Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“Fish and chips,” Laurence says. “That’ll do me. Real bar food.”
I don’t know why, but he makes me smile. I suppose I feel less embarrassed about my own simple choice. I slap my menu closed. “I’ll go for the cheeseburger.”
After ordering from the same waiter who brought our drinks, it’s Laurence who keeps the conversation flowing. He asks me how I’m feeling about the new job and offers me some insight into what to expect on set. He seems genuinely interested in my work and the snippets I share of my life. Then again, he is an actor. Regardless, my confidence grows, and I quiz him a little myself. I ask him what he likes about his job, whether he ever wanted to do anything else. He didn’t. Unless, according to Laurence, you count being an astronaut when he was six. I could probably think of a thousand questions, especially related to his ‘celebrity status’, but I don’t ask. I won’t ask. I imagine his life is filled with invasions of his privacy.
It’s probably about halfway through our meal when I realise I’ve stopped noticing his expensive clothes or the fact I ‘know’ his face. Somehow, Laurence Cole has turned into a regular guy, a normal man with normal quirks who does normal things…like drip ketchup onto his shirt.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. He pats furiously at the stain with a napkin. “It’s just spreading. I’ve no’ brought a jacket, either.”
Anger creates a crisscross of lines across his forehead, and I have to suck my lips between my teeth to stop myself from laughing. Clearly, I don’t do a great job.
“You think it’s funny, aye?”
I straighten my lips, shake my head, but my chest shakes against my will. “No. No, honest. It’s just…” Your reaction. Unfortunately, I can’t carry on out loud because if I don’t seal my lips the laughter will escape. “I can lend you a jacket,” I offer. “Although, it’s probably worth about thirty quid, and I can guarantee it’s not good enough for those clothes you’re wearing.”
Laurence stares again, only this time his brow purses like…like I’ve offended him.
I swallow the awkwardness in my throat.
“Does it have a zip? Buttons?” he asks.
“Uh, y-yeah,” I answer, suddenly nervous.
His head tilts into his shrugging shoulder. “Then it’s good enough. Thank you, William.”
Oh. “You’re welcome. It’s up in my room. I’ll go get it.”
Laurence shakes his head, throws the last chip on his plate in his mouth. “I’ll come with you. Nae need for you to run around after me.”
“Oh. I mean, sure. Okay.” I drain the rest of my lager and start searching for a waiter. “I’ll ask for the bill.”
Laurence starts pushing away from the table, stands up. “It’s on a tab. Dinnae worry about it.”
“You don’t have—”
“It’s on Andy,” he says. Reaching over, he puts a hand on my shoulder, which I find myself staring at. I can feel the warmth through the thin material of my shirt, of every finger on top of my skin. What a strange thing to notice. “He has tabs at all the hotels round here. He can afford it, trust me.”
“Okay,” I agree, but what I’m really thinking is how cold my shoulder feels now he’s taken his hand away. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I had more than two pints tonight.
I feel self-conscious making my way back to the hotel room. People aren’t as good as they think at being subtle. Sideways glances follow me the whole way, making me straighten my shirt, wipe the corners of my lips, run my fingers through my hair…until I remember who I’m with. Laurence isn’t just the normal guy who spills ketchup on his shirt. Laurence is the famous movie star. They’re looking at him. I’d think he must be exhausted by it, only he doesn’t appear to notice. Either that, or he’s used to ignoring it.
I enter the room first, feeling compelled to pick up my dirty clothes from view and stuff them under the duvet before heading to the wardrobe. I haven’t unpacked yet, but my two coats are hung up. I pluck the one that seems most suitable for Laurence off its hanger.
“Will this do?” I ask, holding up the light jacket. It’s thin, made for the warmer months, and dark enough to complement most outfits…according to my wife.
He plucks it from my fingers, offers a wide smile. “Oh, aye. Perfect, thanks,” he says, slipping an arm into a sleeve before dragging it around his back.
It fits him well. A little tight, but not noticeably so. Not unless you were really looking. Which I’m not. Anymore, at least. “You can get it back to me through Andrew…or whatever,” I say, shrugging, hoping the nonchalance becomes as real as it sounds when it travels through the air. Because inside…I feel a bizarre sense of disappointment.