Monday, January 12, 2015

Blonde Chicks Preferred: July 12, 2013

Liam Nordstrom:  July 12, 2013


Will finally took the red pill and called the Internet girl. He was hilarious when he stopped by this afternoon, in the best mood. He kept cracking jokes and nothing I said seemed to bring him down. He’s completely whipped. He didn’t come clean with her about his fame, but at least he is talking to her. She sounds like a super sweet girl—nothing like Mia Thompson. Will deserves a break. Hope she doesn’t turn into a psycho bitch. He wants to meet her, so he and I were brainstorming on how he should spring his true identity on her.

“I say you just show up at her door. It’s not like she’s going to turn you away.”

“She might. She’s not impressed by fame. I think she’d see it as a detriment, not an asset. She’s not like the rest of the mindless drones. That’s why I like her.” He smiled and I could tell that he was thinking about something she said. “It’s got to be something big, something she can’t refuse.”

“If you had a premiere coming up, you could invite her to that.”

He shook his head. “I don’t. And I have to meet her before filming starts in September. It’s got to be larger-than-life, where she can’t just shut me down.”

“Talk to Nick,” I suggested. Our buddy Nick Reyes lives over the top every day and in a weird man-whore way knows women pretty damn well.

“Can do.” He cocked his head in agreement and we moved on to talking about his assistant Leslie and my housemate’s break up.

“Is it another guy?” I asked. “Because I think that Nak is in shock. He can’t figure out what happened.”

“I don’t think that she is seeing anyone else. Leslie said that they just agreed that it wasn’t working. She made it sound as if they were both too busy to keep it going.”

“If you gave the chick some time off, maybe she could have a decent relationship and Nak wouldn’t be moping around like a puppy with his head stuck in one of those clear plastic cones.”

“This is not my fault.”

Nak walked into the kitchen in yesterday’s clothes, wearing a three-day-old beard. “I’m pretty sure it is your fault, Jonathan Williams.” He sat down at the breakfast bar and spun around to face us.

“I am not getting involved in Leslie’s personal life. You are not worth me losing the only person that can keep me organized. Sorry, man.”

Nak slumped against the counter. “If she had just given me some warning. That would have been…I mean…what the hell? She shows up in Vancouver for my wrap party and granted the film didn’t have much of a budget so it wasn’t much of a party, but I was coming home. And she starts up with this it isn’t working BS. And we never see each other? We were flying out together. I just don’t understand.”

“It’s not another guy if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s probably just trying to work out her fall schedule. You know how anal she is. We’re going to be gone almost three months. Leslie likes to have everything methodically in order. I, on the other hand, say, seize the day.” Will chuckled and I knew he was talking about finally meeting the Internet girl.

“So you think I should call her or not?” Nak asked.

“Do what you have to do. Life’s too short. I’ve got to go,” Will added as he stood up and headed for the door.

“Can you talk to Leslie?”

Will turned and asked, “What do you want me to say.” He stared at him earnestly.   

“Tell her we’re going out clubbing tonight,” I hollered. There was no way in hell that I was going to let Nak beg. “This is LA. There’s plenty of chicks wanting some Nak. Her loss.” I lifted my chin to stress my point. He doesn’t need her. “Are you coming with us or not,” I ask Will.

He smiled. “Can’t. I’ve got to figure out my own problems.” As he headed for the door he added, “Gorboni said he was looking for something to do. Give him a call.”

“Good luck with the Internet girl,” I yelled before the door closed.

Kelsey was visiting her family so it was the perfect night to go clubbing and I could always find some more people to join us. I’d call Gorboni for sure. I hadn’t been out clubbing since before the accident. My plastic leg boot and pain would assure that dancing was out, but the sympathy card the cast brought would reel in the chicks—all in the name of helping Nak. The sacrifices I make.


“You better shave. I can’t take you anywhere looking like that,” I said, slapping my roomie on the back as I hobbled over to the counter to grab my phone and figure out our plans for the evening. Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler  

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