Scene from own postponed sequel to Some Girls, with Such & Claire

    Thus it was that two hours later, she was rested and fragrant, refusing to fret that Jasper still hadn't called (and if he wasn't going to call, then neither was she; anyway, they'd make up the way they always did:  face to face.)

     Half an hour after that, she was back at the Moroccan place from the night before, beyond relieved when she saw Such already waiting at the bar.
Is this cool or what?  she crowed, and he bowed his head, acquiescing, And you found it first.
  They ordered a frozen margarita (her), a shot of Patron (him), and went to sit at a small table with a bowl of salted pistachios.  She poured the entire story out and he listened, smiling occasionally, lighting her clove, which they shared, saying nothing till she was done.
Knew I liked that guy for a reason, he said, and she looked at him, hurt.
Do you think he was right?
Sure he was, Such said easily.  Obviously Miss Thing was competing with you.  He hit the nail on the head with her envy of your young youf and les tits – but (putting his hands up as Claire began the clamor of denial) – but in fact he knows nothing of your real relationship with her.  And you're right – the woman has a talent for living the charmed life, which God knows, someone should get paid for teaching the rich – and otherwise – to lead it too.  So she hangs out with musicians – so what? Not everyone is cut out to save the planet, no matter how much we should be.
After all, he added, putting his hands down so she could admire their beauty, I'm a musician too, and I like to think I bring a wee bit of joy into otherwise humdrum lives.
She laughed, already feeling much, much better.
Anyway, Such said, He passed the test.
What test?
What do you mean, what test?  The Jade test!  The one you subject every single one of your maybe-interested-in boys, to see if maybe she could interest them more?  Which, and do tell if I'm wrong, is usually the reason you fire them within twenty-four hours of such a meeting?
She stared at him, speechless.
Claire, Such said, now speaking slowly and with more volume, as it to a retarded, slightly deaf child, He met her, he saw the two of you together, and he knew instantly that he'd nabbed the prize.
He leaned back and lit another cigarette, consummately pleased with himself.  And might I say, he added, exuding a long plume of smoke, He got that right.
But...
He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, really?  This topic hasn't been dusted?  Then held up a hand, calling the waiter.
And speaking of how I'm doing, he said, I have, as it happens, a little news of my own.  But first, let's get another drink – (And then it was 'ooh la la, I got dibs on Cleopatra Eyes headin our way!')
They ordered another round, Cleopatra Eyes demurely half-closing ('now that's a man who's perfected the come-hither look,' Such said admiringly).
Served once again, Such laid the devastation down:
I'm moving to L.A.  Temporarily, at least, he said, his voice firm.  
Her jaw hung open for so long he finally said, Stop that!
But – but – but –
You can say ass, sweetheart.  We both know it's my favorite part.
-- But you're such a New Yorker!  She nearly wailed that part; the city and Such were so inextricably linked for her, and with such pure joy, it was worse than hideously awful to imagine them apart.
Yeah, well, the man made me an offer I couldn't refuse, he said, and though he aimed for arch and blew several perfect smoke rings, she could hear the ambivalence lurking beneath, which always italicized her:
What man?  What offer?
You know, some guy.  (This usually meant a piece of trade, rough or otherwise).  He came to the bar and stared at me so fixedly I started flirting with him – played Noel, Gershwin -- Christ, I even played Kurt Weill!  And he started buying me drinks – I'm talking Ketel One at first, but after Claude clued him in, Patron, and he kept 'em coming.
Clearly, this trade fell into the otherwise category.
Turns out –
You went home with him?  It came out accusingly; already she felt betrayed by this fan, his musical taste, his expensive tequila, the artful seduction he had obviously completed.
Well, if you consider the Four Seasons home – and I do – then yes, I guess I did.
She just stared at him, watching as he took his time stubbing a half-smoked cigarette out, then lifted his glass and said, It turns out he's a movie producer.
A 'ducer!  Claire said, allowing herself to hate this stranger even more.  Of what?  Porn?
Such looked at her, and for the briefest half-second she saw the glimmer of hurt in his eyes and cringed at herself, clasping her hands together and looking away.
I meant, she said.
  -- As it turns out, of some indie movie with a few raggedy wannabes – I think he mentioned Robert Downey, the Junior, and that li'l redhead, Julianne Moore, with ongoing negotiations for John Cusack and Maya Rudolph –
Are you kidding?  she nearly shrieked.  God, I love those guys!
And who but the Scarecrow and the Lion does not?  Such said dismissively, adding, Which said movie he wants accompanied by a single piano – he said he needed raw (here he rolled his eyes), and God knows I can do that; and he said he needed spontaneous, and God knows (she got a meaningful glance); and he said he needed 'haunted' – please, I told him, stop already!  You just described my last personal ad!
