I'd been thinking about her.

I didn't necessarily want to be thinking about her. Nor did I really want to admit that she'd been on my mind. Or that I was hoping she'd find a way to get in touch with me.  I never gave her my number and I didn't take hers, but that didn't mean anything. LA was like a huge small town. If you wanted to know something, an answer would be easy to find.

So, I was only a little surprised when a call popped up on my cell phone- No Caller ID. I sent it to voicemail, because those calls are usually from people I don't want to talk to... magazine editors "looking for a quick quote", or photographers or people with "amazing film opportunities" which usually turned out to be bit parts paying scale. They never called my manager because they knew he'd turn them down without even talking to me.

But a call that comes through on a Thursday night, around 9 o'clock while I'm lying on my couch wouldn't be a business call. When the voicemail notification popped up, I clicked on it. 

That voice... soft but a little raspy, just enough to dance on the nerves in my back. She sounded timid. Contrite. Like she should have, the way she turned me down. For the reason she turned me down.

I guess I understood her point, having watched the video that Alex sent me. He was right, it was way more than chewing out your publicist in public. He was drunk and surly, red faced and screaming. The video was grainy but through amazing audio I listened to Rex Luther verbally cut Lena down like she was a tree and he was Paul Bunyan. 

"Rex, let's just go back inside, have a drink, calm down."

"Calm down?" Rex paced in front of the entrance to the Ivy, a hip LA restaurant where people go to be seen. Sure, they have a nice bacon, avocado and tomato salad, but no one goes to the Ivy for the food. "Have drink and discuss how you're trying to tank my career?"

Lena stood next to him in a slim black dress that hit her right above her knees. Her arms were crossed and her head tilted to the right- the international sign of annoyance. "I'm not trying to tank your career. I'm just suggesting that it would be best if-"

"How the fuck do you know what would be best for me?"

"I'm your publicist. I do know a few things."

"Oh please! You don't know shit about music. What publicist that represents a top ten billboard artist suggests he not release an album? Are you out of your FUCKING mind?"

"A publicist who knows her client is right on the edge. This right here, Rex! This is what I'm talking about! This is why I think you need push your album back and spend at least ninety days in a facility-"

"Fuck you and what you think, cunt!"

Lena reared back at the insult, then glanced around at the faces of Ivy patrons pretending not to listen to their argument. She laid a hand on a meaty, leather clad arm. "Listen, let's either go back inside the restaurant or leave. You can't stand out here screaming at me from the top of your lungs-"

"Stop telling me what to do," he hissed, yanking his arm out of her grasp, then sticking a finger in her face. "I don't pay you to think. I don't pay you to advise me on my career. I pay you to do what the fuck I tell you to do and keep my name in lights."

"They'll be in lights, alright. On the marquee at the funeral home when you keel over from cirrhosis-"

"Oh, shut the fuck UP! Stupid bitch- you think you know so much. If you knew twice as much as you think you do, you'd still be a stupid bitch!"

Lena rolled her eyes and moved a few steps away. "Fine. I'm leaving. Stand out here and scream to yourself."

"Finally. And do me a favor. Never call me again. For anything. Not for work and definitely not for sex. I never want to see that pussy again in my life."

Lena stepped into him again and muttered, through her teeth. "Shut the fuck up, Rex!"

"You don't mind if the world knows you have a loose pussy do you? Like throwing a hot dog down a hallway."

Her jaw dropped. Then re-hinged. "So we're doing this? Really? I guess I don't mind that if you don't mind if the world knows your dick resembles a cocktail wiener. Don't blame the hallway when the hot dog is miniature."

"You still choked on it."

"You still ate it."

"Shut the fuck up, ugly bitch."

"An ugly bitch that you fucked with your tiny dick. The one that only gets hard if you take a little blue--"

"Bitch, I said shut up!"

Then I heard it. Open handed, forceful, loud. A smack, right across her face, so hard, so violent that the force of it tossed her up against the facade of the building. At that point, three men in dark suits approached and Rex was pulled in one direction, Lena in another, both of them still screaming at each other.

