Like I wanted to do in my brother’s house a week ago.
Like I want to do now as we walk across Twenty-Third Street. Good thing walking and kissing is, well, not a thing.
Maybe I can just spend the next month walking, and I’ll be able to resist kissing the breath out of her.
It’s like a reunion at Gin Joint when TJ joins us along with Jo, Emerson’s good friend. Easton and Bellamy are on their way, Jo notes as we grab a velvet couch and a man with golden pipes croons old standards on a piano.
As the guy in the dapper suit sings “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home,” Emerson wastes no time going full Agatha Christie. After we order drinks, she catches Jo and TJ up on the Dot and Bette sighting.
“So, what do you think? Why are they here?” Emerson asks our friends.
I laugh, pointing my thumb at her. “She can’t ever stop working.”
“But it’s weird, right?” she asks, undeterred. “Feels like it has to be something.”
TJ lifts his old-fashioned and swirls it, his brown eyes intense as he answers. “My advice? Don’t try to figure out Webflix’s intentions. You’ll be wrong. Big companies like that have their own agendas, and you can’t ever truly get to the core of them.”
“Seriously,” Emerson presses, rubbing her hands along her thighs, a sign she’s getting worked up, “you’re all about motivation. What do you make of Dot and Bette being here while we’re here?”
“Emerson,” I cut in, setting a hand on hers to try to calm her anxiety. “You’re going to drive yourself nuts trying to figure this out.”
Jo’s blue eyes light up like sparklers. “Ohh! What if there’s a new reality show? YouTube stars vie against each other on streaming services,” she suggests.
“Not helpful, Jo,” I mutter.
Emerson runs with it. “Right? Or what if Webflix is going to surprise us. Hey, you’re doing the show together!”
“I highly doubt that,” I say, reaching for my beer. “They would have told Hayes. So why don’t we just ask him tomorrow when we see him for our intro meeting with Webflix?”
“Fine,” Emerson says with a sigh that says she’ll only let this go for now, not forever. “But I think it’s something.”
TJ lifts his glass in her direction. “You’re right, though, Em. A cigar is never just a cigar. The powers that be at Webflix want something. They’re putting pieces in motion to get what they want. Don’t mistake it for anything else. We all do what we do because we want things. No one is ever motivation-less.”
Someone’s got to put a pin in this detective game, so I try once more. “C’mon, man. You don’t think they’re doing it because they just like both shows?”
TJ scoffs. “There is no just. We don’t just avoid relationships. We don’t just have issues with commitments. There’s always a wound, always a reason, and always a motivation. And there’s definitely no just because.”
Trouble is, he’s probably right.
We are wired for fear. We are wired to avoid pain. We are wired to fuck up, and most of all, we are programmed to want.
Voraciously.
What I want is this.
Literally this.
New York, friends—and a chance.
The next morning, Emerson and I meet with the network executive overseeing our show at a smoothie shop on Madison Avenue.
“I feel like I should be in LA,” Emerson whispers as we arrive at Just Juice on Madison Avenue to see Ilene Brancuso.
Snickering, I point to the sign. “Better tell TJ there is a just when it comes to juice.”
Shoes click on the sidewalk, and I turn to Hayes, looking sharp in a purple shirt and black pants as he strides toward us.
He greets us, then motions us closer. “Listen, I’ve made some calls about the gingham grannies. No one is sharing any details with me yet, but I’ll see what I can sniff out later today. For now, let’s just go in there, tell her your ideas, and get sign-off. That’s what matters.”
“Of course,” I say.
Emerson smiles. “I promise I won’t be a dick.”
Hayes claps her shoulder. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Inside the shop, a woman with pink hair and buff arms waves us over to her table. A large silver tumbler sits in front of her, a metal straw in it. “You must be our new stars,” she says, then stands and shakes hands with all of us. “I’m Ilene.” She gestures to her silver straw. “I bring extras. Straws are so gauche. But I have metal ones for everyone.”
“That’s great,” Emerson says. “Straws are the devil. But they are fun for innuendo.”
Ilene winks. “That’s what we love about you. That naughty mouth of yours.”
“And I’m not afraid to use it,” she says.
“What can I get you two?” Ilene asks.
I squint at the minimalist menu behind the counter. Hard to pick between celery juice, kale juice, and clear juice, but I’m going to find a way to do it. “I had a coffee at the hotel. I’m good.”