At which point, Claire guessed, He ordered Champagne.
He gave her an admiring glance.  Yes, he did, in fact.  Yes, he did.
And that's all it took?  She was embarrassed by the way her voice squeaked at the end, the worst part of adolescent boy.
Claire, please.  Such swallowed the last of his shot and signaled the bartender for another round.         She began to protest but he said, Trust me, this is gonna hurt you way more than it does me.
He offered to pay me, he went on, then wrote a number down on a bev nap and slid it her way.           Her eyes popped.
Seriously?  Holy shit!
Honey, isn't that the only reason people move to the Coast?  For the stupid money?
I thought it was to get famous.
I'll skip the fame, thank you, just bring that fortune on.
The drinks arrived and she held her glass up, determined to be happy for him.
Well, here's to you, then, she said.  
You mean here's to me getting out of the studio apartment with shower so charmingly affixed in the middle of the room and surviving on tips from drunks and tourists – aside of course from that dreary quartet with me and three lesbian strings, and, oh, living on a diet of mostly pizza?  Hell, yes, I'll drink to that.
...Even though it's New York City pizza?  Which absolutely does not exist anywhere else, no matter how many times they say it does!
Such leaned back, closed his eyes, and only then did it occur to her that that maybe this was, in fact, really hard for him, too.
God, I'm gonna miss it, he said.
She took another big swallow, pretended it was the alcohol that brought tears to her eyes, and smiled.
You won't stay, though, she said.  Right?
God forbid.  I think my driver's license lapsed a decade – and a half? -- ago.  You know, right after I moved here.  (This though he'd moved 'here' from his parents' house in Queens, a joke he'd capitalized on for years).
Are they going to rent a car with a driver for you then?  Put you up at the Chateau Marmont?
Those are my conditions, Such said, But it appears this guy has a an extra little roadster or two in his extended garage, and a two-bedroom apartment with sundeck dying for a tenant.  It's in WestHo – let's face it, ya gotta love the sound of that nabe – and costs entirely one full quarter less than my studio here.
So, what, you're moving out next week?
Such set his drink down carefully, avoiding her eyes.  More like three, he said.  I already gave my month's notice -- and I'ma skip out before all those maudlin goodbyes.
She sat back, as stunned as if he'd hit her.  This time, the tears brimmed over, and she had to pull a Jade and shade her face with her hand.
Come on, Claire.  Be happy for me.
I am happy for you, she choked out.  It's me I'm not happy for – you're gonna leave, like, tomorrow, and I bet you never come back!
Such encircled her wrist with one his elegant hands.
Sweetheart, I need the health insurance.  And it wouldn't kill me to see a boatload of sunny days all in a row.  Plus you can come stay with me, any time, as long as you like – you know, until your two weeks are up.  You'll have your own vacation getaway... won't you please try to think of it that way?
His voice so uncharacteristically gentle, all she could do was nod, even as the tears threatened to swell into outright sobs.
You're my best friend, she said.  You're my best friend!
Such grabbed a wad of napkins and pushed them into her hands.  You're ruining your makeup, he said briskly – he abhorred sentimentality, but she knew he was faking it this time.
And we both know damn well Miss Thing is your best friend, he added, watching approvingly as she mopped her face, wiping big black wings from under her eyes.  When she looked up, a couple of people glanced away but nobody seemed especially interested in their brief drama; it was New York, after all.  Who hadn't cried in public?  Especially as that particular public was what they'd come here for.
She's not – not exactly, she said, unable to finish the sentence.  Jade always had escaped definition, and Such laughed, slapping his face first on one side, then the other, saying, Friend (slap), lover (slap), friend –
  Oh cut it out, Claire said, failing to suppress a smile.  She's just Jade.
How adorable.  Now if we could just make a musical about her:  'Just Jade,' he squared his hands and put them up high, Can't you see it now, all lit up on Broadway?
There was a pause, and then they both burst out laughing, because the fact was they could see it, even as some vacuous runaway success ('but only if Just Jade starred in it,' Such added, 'wearing those miniscule leather scraps from Zeitgeist!')
Even in moments of true sorrow, they always cracked each other up.
      Oh, shit, Claire thought, shit shit shit shit shit!
Maybe I'll pitch it to Michel, Such said then.
Wait, the guy you're gonna work for is French?
So he says, you know, 'originally.'  But I'm pretty sure he's a Mike from waaay back.
What does he think you are from way back?
A complete and utter pervert, Such answered with a grin, And an absolutely divine piano player.