Page 159 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

An actor from a Marvel movie sends bottle after bottle to the table, just to see her smile.

Eli’s chain-smiling, whiskey glass in hand, chatting with label execs who all want five minutes.

Someone requests a song by Trash Romance, and Eli flips the guy off before buying him a round.

I’m the echo in the room,

laughing when they laugh,

smiling when the camera flashes,

checking my phone every twenty minutes, missing a Jersey boy who’s 3,000 miles away.

They dance and party as the night rolls into tomorrow.

By the time we track Celie down and spill out onto Santa Monica Boulevard, we peel away from Eli with hugs and fist bumps and promises we’ll never keep.

Then me, Celie, and Jordan collapse into the backseat of an Escalade.

On the way to the hotel, Celie’s half-tilted in the seat, ass angled as if she’s dodging a seatbelt wedgie.

Jordan’s laughing so hard she’s crying, lashes clumped wet. “Bitch, no. Don’t tell me you sittin’ sideways ‘cause’a that security dude.”

My head snaps to Celie.

“Security dude?”

Celie rolls her eyes to the window, lips clamped into a straight line. “Malik never showed,” she mutters.

Jordan’s laugh bursts out as she slaps both knees. “She let a bouncer pop her back door,” she dies.

Celie’s teeth grind. “Safer than some rando. Least he had clearance.”

“He sure as fuck did,” the words bubble up through Jordan’s laughter. “Baby girl got frisked by dick.”

A laugh breaks out of me next.

Celie sits crooked with a straight face.

Jordan wipes at her lashes.

“Aw, cher. Went from running back to bouncer. Wanna talk about it?”

Celie’s stare burns into the windshield,

her teeth grinding.

Jordan’s shoulders bounce,

unable to reel the laughter in.

Then—

Celie’s jaw hinges open,

eyes blown wide.

“Uh-oh,” she sings.