“I know, but I had so much fun just sitting in the house and talking to you,” A. J. said, rolling up the windows as the breeze we’d gotten while driving had stopped and the late July heat was sneaking into the car. “I get so bored with dating sometimes. It’s like the same old thing. And I never really get to know the women—well, I know what they like to eat.”
I laughed, but A. J. kept a serious frown.
“No. Really. I know Lisa likes steak at Chops; Deena likes the anchovies on the salad at Maggianos; Michelle likes the mussels at Après . . . I could go on and on.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I said.
“It is. Trust me. Women see me and they think of money and being able to say their man is on television. I’m not stupid. I know if I was any other broke brother out here working at the bus station, 95 percent of the women in my phone wouldn’t call me.”
“That can’t be true,” I said. “You’re a cool guy. And you have to take the good with the bad. You had to expect that you would be chased by these women when you made your career choice. Just accept it and make the best of it.”
“You’re right. I do. I just know I have to look for something special,” he said. “And speaking of the job, I don’t know if you know it, but CNN isn’t renewing Sasha’s contract next season. They’re canceling her show.”
“What?” I looked at him. “I mean, why? Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, I am. Ratings are down and she’s not attracting any new groups. It’s a numbers game,” he explained. “Plus, she’s not exactly nice to producers. Always has that chip on her shoulder.”
“Does she know?”
“She was pulled into a meeting yesterday. She knows.”
“Wow. That’s awful. What’s she going to do now?”
“It’s media, so she’ll probably stumble around for a little while, but she should be OK in the long run,” A. J. predicted.
“But what about that house? It must be so expensive. How’s she going to pay the bills?”
“The house? Oh, that’s not her house. She’s renting it,” A. J. said. “You didn’t know that? It belongs to one of the producers. You thought she could afford that on her salary?”
I remembered the maid, the chandeliers, Sasha walking around the house like a diva in her dark shades.
“But what about the pool? She has her initials in the bottom of the pool,” I said.
“What? S.B.? The producer’s name is Scott Barnes.”
“But it’s pink!”
“And he’s gay!” A. J. laughed. “What’s the deal with all of the questions and concern? I didn’t think you’d be so mature about this. I kind of thought you’d be happy. You know, with everything she’s done to you.”
“I think I thought the same thing,” I said. “I know I did. I wished for it. But right now, I’m just in shock. Who’s taking her place? Are they going to create another show?”
A. J. smiled faintly.
“I got pulled into a meeting, too. They’re moving me to her slot.”
“Oh, my God! That’s a good thing. Right?”
“A very good thing.” A. J.’s smile grew.
I reached over and hugged him.
“You must be so excited. I can’t believe you kept that inside all night. Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, pinching his chest playfully.
“I didn’t want tonight to be about me,” he said. “I wanted to get to know you.”
“When did you find out?”
“Today.”