According to Alex, in the following weeks, the web was scrubbed of any mention of the incident. Rex Luther was removed from the list of clients at Lena's agency and she was reportedly "away on assignment". A short time later, she disappeared from the agency website.

I wouldn't want to date one of us after that. But it had been years since that incident. She seemed to have moved on, at least professionally. That she was still hung up on a self-important asshole was... well, as fast as people seem to move in this industry, I was surprised that Rex Luther even mattered to her anymore.

I picked up her message and, before I could change my mind or talk myself out of it, immediately dialed her back. She picked up on the second ring and I almost didn't know what to say.

"Hello?" She repeated.

"Oh. Uh, hey. This is JC."

"I figured, since I just called you. Hi."

"Hi." I muted the TV, since I wanted to concentrate on our conversation, then tossed the remote to the other end of the couch. "So... what's up?"

"Not a whole lot. Outside with the big dork. He's... eating something... hang on." I waited while I listened to her footsteps plodding along pavement. "What are you eating? Give me that. Ewwww...."

"What was it?"

"A shoe lace. Gross. Don't eat that shit, buddy."

I heard the gruff playfulness of his bark and the tinkle of ID tags on his collar. It seemed crazy to miss an animal I'd only met once, but I did actually miss the little guy. Well, the big guy.

"So, you called."

"I called." She huffed a short breath. I got the sense that she was sitting down.

"I'm actually surprised to hear from you."

"I figured you would be. I wanted to say, first of all, that I'm sorry about how things sort of... well, how we left things, last weekend. I wasn't trying to upset you or hurt your feelings or anything."

"Yeah, about that-"

"I mean, I can see how it would be an insult and a lame reason to turn down a date when the truth is...I really wanted to say yes."

"I was just going to say-"

"So I wanted you to know that I don't think of you as that kind of celebrity. I mean, I still don't date celebrities. But I don't think of you as the kind I don't date." After a few beats of silence, she asked, "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I answered with a laugh. "You had a lot to say. I couldn't get a word in so I figured I would let you say it."

"I'm sorry. I work a lot with the web. I'm not used to people actually talking back to me."

"I talk back. And I talk a lot."

"Okay, then. Talk to me. I hope you're not weirded out that I called you."

"I'm wondering how you made that happen, yeah. But I'll be honest... I've had your phone number for a week. I just wasn't sure you wanted to talk to me."

"I wasn't sure I did either. Until tonight. And now?"

"Now that you somehow dug up my personal, private cell phone number?"

She laughed. "Yeah. Now that I've stalked you."

"Well...it gives me a chance to apologize to you, actually. I might have overreacted last weekend. And I might have acted a little entitled and... celebrity-like."

"Oh. That's incredibly sweet. And also true."

I laughed, despite myself. "I don't blame you for turning me down. But I was hoping I could make it up to you by asking you out again. And you actually saying yes."

"Oh, I-"

"We don't have to go anywhere fancy or anything. I wouldn't take you somewhere where there'd be cameras and a huge crowd."

"That sounds-"

"We could find a spot where you could bring Barksdale, if you want."

In my mind, I pictured her tossing her head back and cackling with laughter. "If you're trying to pay me back for my rambling earlier, you're doing a good job."

"I told you, I talk a lot."

"You did. I'm... I'm hoping we'll find a lot to talk about when we go out."

"When we... so, yeah?"

"So, yeah."  She emitted a quiet, sexy chuckle. And then in the next moment, barked, "Stop that, you idiot!"

"I really hope you're talking to the dog."

"Sorry about that. He really likes mud." I heard the tinkle of his collar again and the muted sounds of him panting in the background. "Well, so... when do you think you want to go out?"

I flipped the phone to the calendar app. My eyes bugged out when I noticed today's date. And Monday's date. My birthday- my 40th, in fact. It had really snuck up on me. Suddenly, I knew what I wanted to be doing when I turned another year older.

"Sunday. Let's do something with the dog if you want. Then maybe some dinner. How does that sound?"

"It sounds.... Very un-celebrity like. I'd love to."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it. So I'll call you in a couple of days to firm up plans."