Totally and Completely Fine(57)

He pulled out his phone and looked at the time. It was almost ten o’clock.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be getting much foot traffic at this time of night.”

“I wanted to apologize,” I said. “Again.”

“You really don’t have to.”

He didn’t close the door, but he didn’t welcome me inside either.

“Could I come in?” I asked.

“Aren’t you worried someone will see you?”

The question had a touch of bitterness, but I deserved it. Because the truth was that I was worried. Not a lot—this was a quiet building, and it didn’t seem like anyone was around—but it was still risky.

I was here anyway.

I was starting to wonder if my impulse control was deteriorating with age.

Ben didn’t wait for a response, just stepped aside and let me in.

Just like in Philadelphia and in his trailer, the space was neat but mostly empty. There were the familiar items—pictures on the fridge, his bike helmet on the table, and another wrench?

Ben followed my eyeline.

“Leaky shower?” I asked.

“Wobbly bed frame,” he said. “Borrowed some tools from my landlord. Nice lady.”

“Mrs. Hopkins?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Don’t take her up on her offer to do your laundry,” I said. “She still does that by hand.”

“Good to know,” Ben said.

The place was a studio apartment, so I could see said wobbly bed over in the corner. It was neatly made, the books he’d bought from the Cozy stacked on a nearby table.

“So,” he said.

He gave me a once-over.

“That’s a nice outfit.”

“I was on a date,” I said, regretting it immediately.

“Oh?” Ben lifted an eyebrow. “How’d that go?”

He was asking a rhetorical question and we both knew it.

“I said some awful things to you,” I said.

“Technically you said them to Allyson, but continue,” he said, with a gesture of his hand.

“I am sorry,” I said.

“For what exactly?” he asked. “For what you said or the fact that I heard it?”

“Both?”

He laughed. “A politician’s answer if I’ve ever heard one.”

I let out a sigh. “You don’t have to forgive me,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew that I knew I was wrong.”

“It’s not a matter of forgiveness,” Ben said, arms crossed, leaning against the dresser. “I’m not one to hold grudges, especially over something we all have.”

He stood and came toward me. Close. Closer.

“Which is?” I asked.

“A wayward tongue,” he said.

Of course he made “tongue” sound filthy.

I should have left or apologized more. Instead:

“Do you own any other shoes?” I asked.

We both looked down at his feet.

“You don’t like my boots?” he asked. “They were quite expensive.”

They didn’t look that way. They were scuffed and well-worn all around.

“I think you were ripped off,” I said.

Why couldn’t I shut up and leave?

Ben laughed. It was such a good laugh.

“I bought them when I booked SXS,” he said. “They’ve been around for a while.”

“And you haven’t thought to replace them?”

He lifted a foot, examining the shoe.

“And lose all the hard work I put into breaking them in?” he asked, looking at the other boot. “They’re supposed to last a lifetime. Hence the initial expense.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I don’t really need that many shoes,” he said. “And I travel light.”

“Sure,” I said.

“These are actually one of the most expensive things I own,” he said.

That surprised me, but then I remembered his comment about how much money he’d make playing James Bond.

“Saving your pennies?” I asked.

“Something like that,” he said.

I wanted to know more.

“Though I suppose they could use a polish,” he said.

He had his hands in his pockets and just stood there. Didn’t ask me to leave. Just looked at me.

“What about your motorcycle?” I asked. “Wasn’t that expensive?”

“Lillian?”

I blinked.

“You named your motorcycle Lillian?”

“After Lillian La France,” he said. “She was a stunt rider in the twenties. Also known as The Girl Who Flirts with Death.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You’ve found me out,” Ben said. “I like expensive shoes and bikes. Though I nearly backed out of buying Lillian when I had to write the final check.”

“Is Ollie not paying you enough?”

“For the play?” Ben asked. “Not nearly enough, but I don’t do theatre for the money.”

“Just movies?”

Ben shrugged.

“Your agent doesn’t mind you not making money on this show?”