“Guess where I am!” I squealed, as I flopped backwards on the luxurious bed, still managing to hold the phone to my ear. The white, plush, down comforter puffed up around me.
“I have no idea!” Shannon exclaimed. “Tell me!” Shannon was my best friend from high school and I’d been dying to tell her my news.
“Shutters! Shutters on the Beach! In Santa Monica!” I rolled over to my stomach as the phone cord wrapped around my chest. It was 2003, so land-lines were still pretty prevalent.
“What are you doing there? Is there something going on at your apartment?” Confusion made her voice sound wary.
“No, nothing like that.” I sat up quickly and began to untangle myself. “I met someone,” I breathed. “I MET SOMEONE.”
“His name is John and he’s funny and smart and successful and cute and creative and awesome!”
“Wait – what?” Shannon said.
“He looks just like Luke Wilson!” I shrieked.
“Tracey-,” she started.
“Did you know,” I said, as moved to the balcony to have an illicit cigarette. Smoking is not allowed literally anywhere in California. “That half a grapefruit for breakfast here is seven dollars? SEVEN DOLLARS.”
“Okay, stop,” Shannon said firmly. “Start at the beginning.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, and lit the cigarette to try to calm myself. “It was a few weeks ago and I was shooting that car commercial and…” Continue reading Beware of the Wordsmith. Part One.