Wednesday, January 24
(Franco)
At six o'clock I walk into Gus's bedroom. He's talking on the phone with Scout.
"Sorry to interrupt, man, but do you have any clean shirts? Like maybe a button down or something? I'm going to this thing with Gem tonight and all I have clean is a white t-shirt." I know he won't but it doesn't hurt to ask. Jamie would be the man to ask in a situation like this, he's the neat, prepared one of the group, but he's way too small for me to fit into any of his clothes.
Gus holds the phone away from his face and answers, "You're welcome to take a look in the dresser but I think all my clothes have already been worn. I was holding out on laundry until this weekend when I'm home. If there's something that works and doesn't stink, it's yours. Sorry, dude."
The dresser is empty. All his clothes are in piles on the floor.
Looks like a clean white t-shirt and jeans it is.
And when Gemma opens the door of her apartment at ten after six, I feel like a bum. Tasteful, fitted teal dress that touts, I'm a professional, respect me goddammit, is paired with leopard print sky high heels and sexy hair that taunts, I'm a goddess, respect me goddammit.
With the heels, she's only a few inches shorter than me and I don't have to bend over to kiss her. "Hi. You look incredible."
She smiles and rubs away at my bottom lip with her thumb, I must be wearing her lipstick now. "Hiya. Thanks. So do you."
"You sure I'm not going to embarrass you wearing jeans and a t-shirt?" I ask, because I really do want to see what she's accomplished, but I don't want to reflect badly on her in front of her business associates. "I'm trying to be mindful of your professional reputation and not look like an asshat."
"Simple, white v-neck tee—that hugs you quite nicely I might add—is always classic. You look handsome." When she raises and wiggles her eyebrows, it puts my mind at ease.
Gemma gives directions while I drive and we talk about what happened in our lives today in between.
"It's there on the right. The white building. Take a right at the corner and park around back in the lot."
Holy.
Shit.
It's spectacular.
And not just because I know the woman sitting in the cab of my truck in the seat next to me designed it. It's breathtaking and stands out, even in a city like Los Angeles that's known for its distinctive architecture. It's bright white. Three stories of angles that look like they shouldn't structurally work together, but they do. And though it's supremely modern, it's not sterile. There's a softness about it that's inviting, luring you, like you somehow know that nothing but beauty is housed within.
When I park, we both get out and I meet Gemma with an outstretched hand at the rear of my truck.
She gladly accepts it and looks at me with a shaky smile. "Is it strange that I'm nervous?"
"No. You created art that's about to be judged in real time, by real people. That's scary." It is. Any artist can relate, no matter the medium. I rub the back of her hand that I'm already holding with my free hand, and then squeeze it between both of mine so she knows I'm here for her. "They're going to love it though. You have nothing to worry about, if the outside is any indication of what's inside." I stop and point at the building. "Look at it, Gem. You did that. That's fucking impressive as hell. I'm not trying to blow smoke up your ass, but I've traveled all over, seen a lot of cool ass stuff, but I've never seen anything like that. It's incredible."
Her nerves diminish when she flashes her smile. "I needed to hear that, thanks."
"You're welcome, badass architect. Now come on, let's go party and celebrate you and your kickass creation."
She laughs. "I should've warned you, other than the crew involved in construction, this will probably only be people involved in funding the project. Partying will likely be limited to champagne, fancy little hors d'oeuvres I can't pronounce, and stuffy uncomfortable conversation. I'm sorry if I gave the impression it would be fun."
I wink. "I can make anything fun, Gem." I can, especially with her.
The entry is expansive, high ceilings, and lots of windows. It's bright and warm and welcoming. There are a few clusters of people standing near the doors. I'm guessing they're the guests who lean toward the anti-social side of the gauge and are counting down the minutes until they can make an exit. Gemma knows the first two dudes we pass.
"Hiya," she lilts. The rise and fall of her voice within two syllables is almost childlike, innocent and sweet, denoting kindness. She isn't fake. She doesn't go out of her way to be nice. She just is.
One grunts, he looks only half engaged in the land of the living, like wakefulness is waning and he's on the verge of falling asleep. The other makes up for his lack of enthusiasm and then some. "Hi, Gemma." Eyes blinking so rapidly it makes me dizzy and a crazed smile to match, he's the picture of nervous, prepubescent boy crushing hard on the cute girl walking by. Except he's probably forty. And it's fucking creepy.
"Don't take any candy from that one," I whisper in her ear as we continue walking. "Or get in his van if he offers you a ride."
She doesn't even try to hold back her approving giggle. "Noted. I need to use the toilet before we go in. Want to grab us some drinks?" she asks pointing at a table near the front doors with glasses of champagne and expensive bottled water.