Neal stood up, took two steps away from his desk, and then sat back down again. It was like he felt it wise to have the barrier of his desk between him and a possible menace. “Did you steal these children? Do I need to be concerned? Should I get your lawyer on the phone?”
“No, I didn’t . . . What’s wrong with you? They’re my niece and nephew. They’re staying with me for the summer and are being well looked after.”
“Who’s with them right now?”
“The gay throuple who lives behind my house.”
Neal narrowed his eyes. Perhaps this was some sort of test. “So. You’re ready to get back to work?”
“In short.”
“I thought your moving to Palm Springs marked your retirement from the business.”
“Retirement? Oh, god no. That was the start of my comeback.”
Neal picked up a ballpoint pen and clicked it several times. It was surprisingly loud.
“I can’t live in Palm Springs and work? Paul Newman lived in Connecticut.”
“So now you’re Paul Newman.”
“In this scenario only. Well, also—we both have piercing blue eyes. Should I do a line of condiments?”
“Get out of my office.”
“Salad dressings have been done, but I feel like mayonnaise is poised for a comeback. We could get ahead of the curve on that.” Patrick smiled with all his teeth.
“You’re wasting my time. Just like you did the last time you called in the middle of the night.”
“It wasn’t the middle of the night, it was five in the morning. You used to tell me you were up at five in the morning to talk to New York.”
“Were you in New York?”
“No.”
“Then what were you doing calling me at five in the morning!”
Neal had a point. About ten months after he moved to Palm Springs, Patrick suffered a bout of insomnia. When the sun rose, marking the end of his third sleepless night, he called his agent and said he wanted to go back to work. And then, embarrassed, he never called back to say he was suffering exhaustion-induced hysteria. What he wanted was not to go back to work, but rather to go back to sleep. Neal made some calls, which left him with egg on his face when Patrick claimed to have no memory of their discussion. “Look, if you’re not into this . . .”
“Did I say I wasn’t into this?” Neal clicked the pen a half-dozen more times. “And you’re willing to audition?”
“Why do I have to audition?”
“Because you’ve been away. Because people need to see that you still have it. Because you haven’t played the game.”
“I don’t like playing games.”
“Then what do you like?” Neal stared at Patrick like he was a petulant child.
“I like tacos. I like parties.” Patrick glared to see if his agent would remember the advance he had once made, or if it was all in a drunken stupor.
After a beat, Neal turned red and scoffed. He dropped the pen with a thud. “Okay, well you’re playing games right now.”
The longer Patrick sat on the couch without a Fanta, the angrier he got. The memory of the taco truck, and Neal’s reaction to it, pushed him over the edge. What was he doing here? He’d told John he hated earning money for Neal. There had to be a way to earn money and not have this worm leech off of him; now was not the time to be lazy in his thinking. This wasn’t about going back to work. It was about moving forward to work. “You know what? This was a bad idea. YOU’RE FIRED.”
“Oh, I’m fired? You said you wanted to work. How are you going to do that without an agent?”
“I’m getting a new agent.”
“Where are you going to go? Across the street? Read your agency agreement. You’re not allowed to sign with another agency for six months.” Neal picked up a ball of rubber bands and tossed it triumphantly back and forth in his hands.
“Across the street? No. You’d miss me too much. Across the hall.” Patrick looked at the ceiling to buy himself a beat. Was he certain about this? Yes. Yes he was.
“Across the hall . . .”
“I’m with Annie Alps out there. I’m sure she has my files.”
“Cassie Everest.”
“Thank god you knew who I meant. I’m running out of mountains.” Patrick put his feet up on the coffee table, knowing it would drive his now former agent nuts.
“My assistant.”
“Oh, no. She’s off your desk. She’s an agent now. She has a big new client!”