Dating You / Hating You
Page 63
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A world of unknowns in that one question. I shrug.
“Do you have something on him?” he asks me.
“I have a lot of little bits of dirt,” I say. “No steaming pile. Nothing I’d really share with anyone.”
“And he knows that.” He bends, rubbing his hand over his face. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
• • •
Because Carter is obviously the most amazing boyfriend of all time, he takes me out to breakfast for dinner. Over enormous stacks of pancakes at the Griddle Cafe, we talk about everything but work, interrupted frequently by Mike and Steph’s giddy, emoji-stringed texts. We texted them a selfie of us earlier: me, cross-eyed and cheeks puffed as Carter planted a giant smooch on my cheek. He typed the words Meet my girlfriend, Evil, before he hit send in the group window.
I suppose that got the message across that we are doing the couple thing and no longer plotting each other’s murder.
We talk about our families, because it feels like a real possibility that we’ll meet them soon—and maybe that they’ll meet each other. He talks about how he was engaged once, and how he loved that girl, but not in that bone-crushing way where you would give up anything. She wanted small and Carter wanted the stars. We talk about how maybe Steph was right and I do always manage to find fault in the men I date—Too motivated! Not motivated enough!—and the relief I usually felt at putting them in the not-datable column. That way it was them, not me. We talk about Daryl and Amelia and how much they mean to me. How I’ve known Daryl for most of my life and how I love Amelia in almost the same way.
“Have they seen you since Friday?” he asks proudly. “Because if they saw you walking lately . . .” He mimes me stumbling bowlegged with two fingers teetering across the tabletop and I chuck a piece of scrambled egg at him.
He picks it off his plate and eats it.
I might really love him.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, reaching across the table to take my hand. “Did that gross you out?”
“What? No.”
“Then why do you suddenly look like you’re going to vomit?”
“Because I love you.”
He laughs, delighted. “How terrible.”
“I just . . . don’t go,” I say in a burst.
“Go where?”
“Anywhere.”
He stands, leaning across the table. His lips taste like syrup, his smile feels like home.
Beneath him, on the table, his phone begins to jump.
Carter pulls away, grinning at me and slowly sitting down in his seat before glancing at the caller ID. With a tiny just a sec finger, he answers.
“Dave, hey.”
I watch Carter’s face go from flesh-colored to zombie pale in about two seconds.
“What? No, it wasn’t me. Absolutely not.”
He listens, shaking his head.
“Fuck, no. It—he hasn’t even signed yet.” Nodding, he says, “Just verbal. And the announcement was supposed to be yours, just as soon as I had the paperwork wrapped up.”
Finally, he looks up at me and whispers, “Open Variety Now.”
Scrambling for my phone, I open my app. It loads slowly, but by the time it does, Carter has finished his call and he takes my phone when I hand it to him.
I’ve already read the headline.
I have no idea what is happening, but Carter looks like he is about to throw up his pancakes all over the table, and it isn’t because I professed my love.
It’s because Variety has just announced that Dan Printz has signed with Carter.
“What is going on?” I whisper.
Carter shakes his head, reading and rereading what’s written before handing the phone back to me with a quietly hissed “Sssssshiiiiit.”
I scan the article and feel my stomach drop.
People’s Sexiest Man Alive Leaves Lorimac
Dan Printz, actor in the upcoming action blockbuster Global and recently voted People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, has signed with talent agent Carter Aaron.
Printz has emerged as one of the hottest actors in Hollywood following the box-office success of Under a Stony Sky, in which Printz portrays a brooding cyborg who saves a family from a corporation bent on killing their genius children. To date, the film has earned over $750 million internationally.
Printz previously was repped by Joel Meyer over at Lorimac, who launched Printz’s career in his debut, Edge, produced by Universal and directed by George Stan. Lorimac has been in talks with Sony and Fox to cast Printz in several upcoming big-budget films, but according to Printz’s spokesperson, those will pass over to Carter Aaron, effective immediately.
Aaron, originally from New York, works for newly merged Price & Dickle.
I stare at the screen, uncomprehending.
“Why is this in Variety?” It’s a stupid first question, but I get now why Dave called. Dave was supposed to get this scoop. Dave was going to give Carter a huge spread in the Hollywood Vine print edition in exchange.
