“Okay, so here’s my moral dilemma,” said Perry as he and Sandy sat down for dinner at Musso and Frank’s. As usual, the restaurant was only partially full—Perry could remember coming here with his family for special occasions, and the wait would be an hour, even if you had a reservation. Plus, once you got seated, you faced the surliest waiters this side of New York. Old and crotchety, they alternately ignored you or made fun of you. Everyone loved Musso’s waiters. In a land where every restaurant employed actors in training, the career waiters at Musso’s seemed exotic. Perry liked them because he saw too much of himself in the would-be actors and screenwriters who served his food at other eateries. At Musso’s, there were no reminders of his career concerns.
“I’m listening,” said Sandy.
“I’m being pressured—bribed, almost—to give a kid an A who doesn’t deserve one. There’s the hint of a good job on a TV series if I play ball, and Bob Parrish will clearly be relieved if I give this kid a better grade.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Sandy, examining the two thousand items that made up the Musso’s menu. “So give him an A. What’s the big deal?”
“He doesn’t deserve an A. At best—if he works his butt off—he deserves a B or B-plus.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Sandy, throwing down the menu in exasperation. “It’s a grade, not a kidney. Just give it to him. What possible difference will it make in life? Do you even remember the grades you got in high school?”
“No, but I feel guilty being bought, I guess.”
“You should only feel guilty if someone is getting hurt. If you had to take an A away from a good kid and give it to this loser, then maybe I’d tell you to fight it. But otherwise, what the hell?”
“Did you know most new teachers quit within three years?” asked Perry.
“Makes sense. We both know you’re just hiding out at Crosswinds. If you stayed there, you’d eventually be a bitter old guy.” As if on cue, a bitter old guy came to take their order. “You’d be like that,” said Sandy, motioning to the retreating waiter. “Telling your students about the good old days on game shows.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Perry sighed.
Perry was starving when his beef Stroganoff came. This meal was a true special occasion, since he, like Ann, rarely allowed himself to eat beef. Sandy had ordered a chef’s salad, which was covered with long planks of cheese dripping in dressing. She picked one up with her fingers and took a dainty
bite off the end. The weight of the ranch was too great for the cheese, however. It snapped in half and went plummeting toward her lap. Perry’s head was down, digging into his meal, but he saw the cheese fall. Sandy, thinking he had missed it, went on eating.
“What about you? Aren’t you hiding out at Hollywood Today?” Frankly, Perry cared less about that answer and was more intrigued by how long Sandy would pretend that she didn’t have a giant piece of cheese in her lap.
“I don’t know,” she said wistfully. “I had never planned to make a career of it, but I’m having fun. It’s been good for me. Painting can be isolating, and it’s good for me to be in an office. I met Tim and I met you. That’s not bad for one job.”
Perry looked directly at her. Sandy was smart, funny, quirky, and vulnerable. He didn’t feel as if he was in love with her, but, in a way, that seemed inevitable. If I don’t end up falling in love with her, something will be terribly wrong with me, he thought. So he assumed that he was in prelove and acted accordingly.
“I’m glad we met. It’s the nicest thing Tim ever did for me.”
“Tim, Tim, Tim,” said Sandy, shaking her head. “What are we going to do with Tim?”
“I know, he’s been a bit much lately,” agreed Perry. “That happens. I usually just avoid him until it passes. I don’t think I’ve talked to him since the party last week.”
“I’ve never seen anyone less cut out for success,” said Sandy. “Except me.”
“The car?”
“The car, the column, that awful Antonio. He should know better.”
“Tim hasn’t had that much good luck in life,” said Perry. “It’s not like he’s had bad luck, like a car accident or a brain tumor, but things haven’t quite gelled. He’ll be all over the
map with this one—he’ll brag, he’ll feel unworthy, he’ll do something stupid like buy a BMW, but he’ll still be Tim. Ultimately, I mean.”
“You two are so alike and yet so different.”
“That’s what everyone says. It’s typical of twins, I think. Even we expect our lives to be more in sync than they are. But we’ve always been totally out of sync. When I’d get a good report card, he’d get a bad one. When things were going well for me socially, he’d be brooding in his room. Mom used to say that she never went to bed unworried—one of us always had a crisis.”
“So who’s in crisis now? The schoolteacher who’s about to be bribed or the hot-shot writer who’s making a fool of himself with the TV star boyfriend?”
“I would say it’s him. He would say it’s me. My mom would worry about both of us.”
“I’m more worried about him,” offered Sandy. “I think you’re luckier.”
“Knock on wood when you say that,” insisted Perry, instinctively reaching under the table and knocking on the wooden underside. Sandy knocked on the side of her chair.
“Can I tell you something without hurting your feelings?” asked Perry. “Actually, can I tell you two things?”
“You can try.”
“You’re the first girl I’ve dated since high school I didn’t want to form a production company with. I mean that in the best possible way. I never thought that I could have a relationship that wasn’t centered on work. I was afraid that I’d have nothing to talk about. But it’s different with you, different in a very good way.”
“Okay, that wasn’t so bad,” said Sandy. “What’s number two?”
“I know you have a big piece of cheese in your lap. But I’m
going to the men’s room so that you can take care of it with a minimum of humiliation.” He stood up and headed for the back of the restaurant.
“Perry?” Sandy called out after him.
He turned back.
“I hate you,” she said sweetly.
“I know,” he said. “I don’t blame you.”