Erika tapped her fingers against the lacquered tabletop, a subconscious act that betrayed the unease she was attempting to hide. She cast a glance about the table looking for any sign that her gathered friends had noticed the ruse. 

Conrad sat off to her left, a snaggle-toothed grin slicing across his face as he gesticulated wildly with his lanky arms, lost as he regaled the party in some past drunken exploit. What exploit, Erika couldn't recall. She hadn't paid much attention since calling David. It wasn't like him to be late.

No matter, it was obvious that Conrad had picked up on nothing, focused instead, as was often the case, on being the center of attention. Not everyone understood why Erika and Conrad got along so well. True, they both could be rather boisterous, and both had a tendency to draw attention to themselves, but Conrad thrived in a state of self-relish that contradicted harshly with the altruistic image Erika had cultivated for herself. Yet, they had been friends since childhoo and time has a way of washing away all differences and forging bonds where they might otherwise never exist.

If Conrad didn't notice, knowing her as long as he had, it was unlikely anyone else had picked up on her discomfort. Khalid seemed enraptured in Conrad's story, nursing a beer and laughing along, a rare sense of ease evident in his every movement. He'd submitted his application to take the California BAR exam that morning, and now had three months to prepare. Despite the stress of that not-so-distant future, he'd come out tonight ready to celebrate. In fact, his application had been the excuse for the evening's festivities in the first place.

Erika turned towards the door, looking for any sign of David. A short hostess, not much younger than herself, leaned against a serving station midway between the door and the back of the converted train-car in which Erika and her friends sat. The hostess tore idly at a napkin as she also waited. The majority of the booths at the Formosa Café sat empty, yet even in that loneliness Erika found some peace. A dim warm glow cast over the scene, shining off the maroon interior and the wall-to-wall line of autographed black & white portraits from the bar's more glamorous past.

"Erika?"

Abby slid in beside her, towering over her, a statuesque, porcelain model that seemed perfectly at home among the shining faces of actors and actresses that stared down upon the group. She belonged to Hollywood's heyday, not it's soot-stained present; a beautiful star that drowned out any ugliness that she might encounter.

"Yes?" Erika whispered, wishing to draw as little attention as possible.

"You looked like you needed a drink." Abby slid over a fresh gin and tonic.

"It's nothing, really." Erika shifted upbeat. No time to dwell. "And congrats again on the new gig."

"It's a body-double job; it's not like I have a speaking part. I might as well be a glorified hand model." Abby had a habit of denigrating herself, something for which Erika could never stand.

"Yeah, but whose hand model?" she asked, finding some purpose in at last relieving Abby's anxieties, if not her own. "Primetime television is still primetime, lines or no lines."

"No lines," Abby said, sipping at her own gin and tonic.

"No lines, but a steady check, nonetheless." Frank, Abby's older brother lifted his tumbler in a toast. "To getting paid."

"To getting paid." Abby clinked glasses, while Erika withheld a jab at her brother. He'd always been the pragmatic one, pushing towards the safest, most risk averse path; the lame donkey to her glittering Pegasus.

"No. No that can't stand." Erika smiled. "To being Amaze-pants." She clinked tonics with Abby, glaring at her brother as she did.

"Amaze-pants it is." Abby stopped, mid-toast. "Ah, someone's here at last. We'll return to this later?"

"Sure." Erika shifted her focus to the doorway as Abby extricated herself from the booth. David had his back turned as he eased the door shut behind him, lest it slam against the jamb. Whether he did so out of some odd sense of proper decorum or whether it came more from his oft nervous temperament, Erika wasn't certain. Yet she could tell one thing for certain: something was wrong.

He rubbed at his eyes, pushing back his dark bangs, his gaze cast to the floor as he made his way past the bar and towards the train-car. Even this wasn't so unusual, as he often became lost in his thoughts, oblivious to the world around him, yet it was the combination that worried Erika - the care with the door, the soft shamble through the bar, the strain on his eyes, and his averted gaze; altogether it spoke volumes.

Looks like you're the pep squad, tonight, she thought, then plastered on a smile.

"Hey, David! Over here," Erika waved.

He glanced up and nodded ever so slightly as he edged his way back.

"Aw, hell, now it's a party!" His story interrupted, obviously Conrad had found another way to seize the attention. "Sit your ass down, man," he continued. "You want a drink?"

