Nichola Stevens (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
omgplsstop) wrote2018-05-24 05:22 pm
omgplsstop) wrote2018-05-24 05:22 pm
Entry tags:
So you know what days you go on, and have them find another stand-in?
Most people closing in on 40 were done dating, either because they were already married (or as close to it as they wanted to be), or had sworn it off. And yet, Nichola still found herself trying to ignore the same nervousness that only high schoolers were supposed to get as she checked her eyeliner for the tenth time. But it wasn’t time to get out the door yet. It was easier to meet guys at a pre-arranged location than deal with waiting around to get picked up, but now she was waiting around for an appropriate time to leave so she didn’t get there embarrassingly early.
There were only so many times she could check her eyeliner, check her purse, make sure her pepper spray was in her inventory, make sure she had her keys, and wallet, and ID, which should have been in her wallet, but sometimes things liked to not be where they were supposed to be.
Finally, after working herself up more than should have been acceptable for a grown woman, she locked up the house and got into her car. With the show finally levelling out and hitting its stride, Nichola was finding more time to socialise with people she never thought would be part of her social circle. She never thought she’d accept blind dates set up by morning talk show hosts either, but here she was, driving off to do exactly that. He also lived in Rockford Hills, where he owned a little health food store, which was nice. If things worked out, he’d be easier to see casually. They were meeting at an outdoor café, which was easy enough to find. Parking, however, was not so easy. She had to drive around the block a few times, eventually finding an open meter. Walking back to the café in the heat wasn’t ideal, but it was just another part of life she was slowly getting used to. Maybe she’d be able to find a reason to take a vacation back east, just so she could wear one of her nice winter coats again. There was no use for winter coats, nice or otherwise, in Los Santos.
Nichola had been told to look for orange sunglasses. She thought that was an odd thing to look for, until she saw the crowd at the café. The orange sunglasses Bill was wearing on his head stood out in an instant. He was in line, waiting for a seat, making it easier for Nichola to walk up and approach him.
“Bill, right?” she asked.
He nodded, smiling a friendly smile. “Nichola?”
Somehow, those few exchanged words were enough to lift some of the anxiety building up. “Oh, thank god. I have a friend called Bill, and was kind of worried I’d find him here.”
“Well, I don’t have any friends called Nichola, so I think we’re good.” He was cute, with shaggy blond hair and a little surfer goatee. This could be dangerous.
They were shown to their seat, right next to the sidewalk, and given cold glasses of water and menus before the waitress walked away to deal with the 100 other customers.
“Busy place,” Nichola observed as she settled her purse by her feet.
“Yeah, it’s… usually not.” Bill looked around the crowd as Nichola’s phone began to buzz. And buzz. And buzz some more.
“Seriously?” she asked under her breath as she picked her bag back up.
“Everything all right?” Bill asked cautiously.
Nichola took one look at the screen and tossed her phone back into her bag. “Just my pet diva,” she said.
“That’s right. Angie said you’re a producer. What show are you working on?” Bill asked, still not quite as at ease as he’d been a few moments earlier.
“Warfstache Tonight,” she said. After almost a year, the name still hadn’t grown on her. It probably never would.
“And he’s your diva?” Bill asked.
Nichola nodded. “That would be him, yep. But I don’t want to talk about him. Tell me about your store? Is that how you know Angie?”
“She’s my sister in law. I’ve kind of become her last-minute stand in when someone cancels. I have to be up at four every morning in case someone cancels.” Nichola thought she caught a tough of resentment in his voice, but decided it wasn’t any of her business.
“I bet it brings in a lot of business,” she said instead.
“The one or two days a month they need me, yeah.”
Nichola didn’t know what to say to that, so she took a drink of her water and looked over the menu. “Why not just… get a regular spot? So you know what days you go on, and have them find another stand-in?” She couldn’t handle doing a live show. It sounded like hell.
“It’s family. You gotta do what you gotta do.”
Nichola’s phone started buzzing again. She tried to ignore it, until she realised it wasn’t another text storm. Someone was calling her. She quickly fished her phone back out of her bag and looked at the screen.
“Shit, I have to take this. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.” She answered the call and picked up her bag, while still trying to get to her feet. “Five seconds,” she told the person on the other line.
She quickly walked away from the crowd, until she found a little alcove that was far enough away from the street to hear what was being said. Mandy had agented up when she’d told him he’d be getting the show for the whole of July, and of course, this is when the woman would choose to call. Someone had passed on some faulty information, or understood some faulty information, because she’d launched straight into a screed of demands and conditions to Mandy taking the job.
