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Jake: You watched it? Fallon is hysterical! Dwayne is blowing you kisses right now. I told him he can’t kiss me…Send
Rakell: Just pulled it up on YouTube….it was so funny! Sounds like you two are celebrating…Send
Jake: Janae and Winnie were there but ditched us after the show. We’re at an Irish pub…there are a million people in this place. I wish you were here…Send
The picture (I promised I’d never share) of her with messed hair, eyes squinting, and a grin that stretched her face as she was about to scold me for talking dirty to her popped up on my phone, accompanied by the familiar Dolly Parton song. I answered, nodding to Dwayne to indicate that I needed to walk outside so I could hear. It was a Tuesday night, but this place was packed. “Hey, beautiful g-i-rrrl,” I said, trying to sound crisp, fighting against my tongue, which was not cooperating after a few hours of drinking. My words slurred into a drawl.
“Mmm, mate, someone’s been enjoying New York. What Irish bar are you at?” she asked.
I turned, trying to see a name, but the big guys working the front door scooted me to the side. People were ebbing around me. Their chatter, combined with the city noises, forced me to walk around the corner of the building, seeking a spot with less commotion. I wasn’t sure the noise was much better outside than inside the crowded bar. “Um…tried to find a sign, not sure of the name. Aren’t they all the same? Mac-hoo-lahoos…something like that. There are some Micks in the bar, straight off a boat, buying Dwayne and me beers because Dwayne showed them our Tonight Show clip. Now they think we’re stars. They’re saying shit like we need to save our money for condoms, meaning Dwayne and I are going to be getting after it later.” I heard her laugh against a wind tunnel sound. “Where are you?”
“Sorry,” she said as if she were talking over the noise, and then it was gone. “I’m blow-drying my hair. I have an early morning meeting with the gown designer I told you about, Bespoke. She’s based in London and gaining popularity in Europe, so she’s trying to tap some up-and-coming models…and they make gowns for real bodies.”
“Tell her your boyfriend was just on the Tonight Show, and that your boyfriend said you're not fucking up and coming. You already dang came, and your body is as real as it gets, baby.” I spat out a laugh. It was stupid, but alcohol made stupid shit seem clever. That is, except for the totally sober person hearing it.
“Um Jake, don’t talk to any cameras tonight, not even anyone with a cell phone.” Her tone told me she was teasing, but that was some solid advice.
“Suriussleee…” Shit, that was a lot harder to get out than I expected. “I miss you.”
“Hey, I miss you, too. It’s been a couple of weeks. I thought I would be able to meet you in New York, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.”
“I know, babe, I know, you’re doing…I’m proud of you…you don’t let shit get in your way. But remember meee, because I always remember you.” Damn, that sounded way too sappy. Pull it together, Jake.
“I miss you, too. But you’ll be busy this week with draft day. I know that’s big for you guys. It starts Thursday, right?”
A gaggle of manic giggles came up from behind me. “Oh my GAWD. It’s him, Jake Skyler!!” I heard someone scream from behind me. “He’s just as dreamy in real life. I’d call off the wedding for a night with ‘Pretty Boy’! It’s really him.”
Suddenly, I felt tapping on my back; I turned to find a group of girls surrounding one in a white, almost see-through dress with a banner across her chest that read, “Bride to Be.” The other five were in short, black dresses. I smiled as they surrounded me, snapped pictures; then I heard Rakell.
“I’ll be back in Austin next Sunday. Jake...?”
“Just a second, it’s my girlfriend,” I said to the group, who were frantically tapping at their cell phone screens.
“Forget your girlfriend!” a brunette with black lipstick yelled just before nudging into my side. Another scooted in next to me while the others took pictures. It was a hen party, and I was the feed. In the early days of my career, this was the kind of shit I lived for; I would have played along with it, eaten it up. Ironically, they wouldn’t have recognized me a few years ago.
I pushed the phone flat against my ear, hoping Rakell couldn’t hear what they were saying. “Hey guys…please…my girlfriend.”
Rakell let out an audible sigh. “I need to go, Jake. Sounds like you have your hands full.”
“Noo,” I hushed out, twisting my torso, trying to get space from the bodies flanking my sides.
“Yes, go take care of your fans. I need…” She started to say something, then clipped her sentence. “Bye, talk soon.”
The girl with black lipstick kept pulling my arm, pleading with me to go with them. I excused myself, more like begged off, saying I had to go back in, then slipped into the bar, pushing back on their numerous invitations, but not before they took God knows how many pictures of me. Shit, and maybe some videos as well. I felt the beers, not to mention the two whiskey shots I’d consumed. Last night, we had dinner with my sister and Winnie before turning in early, so I promised Dwayne that tonight would be our New York party night. I had to admit the interview went really well. Dwayne and I had been in sync, and the audience ate it up. Jimmy Fallon was easy to connect to, and the gameshow bit, they explained, harkened back to The Newlywed Game, a hit in the seventies. Their setup for Dwayne and me as a newlywed couple had us rolling, and the audience loved it.
Dwayne clapped my shoulder as I slid onto the barstool next to him. “I love this city!” he exclaimed.
Rakell: I hope you are safe from the females of NY. Tell Dwayne that based on the game show, he knows you better than I do. I’ll call tomorrow…Send
Jake: Safe and sound. I’m back with my date, but I guarantee you, he doesn’t know me the way you do…Send
Rakell: So, you love anything lemon? Cake, chicken, muffins, etc. That’s important information if I’m going to make a run at this girlfriend thing…Send
Jake: The girlfriend thing is a lock. Just need to see you more…Send
Rakell: ??See you soon…Send
My house was crawling with folks. Melissa had helped set up catering for the night, a taco and fajita bar, and hired a bartender. I thought about making my ribs and brisket, but the list of people who said they’d show up kept expanding. Plus, Dwayne was going in on this party, and he’d demanded that we have the jalapeno cream sauce and queso from Chuy’s, so it was easier to get the whole setup from them. I took a picture of the spread, homing in on the large bowl of queso. I wasn’t sure what she was doing right now, but I could hardly look at Chuy’s queso and not remember her words, playful and sultry, from the night we’d discussed her past and, of course, mine, too. Her comment had made us both chuckle in the middle of a discussion otherwise wrought with tension. “I’d probably do you for some Chuy’s queso.”