"Um, sure." David cocked an awkward glance at Conrad. The two and their friendship had always been a more blatant contradiction than that of Erika and Conrad. They existed as polar opposites: the extrovert and the introvert, the cheer and the gloom, the partier and the recluse. Sometimes Erika wondered if David simply tolerated Conrad for her sake. This was one of those times.

As Conrad waved for a waitress, Erika cleared a space for David.

"Sorry, I'm late." He slid in beside her, his eyes only briefly connecting with their gathered friends. "I lost track of time."

"It's okay," she said, but she knew it wasn't. A lack of detail was nothing new with David, meaning either there was nothing to talk about, or there was nothing good to talk about. If he had had good news, David would have blurted it out, that childlike wonder that accompanied his artistic ambitions bubbling to the surface. With bad news, however, David would've never uttered a word, lest he bring anyone down. Considering his planned meeting with Glazer, Erika was confident that the day had taken a negative turn.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it," she continued.

"It's nothing." David shrugged, then slid into a smile, finally looking up at the group. "Congrats, Khalid. I hear you've got some good news."

"For now at least." Khalid smiled. "In three months it could be another matter entirely."

"And Abby here's got news of her own." Frank nudged her, oblivious to the harsh look she cut his way. "She landed a stable job."

Before David could reply, Conrad grabbed a round of drinks from the waitress and plunked them on the table, sliding one to David. "And I've got beer," he said, "so good news all around. Oh, man, did I tell you about the Go-Go the other night?"

David shook his head, sliding back into his seat as Conrad launched into yet another story. Erika watched, knowing that Conrad had lost David's attention almost immediately. David was sliding into his own world, and though she wanted to pull him out of it, she'd come to realize that sometimes David just needed to wander in his head for a moment.

Of course, there was wandering, and there was just being rude. As he slipped into himself, David pulled out a Moleskine sketchbook and began sketching. It was an idle act, like a doodle on a napkin, quick and hurried with careless lines. For David sketching might as well be twirling one's hair, or, closer to home, drumming one's fingers. He meant nothing by it, but it also acted as a wall, one that closed him off when he should be trying to enjoy the evening. Erika could just make out Frank's furrowed brow and his glasses taking form, when she decided to intervene.

She nudged David, a practice long-ingrained in their relationship.

"Sorry," David said, closing the Moleskine on his pencil. "Just kind of happened. Bad habits and all."

"No, it's fine. Just not right now. Eat, drink, be merry, and all that."

"For that shall abide with him of his labor the days of his life."

"What?"

"Nothing," David shrugged. "Just wandering thoughts is all."

"Really, are you sure you're okay?" He most definitely wasn't, and Erika knew it. Yet for some reason, whether it was the celebratory nature of the dinner or some other unease that she couldn't place, she couldn't just come out with it and admit she knew. "You seem more withdrawn than usual."

"No, it's nothing. Really."

My ass, she thought.

"You're sure it has nothing to do with your meeting?"

"No," David soft-snapped, jerking back as he said it. His hand smacked against his glass, tipping his beer. "Crap."

"Foul," Conrad shouted.

Erika paid him no mind. David slid out of the booth, dabbing at the table. "Sorry, I just..."   

"It's fine." Erika grabbed the napkins from David. "Go clean up, I'll take care of this."

"Thanks."

As he made to leave for the bathroom, Erika stopped David just off to the side of the booth.

"Really, I'm sorry I pushed. We can talk about it later."

"No," David shook his head. "It's my fault. Glazer stood me up and I'm just in a funk. Really, I'm sorry. I've been an ass. Make it up to you?"

"Absolutely."

David leaned and kissed her, a soft peck on the lips.

"Thanks. I don't deserve you, you know that."

"Yes, I do." Erika smiled, as David parted, then dismissed herself from the table to grab another drink. 

David didn't snap. David would apologize to a stool for bumping into it; actually snapping at someone, that was unheard of.

Erika leaned against the bar. "A lager please. Whatever's on draught." 

As the bartender went about his business, Erika slid out her card and turned towards the bathrooms. She could hear the hand dryer from the men's room, and she knew David was tending to his beer-soaked shirt. More than likely he was also tending to a bruised ego. Men could be such babies. There'd be another meeting. He had talent, lots of talent. Eventually someone besides her would see it. He had to know that.

As she paid up, the men's room door opened, then paused. David stood there, his gaze averted, once more lost in his thoughts. His brow crinkled and he pressed on his forehead just above the bridge of his nose. A moment of, was it pain, flashed across his face, but before she could ask more a shout rose from the back by their booth.

"El Diabolo!"