“No idea.” His voice is clipped and loud. Carter pulls out his wallet, hastily grabbing a couple of twenties and dropping them on the table. His hands are shaking.
I scramble to follow him as he stands and heads for the door. A few diners near us have stopped talking to watch us bolt.
“Why . . . ?” I have so many questions. Why is this out now? Why did Variety get the scoop? And why is Carter mentioned so obviously?
It doesn’t seem like that’s what’s happening, but . . . Carter wouldn’t do this, right? He knows better?
He has to know better. This is Agenting 101.
“Lorimac knew?” I ask.
Carter bursts from the restaurant. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, Dan couldn’t hire me until he’d fired Joel, but that happened last week and I got the distinct impression Joel was keeping it from Lorimac, positive Dan would come back. I don’t like Joel, but this is no way for them to find out. Fuck.” He does an angry little fist-punch toward the sky. “Fuck!”
Actors leaving agencies is a big deal. A huge deal. Especially talent like Dan; he’ll take millions of dollars with him, and it will not only affect the agency’s bottom line, it will bruise their reputation. This announcement is bad for Lorimac, yes, but it could be just as bad for P&D because it makes us look like shady assholes doing underhanded things to steal talent; none of this should have been made public until we were sure Lorimac knew and had time to prepare their own statement.
More to the point, it makes Carter look like a shady asshole, because he’s mentioned specifically, with very little mention of P&D at all. It’s written as if Carter is the force behind the deal, not the agency.
Tripping after him, I start to form another question. “Carter, why—”
He wheels on me, face red. “I don’t fucking know, Evie, okay? I don’t fucking know!”
I pull back, hands to my chest. “Okay! Jesus.”
Deflating, he hangs his head, reaching for me, pulling me to his chest. I’m still stunned, and come a little reluctantly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what just happened. I told Dave he had the exclusive. I met Dan today and we shook on it, I even told him about the offer of announcing with Dave and the Vine—he was thrilled—but he hasn’t seen a contract. I’ve never spoken to Ted Statsky at Variety—I have no idea how he got this.”
“Do you have something on him?” he asks me.
“I have a lot of little bits of dirt,” I say. “No steaming pile. Nothing I’d really share with anyone.”
“And he knows that.” He bends, rubbing his hand over his face. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
• • •
Because Carter is obviously the most amazing boyfriend of all time, he takes me out to breakfast for dinner. Over enormous stacks of pancakes at the Griddle Cafe, we talk about everything but work, interrupted frequently by Mike and Steph’s giddy, emoji-stringed texts. We texted them a selfie of us earlier: me, cross-eyed and cheeks puffed as Carter planted a giant smooch on my cheek. He typed the words Meet my girlfriend, Evil, before he hit send in the group window.
I suppose that got the message across that we are doing the couple thing and no longer plotting each other’s murder.
We talk about our families, because it feels like a real possibility that we’ll meet them soon—and maybe that they’ll meet each other. He talks about how he was engaged once, and how he loved that girl, but not in that bone-crushing way where you would give up anything. She wanted small and Carter wanted the stars. We talk about how maybe Steph was right and I do always manage to find fault in the men I date—Too motivated! Not motivated enough!—and the relief I usually felt at putting them in the not-datable column. That way it was them, not me. We talk about Daryl and Amelia and how much they mean to me. How I’ve known Daryl for most of my life and how I love Amelia in almost the same way.
“Have they seen you since Friday?” he asks proudly. “Because if they saw you walking lately . . .” He mimes me stumbling bowlegged with two fingers teetering across the tabletop and I chuck a piece of scrambled egg at him.
He picks it off his plate and eats it.
I might really love him.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, reaching across the table to take my hand. “Did that gross you out?”
“What? No.”
“Then why do you suddenly look like you’re going to vomit?”
“Because I love you.”
He laughs, delighted. “How terrible.”
“I just . . . don’t go,” I say in a burst.
“Go where?”
“Anywhere.”
He stands, leaning across the table. His lips taste like syrup, his smile feels like home.
Beneath him, on the table, his phone begins to jump.
