Page 64 of The Spirit of Love
“I don’t hate you,” I confess. “Not anymore. Not that much.”
“That first day, when we met…” He trails off, studying me. “I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong. I was like,Do I remind her of some ex-boyfriend?”
I almost spit out my beer again. I should really pause on the drinking until we’ve concluded this portion of the conversation.
“I’m sorry,” he says, cringing. “That was—wow—embarrassingly presumptuous of me.” Jude’s cheeks have turned a surprising shade of rosy.
“How so?”
His voice has gone higher, clearer. “I did not mean to imply that I think I look like someone you would date or should date—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s simpler than all that. I just wanted your job.”
“Because it was supposed to be your job. You should have it.”
“Someday.”
He puts both hands on the bar. “What if I walk—”
“Don’t do that. Why would you do that?”
“Because this is your dream. It was never mine. I just got lucky. Well, first I got very unlucky, but somehow, I turned a bad thing that happened to me into the inspiration for a movie. And people liked it. And it landed me in a position where I got to pick my next project.Zombie Hospitalwas a whim—”
“Don’t. Don’t say that.” I stare down into my beer.
“I’m only here because I loved somethingyouwrote,” he says. “Fenny, I’m so sorry. I’m going to make this right.”
“If you walk, Jude, people will hate me. Everyone’s so excited you’re here. I would be an enormous letdown.”
“Impossible,” he says. “But maybe…we can find a way to work together.”
He’s smiling like we’ve made a great decision, but I feel nervous.
“I like it when you smile, Fenny,” he says.
“You do?” I look at him and feel something pulse between us. It unnerves me—and I like it.
“I don’t want to be the reason you’re not smiling. Ever. I’ve got an idea to bring it back tonight. Will you indulge me for a little longer?”
“I’m very excitedabout this plan,” Jude says in the parking lot after we’ve paid our bills. I was about to hail a cab back to the hotel when he pointed down a darkened trail. “Take a walk with me and Walter Matthau?”
“Now? There? Really?” I can see nothing, but I know it’s the direction of the national park, which is closed at night, unless you have camping permits.
“It’s really stunning,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “We’re camping out there actually.”
“You’re not staying at 29 Palms?”
“Do you know how many injuries and deaths occur each year due to hotel negligence?”
I stare at him, trying to fit this into my ever-expanding knowledge of the enigma that is JDS. “You don’t trustanyone, do you?”
“You say that like it’s an insult, but I have no problem admitting that when I can avoid putting my life in the hands of strangers, I avoid it.”
“What about mountain lions? Do you know how many campers were mauled by mountain lions in Joshua Tree last year? Okay to put yourself in their paws?” I tease.
“Since 1986,” Jude says, “there have been four fatal mountain lion attacks in all of California. No attacks, fatal or nonfatal, have been reported in Joshua Tree.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because the people were too dead to report them.”
