Part 9 (1/2)
He surrendered the keys to the valet, along with a fifty dollar bill. He saw the look I shot him at that, put his hand at the small of my back, and escorted me into the restaurant, explaining, ”I'm not taking any chances with that thing,” which just made me laugh.
As soon as we were in the front door, I fell in love with the place. Every cheesy, Mexican cliche was on full display, from the sombreros hanging on the wall, to the piatas suspended from the high ceiling, to the mariachi band playing on the small stage along the far wall.
I absolutely loved it.
Trip gauged the expression on my face, and it made a wide grin split his features. He took my hand as the hostess led us through the dining room, but when she started to put the menus down at a booth near the stage, Trip whispered something to her I couldn't hear as he slipped a bill in her hand. She changed direction and led us to a private table in a darkened corner instead.
Once we were alone, I said, ”Hey. Henry Hill. How come we didn't come in through the kitchen?”
He got my Goodfellas reference and started to chuckle. ”What am I, a clown? Do I amuse you?”
Before I could tell him what a funny guy he was, he said, ”I've learned it's best to tip beforehand. You get better service that way.”
”Fair enough, Mr. Wiley.”
He looked at me then, frozen in the act of placing his napkin across his lap. ”You know, you've only called me that once before.”
I took a sip of my water. ”What? Mr. Wiley?”
”Yeah. During our interview. You said that exact same thing to me. You never... You never call me by that name.”
”Because it's not your name.”
”Yeah. But even people who knew me growing up can accept that I changed it.”
”Not legally, though, right?”
He leaned back in his seat and shot me a sham dirty look. ”No. Not legally. What's your point?”
”That it's just... all for show. Trip Wiley is all just smoke and mirrors. Trip Wilmington's the guy I fell in love with.”
I'd never seen him smile quite so big. ”And that's why you'll always be my rosebud.”
That was a new one. ”Well, you'll always be my... tulip... Dear.”
He cracked up at that. ”Not my rosebud. My Rosebud. Citizen Kane, remember? You're my happy thing before the fame, before the money.”
How adorable was that? I gave him a shy smile, touched that he thought of me in such an endearing way. I was sure, however, that he was just talking about who I used to be for him. After the past few days, I hoped I was coming to mean even more to him now than I did then.
Our waiter came over with some chips and salsa, asking if we'd like something to drink. I was thinking that I should probably just order a soda and was startled when Trip ordered a bottle of house wine instead. But I waited for our server to leave before making a stink about it.
I had just opened my mouth to question him when Trip put a hand up. ”It's for you, not me. You had that look.”
”What look?”
”That look like you didn't know whether or not to order a drink. That look like you didn't know whether or not to even ask me about it. For future reference-and trust me, you'll encounter plenty of recovering alcoholics out here-you don't need to curb your drinking just because we can't control ours.”
”Is that the general consensus?”
”Pretty much. One of the first things you learn is that you can't control other people's behavior. You can only control your own. Even some guys at the treatment center were cla.s.sified as problem drinkers, not alcoholics. They take their recovery hats off on the weekends and think just because they're only having a few beers means they're handling the situation. They're not. It's a recipe for disaster.”
”There's a difference between the two? Which one are you?”
”For me personally, it doesn't matter. The way I see it, a problem's a problem. If I felt like I could drink, but still had to constantly moderate every drop, I figure I shouldn't be drinking at all, you know? Believe me. I've done lots of trial and error over the years. I'm not about to tempt fate. It's easier just to avoid all of it.”
I accepted his a.s.sessment. He was a smart guy and been through h.e.l.l and back. I had both trust and precedent to know that he wasn't going to go out of his way to screw up his life again.
”Well, I don't have to have wine, either.”
He snickered out, ”Yes you do. I plan on getting you drunk tonight and taking full advantage of you.”
I reached under the table and ran my fingertips down his thigh. ”You don't need to get me drunk for that.”
He snarled at me across our bowl of chips, took a sip of his water. ”You are going to be the death of me, woman.”
I was still laughing as I said, ”So... I was trying to be cool about this, but I can't just pretend I'm not blown away, here. Just exactly how do you know Paul Newman well enough that he let you borrow his car?”
”I told you I'm starting a hockey movie in the next couple of weeks. What I didn't tell you was that it's a remake of Slap Shot.”
”I love that movie!”
”Exactly.”
He didn't look pleased.
”Why do I get the impression that you're not happy about this?”
”No, I am. Now, anyway. But think about it. Everyone loves that movie. It's awesome exactly the way it is. A remake might be a really bad idea. I'd been completely paranoid about it, and decided to consult the source before committing to do it. Paul's doing a cameo, so I was able to finagle his info and get in touch with him.”
”Members.h.i.+p has its privileges.”
”That it does. Anyway, after talking to him a few times, we kind of hit it off. For all the d.i.c.ky characters he plays onscreen, he's really a great guy. And for some reason, he likes me.”
”You like him, too.”
He gave a sheepish smile at that. ”Yeah. I admire him. I mean, the guy has had a career that spans six decades, and yet he doesn't even live here most of the time. He's been married to the same woman for fifty years, with not even a hint of scandal. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d just turned eighty and he still looks great, still racing cars.” I smiled at that, envisioning Trip as a h.e.l.l-raising octogenarian. He totally would be. ”But I think most of all, I admire the work he does with those kids at that camp. Oh. And he created an entire food company just to donate the profits to charity.”
I loved that he idolized the man, not just because he'd hoped to emulate his successful career, but because he'd hoped to emulate his successful life. ”You want to be him when you grow up?”
He chuckled as he answered, ”Yeah. I guess I do.”
”Well, taking on one of his most beloved roles might be a step in the right direction.”
”Or a step in the really wrong one.”
”You'll make it work. I know it. You haven't filmed a stinker yet.”