Page 138 of Let's Kiss and Tell
Lucy’s words sit with me for the remainder of the drive. Here I was thinking that someone did this to Lucy. At some point in her dating history an ex mistreated her, causing her to put a shield around her heart. But Lucy’s never let it get to that point. She’s never let anyone even close enough. I had a notion, but now it’s confirmed.
Lucy’s never been in love.
Once we exit Verdugo, Lucy turns the volume on the car radio down. “Okay,nooowcan you tell me where we’re going?”
“I told you; it’s a surprise.” I stand my ground. “You’re very impatient.”
“I just want to know what’s going on,” Lucy says. “I like being in control!”
“I can remember a few times where you liked whenIwas in control.”
She blushes. “That’s different.”
To my luck, I nab a parking spot on the same block as therestaurant I booked a reservation for. Once I parallel park and turn off my car, Lucy freezes.
“Wait…” She looks out the window. “Are we going to Audrey’s?”
Audrey’s is East LA’s newest Italian classic red sauce joint. Anyone in the greater Los Angeles area has heard of Audrey’s because it’s the newest baby of former chef and owner of Alden, a Michelin-starred restaurant in New York. It opened late last year and has been notorious for being completely full every night since. Getting a reservation to this place has been harder than finding a barista in Silver Lake without a tattoo.
“Have you been?” I ask.
“No!Marsh, it’s impossible to get reservations here…Oh my god!” She turns to me, wide-eyed.
“Okay, great,” I say, relieved. “I haven’t been either.”
“How did you get a reservation?”
“Thankfully, I’m friends with a journalist who covered their review in theLA Times.”
“Wow,” she says. “And he just got you a reservation like that?”
“He owed me one,” I say.
She clicks her tongue. “Who you know really pays off, doesn’t it?” We get out of the car, and Lucy stomps in place like a little kid. “I’m really excited.”
“I can tell.” I wrap an arm around her and place a kiss on her head.
“I have seriously been dying to come here. I keep seeing everyone post about it.”
The hostess guides us inside, and the restaurant looks like a traditional Italian joint meets East Coast supper club. It’s the perfect backdrop for a photo op. There are gold curtains, floral wallpaper, and a clientele that feels aggressively attractive and cool, but at the same time could not care less about their appearance.
We walk across the checkerboard floor, past the long wooden bar, until we’re at one of the more ideal tables in the restaurant. It’s a quaint spot, filled with friends gossiping around us and couples on first dates or celebrating anniversaries. Once we settle and start looking at the menu, Lucy and I decide on garlic bread, arugula salad, lasagna, and veal parmigiana.
“I’m starving,” Lucy says, taking a sip of her red wine. In the dimly lit restaurant, there’s a warm glow to her. She’s like a goddamn painting that I can’t stop staring at, admiring every stroke and detail.
Aside from Lucy’s perfect exterior, there’s a complexity to her way of thinking, a confidence in anything she does, and I’ve barely scratched the surface. Now that I’ve gotten to see one of her layers peeled back, I only want to know what else there is to discover. All of it—the dark, hard, and scary parts of her that will still shine so bright.
My phone then vibrates on the table and I flip it over to find a text from Nadia.
Nadia:
Just in—Presidential lawsuit. Can you turn something around in an hour? Emailing you details now.
My heart rate spikes and I panic.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Unless I write something here and now on my phone it would probably take me forty-five minutes alone just to get home. I try to think fast. I can probably pull something together. It won’t be the best story, but it will be what Nadia’s looking for.