“Listen, yeah. I’m in the middle of something else,” Nichola said for the third time. “He already works— I have to go.”
She finally hung up on Mandy’s weird, 200-year-old agent and tossed her phone into her bag. She didn’t have to get very close to the café to see that she’d already spent too much time away. Bill was gone, and someone else was enjoying their table.
“Motherfucker!”
There were only so many times she could check her eyeliner, check her purse, make sure her pepper spray was in her inventory, make sure she had her keys, and wallet, and ID, which should have been in her wallet, but sometimes things liked to not be where they were supposed to be.
Finally, after working herself up more than should have been acceptable for a grown woman, she locked up the house and got into her car. With the show finally levelling out and hitting its stride, Nichola was finding more time to socialise with people she never thought would be part of her social circle. She never thought she’d accept blind dates set up by morning talk show hosts either, but here she was, driving off to do exactly that. He also lived in Rockford Hills, where he owned a little health food store, which was nice. If things worked out, he’d be easier to see casually. They were meeting at an outdoor café, which was easy enough to find. Parking, however, was not so easy. She had to drive around the block a few times, eventually finding an open meter. Walking back to the café in the heat wasn’t ideal, but it was just another part of life she was slowly getting used to. Maybe she’d be able to find a reason to take a vacation back east, just so she could wear one of her nice winter coats again. There was no use for winter coats, nice or otherwise, in Los Santos.
Nichola had been told to look for orange sunglasses. She thought that was an odd thing to look for, until she saw the crowd at the café. The orange sunglasses Bill was wearing on his head stood out in an instant. He was in line, waiting for a seat, making it easier for Nichola to walk up and approach him.
“Bill, right?” she asked.
He nodded, smiling a friendly smile. “Nichola?”
Somehow, those few exchanged words were enough to lift some of the anxiety building up. “Oh, thank god. I have a friend called Bill, and was kind of worried I’d find him here.”
“Well, I don’t have any friends called Nichola, so I think we’re good.” He was cute, with shaggy blond hair and a little surfer goatee. This could be dangerous.
They were shown to their seat, right next to the sidewalk, and given cold glasses of water and menus before the waitress walked away to deal with the 100 other customers.
“Busy place,” Nichola observed as she settled her purse by her feet.
“Yeah, it’s… usually not.” Bill looked around the crowd as Nichola’s phone began to buzz. And buzz. And buzz some more.
“Seriously?” she asked under her breath as she picked her bag back up.
“Everything all right?” Bill asked cautiously.
Nichola took one look at the screen and tossed her phone back into her bag. “Just my pet diva,” she said.
“That’s right. Angie said you’re a producer. What show are you working on?” Bill asked, still not quite as at ease as he’d been a few moments earlier.
“Warfstache Tonight,” she said. After almost a year, the name still hadn’t grown on her. It probably never would.
“And he’s your diva?” Bill asked.
Nichola nodded. “That would be him, yep. But I don’t want to talk about him. Tell me about your store? Is that how you know Angie?”
“She’s my sister in law. I’ve kind of become her last-minute stand in when someone cancels. I have to be up at four every morning in case someone cancels.” Nichola thought she caught a tough of resentment in his voice, but decided it wasn’t any of her business.
“I bet it brings in a lot of business,” she said instead.
“The one or two days a month they need me, yeah.”
Nichola didn’t know what to say to that, so she took a drink of her water and looked over the menu. “Why not just… get a regular spot? So you know what days you go on, and have them find another stand-in?” She couldn’t handle doing a live show. It sounded like hell.
“It’s family. You gotta do what you gotta do.”
Nichola’s phone started buzzing again. She tried to ignore it, until she realised it wasn’t another text storm. Someone was calling her. She quickly fished her phone back out of her bag and looked at the screen.
“Shit, I have to take this. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.” She answered the call and picked up her bag, while still trying to get to her feet. “Five seconds,” she told the person on the other line.
She quickly walked away from the crowd, until she found a little alcove that was far enough away from the street to hear what was being said. Mandy had agented up when she’d told him he’d be getting the show for the whole of July, and of course, this is when the woman would choose to call. Someone had passed on some faulty information, or understood some faulty information, because she’d launched straight into a screed of demands and conditions to Mandy taking the job.
“Listen, yeah. I’m in the middle of something else,” Nichola said for the third time. “He already works— I have to go.”
She finally hung up on Mandy’s weird, 200-year-old agent and tossed her phone into her bag. She didn’t have to get very close to the café to see that she’d already spent too much time away. Bill was gone, and someone else was enjoying their table.
“Motherfucker!”