Carter pulls away, grinning at me and slowly sitting down in his seat before glancing at the caller ID. With a tiny just a sec finger, he answers.
“Dave, hey.”
I watch Carter’s face go from flesh-colored to zombie pale in about two seconds.
“What? No, it wasn’t me. Absolutely not.”
He listens, shaking his head.
“Fuck, no. It—he hasn’t even signed yet.” Nodding, he says, “Just verbal. And the announcement was supposed to be yours, just as soon as I had the paperwork wrapped up.”
Finally, he looks up at me and whispers, “Open Variety Now.”
Scrambling for my phone, I open my app. It loads slowly, but by the time it does, Carter has finished his call and he takes my phone when I hand it to him.
I’ve already read the headline.
I have no idea what is happening, but Carter looks like he is about to throw up his pancakes all over the table, and it isn’t because I professed my love.
It’s because Variety has just announced that Dan Printz has signed with Carter.
“What is going on?” I whisper.
Carter shakes his head, reading and rereading what’s written before handing the phone back to me with a quietly hissed “Sssssshiiiiit.”
I scan the article and feel my stomach drop.
People’s Sexiest Man Alive Leaves Lorimac
Dan Printz, actor in the upcoming action blockbuster Global and recently voted People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, has signed with talent agent Carter Aaron.
Printz has emerged as one of the hottest actors in Hollywood following the box-office success of Under a Stony Sky, in which Printz portrays a brooding cyborg who saves a family from a corporation bent on killing their genius children. To date, the film has earned over $750 million internationally.
Printz previously was repped by Joel Meyer over at Lorimac, who launched Printz’s career in his debut, Edge, produced by Universal and directed by George Stan. Lorimac has been in talks with Sony and Fox to cast Printz in several upcoming big-budget films, but according to Printz’s spokesperson, those will pass over to Carter Aaron, effective immediately.
Aaron, originally from New York, works for newly merged Price & Dickle.
I stare at the screen, uncomprehending.
“Why is this in Variety?” It’s a stupid first question, but I get now why Dave called. Dave was supposed to get this scoop. Dave was going to give Carter a huge spread in the Hollywood Vine print edition in exchange.
“No idea.” His voice is clipped and loud. Carter pulls out his wallet, hastily grabbing a couple of twenties and dropping them on the table. His hands are shaking.
I scramble to follow him as he stands and heads for the door. A few diners near us have stopped talking to watch us bolt.
“Why . . . ?” I have so many questions. Why is this out now? Why did Variety get the scoop? And why is Carter mentioned so obviously?
It doesn’t seem like that’s what’s happening, but . . . Carter wouldn’t do this, right? He knows better?
He has to know better. This is Agenting 101.
“Lorimac knew?” I ask.
Carter bursts from the restaurant. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, Dan couldn’t hire me until he’d fired Joel, but that happened last week and I got the distinct impression Joel was keeping it from Lorimac, positive Dan would come back. I don’t like Joel, but this is no way for them to find out. Fuck.” He does an angry little fist-punch toward the sky. “Fuck!”
Actors leaving agencies is a big deal. A huge deal. Especially talent like Dan; he’ll take millions of dollars with him, and it will not only affect the agency’s bottom line, it will bruise their reputation. This announcement is bad for Lorimac, yes, but it could be just as bad for P&D because it makes us look like shady assholes doing underhanded things to steal talent; none of this should have been made public until we were sure Lorimac knew and had time to prepare their own statement.
More to the point, it makes Carter look like a shady asshole, because he’s mentioned specifically, with very little mention of P&D at all. It’s written as if Carter is the force behind the deal, not the agency.
Tripping after him, I start to form another question. “Carter, why—”
He wheels on me, face red. “I don’t fucking know, Evie, okay? I don’t fucking know!”
I pull back, hands to my chest. “Okay! Jesus.”
Deflating, he hangs his head, reaching for me, pulling me to his chest. I’m still stunned, and come a little reluctantly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what just happened. I told Dave he had the exclusive. I met Dan today and we shook on it, I even told him about the offer of announcing with Dave and the Vine—he was thrilled—but he hasn’t seen a contract. I’ve never spoken to Ted Statsky at Variety—I have no idea how he got this.”
