She rolled up a piece of napkin into a spitball and blew it at him from her straw.
“Are you thinking about how much you want the dreams to stop?”
“Something like that,” he said.
“So much that you’re finally willing to take a nice girl out to a movie and dinner?”
“Something like that. But you mean dinner and a movie, right?”
“No,” she said. “Movie first. Then dinner. You pick the movie.” She could barely keep her voice from exultation. “As long as it’s something vaguely superhero-y. And I’ll pick dinner. That’s only fair. But I pay for the movie, and you pay for dinner.”
“That’s only fair,” Julian said.
They went to ArcLight on Sunset to see a matinee of the latest Marvel flick. Mirabelle said she didn’t want any popcorn, and then munched on his the entire movie, sitting pressed against him, half turned to him, taking up his entire armrest, and constantly leaving her hand inside the bucket. “Popcorn’s good here,” she kept whispering. Of course it was freezing in the theatre and he had to give her his jacket. Now it smelled like her.
For dinner she chose the Chateau Marmont. She’d never been, she said, and always wanted to see what it was like. “Plus,” she said, as they were driving back west along Sunset, “it’s like the boxer Jack Johnson says—just because you have muscular strength and the courage to use it in violent contests with other men does not mean that you should lack appreciation for the finer things in life. I don’t know if you know this, Julian, but Jack Johnson was the first black heavyweight champion of the world.”
Julian suppressed a laugh. “You’re quoting Jack Johnson to get me to take you to Chateau Marmont?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“A simple ‘I’d like to go’ would’ve done it.” He didn’t want to add that even a smile and asking nicely wasn’t necessary.
The valet at the Marmont said, “Are you staying with us tonight, sir?”
“No, no, just here for dinner,” Julian quickly replied, ushering Mirabelle up the steps to the elevator before she could make a joke out of it.
“Am I dressed okay?” she asked, applying bright red lipstick in the elevator mirror.
“Yes, you’re fine.”
“It’s a Diane von Furstenberg.” She twirled around. “Cost me a month’s rent, but it’s called a Julian chiffon wrap dress. Some coincidence, right? How do I look?”
“Fine.”
Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. “You may look fly, Jules,” Mirabelle said, sauntering past him as the elevator doors opened, “but you got no game.”
Julian had never been accused of that before. “I meant, you look very nice.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They walked up to the hostess podium. “It’s pretty here,” Mia whispered, looking around. “Swank. Art deco.”
The hotel lounge was long and dark, lit by fake candles and lined with velvet couches that were at the moment empty as it was still early. She said she liked it. She took Julian’s arm, pressing her body against his jacket. “Okay, Mister Smooth Talking Romeo, let’s go dine with the beautiful people.”
Under the glass ceiling of the outdoor veranda they sat in the back near the bar and watched the glitzy world fill up the restaurant, the famous filtering down into the center lounge, draping themselves carelessly over the low-backed chairs.
“Only celebrities can sit in the center, huh?” Mia said enviously. “Look at them, like they all live in The Great Gatsby. Don’t they know Gatsby was an indictment to their shallowness, not a tribute?”
“It was a little bit of a tribute, too,” Julian said. “No one wished harder or worked harder than Gatsby to turn his dream into reality. If only the beautiful people hadn’t been so shallow.”
The Avett Brothers kick-drummed their hearts and approached her door, and the Moscow mules went to Julian’s head. They must have gone to Mia’s, too, for she was half his size and was matching him drink for drink.
After they sat for hours, and he paid the check, they strolled to the darkened lobby lounge, where they ordered more drinks and she too draped herself carelessly over the arm of a red chair, her chiffon dress riding up, uncovering her thigh. “What do you think, do I look beautiful and shallow?” she asked, throwing back her head.
“Yes.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They sank into the plush velvet couches. The glam of Hollywood filled up the rooms. Tipsy hours drifted by at the castle on a hill, while the chic celebrities bustled past them in their designer faded denim, wearing their rehearsed indifference like jewelry. The night was hot, and