“That’s amazing. I love it. Brother time in Bali sounds like fun.” Another sigh escaped. Part of her was still in disbelief at how easy it was to talk to Sam. How well they got along and how she was truly disappointed that seeing him on Friday wasn’t going to happen. The other part was the disbelief that she had a kinda boyfriend to miss at all. “Well, do you want to hang out when you get back?”
“For sure. And that way I can give you something back.”
“What’s that?”
“Housekeeping found a Sailor Moon shirt under the bed. Plus my assistant still has your makeup bag from the night at the W.”
“Oh my God! Thank you so much. Thank your assistant and housekeeping! I haven’t fully unpacked yet.” She’d put her things like her toothbrush back in her bathroom, but her dirty clothes were still in her bag on the floor. She’d be responsible about them in the morning. She didn’t have time now. She was too busy talking to her kinda boyfriend. “Was that the good news?”
“I have a concrete reason to see you again. I have to get this stuff to you. It’s my chivalrous duty. As your man.”
Amanda rolled her bottom lip between her teeth as her heart bloomed with warm sparkles and unicorn tears. Things were moving so fast, but hearing those words from him? It was exactly what she wanted. “Are you my man now?” she asked quietly.
“I want to be,” he said, his voice filled with soft sincerity.
“I do like that idea. I just don’t want you bragging to all of your friends.”
“Listen. When I get back I’ll talk to my team. I’m gonna make sure you keep your privacy as much as possible.”
“I mean, I’ll enjoy that while it lasts, but we know that won’t work.”
“Will you let me try?”
“Of course. And I’ll do my best too. I—yeah.” Amanda checked the clock on her nightstand. She had six more minutes. “If you change your mind—”
“About what?”
“About being my boyfriend.”
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, but if for some crazy-ass reason I do—”
“I want a letter. Like a dramatic-as-fuck handwritten letter. I want to feel it, hold it in my hand as I sit on Venice Beach, while tourists complain about the homeless problem while doing nothing to fund housing initiatives in their own communities. I want to hold that letter in my hand and weep before I cast the biodegradable paper into the ocean as a way to start the grieving process of getting over you.”
“Cha-Cha,” Sam laughed. “You are extra as fuck.”
“I’m sorry. I keep most of this bottled in. You’re letting the real freak in me out.”
“I’m here for it and I can see the writer in you now. That was some batshit poetry.”
Amanda wasn’t quite sure which part it was, but something he said brought her right back to reality. Suddenly she was thee Samuel Pleasant’s girlfriend and that sure as hell didn’t change the fact that she had to be up at the ass crack of dawn to wait on thee Dru Anastasia.
“When are you leaving for Bali?”
“Tuesday. After my meetings. I’ll be in town but—”
“I’ll be at work.”
“Look, I know what you said, and I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me who you work for. But when you’re ready to quit, I can help you.”
Amanda’s throat felt like it was closing as tears threatened to rise in her eyes. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. He was just being kind, but maybe it was the mere offer, a way out of a situation that still felt extremely impossible and yet necessary at the same time, something about it in that moment was a little too much. Because she knew he meant it. Amanda had met so many shitty, dishonest, manipulative people since moving to California. But Sam Pleasant wasn’t one of them. Still she was too scared to believe the full truth of what it meant to have someone like that in her life.
“I appreciate that, Tex. And I will let you know. On both counts.”
“Oh, there was another thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you send me your Banker Down script?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“’Cause it’s ass-trash garbage in a garbage boot.”
“The fuck is a garbage boot?” Sam laughed.
“Not sure, but the answer is no.”
“Please. I’ve read all the good fic I can find and something tells me you captured Banker VIII’s likeness perfectly.”
“Damn,” Amanda said under her breath. “Fine. Only because if you understand the fine complexities of Banker VIII’s relationship—”
“With his uncle—”
“Then you’ll understand why he can’t bring himself to tell Munico how he really feels.”
“Whenever they pull the plug they better get them together. They’ve been dragging that relationship out forever. People are getting pissed.”
“Me. I’m people. I will riot. Okay. I’ll send it to you. Text me your email address.”
“I will.”
“I should go. I turn into a pumpkin at, like, nine on Sunday nights. I need my beauty rest.”
“’Kay.”
“We’ll talk soon?”
“I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“’Kay. Night, Tex.”
“Goodnight, Amanda.”
“Night.” She ended the call before she let out a high-pitched moan. He was trying to kill her. She was sure of it. She went about her bedtime routine, and when she was done wrapping her braids, there was a text from Sam with his email address and a picture of Majesty headbutting Bam Bam. She loved that asshole horse.
Amanda pulled out her personal laptop and found the file buried in her online drive. She’d go back to it every now and then, think of revising it and resubmitting it for a writers’ program, but the time never seemed right. She went in and added a footer to let Sam know she meant business: If you are reading this, Samuel Pleasant cannot be trusted. Run.
* * *
Amanda set Gus’s food on the ground, then rinsed off her hands. She looked around the kitchen. Everything was put away and the cleaning service would be by the following afternoon to dust and shine the whole apartment when they were on set. She checked the fridge
