Not bad for a class clown,” he tells me, popping a pretzel into his mouth.
“Not bad for anyone.”
Hudson shrugs. “Well, it could all be over by next year.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hollywood is fickle. You can be the hottest thing going one minute and a total pariah the next.”
“But I think most times when someone falls out of favor, it’s because they’ve done something, right?”
Shaking his head, he says, “Sometimes all they do is age out.”
“Pfft, what are you talking about? You’re not even forty. Besides, you’re a man. Men don’t age out. It’s one of the biggest double standards in our society.”
“That’s all changing,” he says.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, it used to be just the women being judged by impossible standards, but instead of righting that wrong, it seems like things went the other way and made it harder on guys too,” he tells me. “Not that I expect you to feel sorry for me or something, because I don’t. I’ve had a good run.”
I know he’s holding back, but I also know that the fact that he told me this much is huge for someone like him. We finish the rest of our picnic and I clean up, then get myself ready for bed and turn down the lights. I snuggle onto the recliner under the faux fur blanket he got from his agency. My heart is still fluttering a mile a minute, so I have no idea how I’m going to fall asleep. I’m spending the night with Hudson Finch. And I know it’s not like that. We’re not having some wild affair that I’ll spend the rest of my life dreaming about, but for someone like me, sleeping in the same room, in pajamas that belong to him, is enough. It’s huge, in fact. I’ll always know this night happened. I’ll still be talking about it when I’m Zia Fernanda’s age.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of him breathing nearby, wishing I could give him a soft, slow kiss on his lips. Then I tell myself to go to sleep. After a couple of minutes of trying, I hear Hudson’s voice cut through the darkness of the room. “You still awake?”
“Yeah.”
