friday, take you out to dine
these foolish things
the social network rpf (andrew/jesse, emma/kieran)
inspired by this interview
The first meeting of The Garfield-Eisenberg-Stone Mutual Appreciation Society.
"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Emma wheedles, pausing in her rush around the hotel room. The car should be here any minute to take her to the salon and they've already had this conversation too many times but she can't resist taking one last shot.
Kieran sighs and pushes himself up into a sitting position on the bed. "The MTV Movie Awards were bad enough, Em. Besides, what's-her-name, your agent made it perfectly clear that I wasn't invited."
"If I'm going somewhere, it means you're invited. That's how this," she says, gesturing between them, "works."
"And that's why you have to go-- it's work." She can tell she's losing the battle when he opens his guitar case. "I didn't make you come to the Movie Awards with me."
"But I would’ve come! And it wouldn’t have felt like work. These things can be fun, Kieran, if you'd just get over yourself and-“
As soon as she’s said it she knows it’s the wrong thing.
"I do not want to go." He speaks slowly, enunciating each syllable as if she's some stupid kid. "Why are you pushing this? Just leave it, Emma, Christ."
He flicks on her stereo and the first notes of Strung Out Again fill the room.
"Oh excellent." He's got to be kidding. "Stay inside by yourself and play your fucking guitar like some angsty art school student."
"You know it's not like that." And she should know, she should, but all she actually knows is that it feels that he doesn't want to be seen with her when all she wants to do is shove him out the door and kiss him in public and let people take a million pictures of how wonderful he is.
He's staring at her with huge hurt eyes, clutching his stupid guitar like it's a safety blanket, and she almost softens, but--
Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she knows she's got to be on national television in a couple hours, alone, so instead she snaps, "I know you are but what am I," and storms out. He doesn't call after her.
Emma's still hot with anger when she steps onto the red carpet, rushing by the press in a move that should drive her publicist crazy, but Sherra takes one look at the tight smile on her face and ushers her into the building.
Penn's already his seat when she plops down next to him. "What's with the face? Don't tell me they discontinued Poppers, because I will hunt those bitches down."
She summons a weak smile and he returns a concerned one, patting her hand as the lights dim and the opening cue sounds. She lets her face crumple a little in the dark.
Emma manages to pout her way through half of Eminem's performance, until Penn starts doing a bizarre lip-synch complete with token “hip hop” gestures and she can't help but join in, even if the sick feeling in her stomach doesn't go away. She definitely doesn't overdramatically muse about how well I Love The Way You Lie applies to her life right now.
When the lights come up, she sees Jesse hurry down the aisle and slide into his seat in the row in front of hers, his The Social Network costars flanking him. Emma feels a pang of longing at the hunch of his shoulders and his ugly suede shoes, realizing how much she’s missed him lately. With both of them on press tours there’s been little time for rambling emails about the virtues of various flavours of ice cream and Groucho vs Harpo. On impulse, she whips out her phone and fires off an obnoxious text: Eisenberg!!!!!!! I can see you ;) and watches the back of his head, waiting for him to respond. He doesn’t look back though, or even up at the stage throughout Chelsea’s opening monologue, head tilted to the right, toward the guy next to him, curiously relaxed despite being the most anxious person she knows.
There’s not much time for her to wonder or even feel hurt that he hasn’t responded because as soon as they’re back from commercial Penn starts up a running bitchy commentary in her ear for the rest of the show, until they’re ushered up on stage to present, humiliatingly enough, every angry fifteen year old blogger from 2005’s favourite band.
Penn doesn’t even try to look impressed when they make the announcement and she has to turn her face away from the camera as it cuts away to hide her grin. She peers over the railing and sees Jesse grinning up at her from his seat. He elbows the dude he’s sitting with and they both wave at her. She waves back but catches Justin Bieber returning the gesture and drops her hand in horror, spinning back around.
“Oh my god,” Emma gasps at Penn as someone grabs their mikes and makes a shooing gesture. He helps her down the stairs. “Ugh, I think just Justin Bieber winked at me.”
He laughs in her face.
There’s a text waiting for her when she gets back to her seat saying, I see you too. I really look up to you at the moment. She snorts and is aggressively unbothered that it’s not from Kieran.
Her empty stomach begins asserting itself after Lady Gaga’s won her millionth award of the night, growling with enough ferocity to remind her she’d skipped dinner so she could fight with Kieran. Gaga’s meat dress is to blame really.
She’s so caught up in fantasies of steaks and burgers that she barely notices the show ending until Penn pats her shoulder and races off, presumably to avoid Perez Hilton’s questions about Blake. She’s about to head up the aisle to find an Outback Steakhouse and eat painstakingly slowly to put off going back to the hotel room, when a familiar chuckle sounds through the crowd. Emma turns back to see Jesse loitering at the end of his row, grinning broadly, and a much better idea comes to mind.
She catches his eye over the shoulder of whomever he’s talking to as she approaches and can’t help but take a dig at him, “Nice lack of presentation skills up there, buddy. Good thing you’re cute.”
"Emma," Jesse ignores her comment, a bit of laughter still in his voice. "You look, uh, wow you're very--"
"You look lovely," a voice interjects. It's someone Jesse's mentioned in every email he's sent her over the past year, all hair and limbs and accent as he turns to face her, smiling.
"Yes," Jesse agrees. "Very lovely."
"Haa," she says, smooth as ever, before managing a, "You must be Andrew."
He nods fervently and leans over, pressing her into a brief hug, which she returns after a beat of surprise. The leather of his jacket sticks to the pleather of her dress as they lean away. She giggles.
So he's touchy, she thinks as his eyes crinkle up at her. Explains the private tilts of their heads throughout the show and the hand that presses against Jesse’s elbow as he moves back. "So lovely to meet you finally. I've been begging an intro for ages now. I think you're incredibly funny."
His face is open and earnest in a way that’s reminiscent of his role in Doctor Parnassus, which Jesse had insisted she rent. "Wow, well you've-- made me cry. Multiple times, so--"
He laughs at that, says to Jesse, "See? I knew she was funny!"
Jesse ghosts a smile in return but his eyes are anxious, flicking between her and Andrew.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she offers. “Jesse hasn’t stopped-” shaking his head emphatically at her from behind Andrew’s back. “-telling me how great the shoot was!”
"Are you going to the, uh, party thing after?" Jesse asks before Andrew can respond.
"I hear there's an open bar," he chimes in.
"Ehh," Emma prevaricates. "Don't really feel like getting groped by Justin Bieber. And I'm totally craving a grilled cheese--"
As she's speaking she can see the understanding dawning in Jesse's eyes. She plasters on her best photo op grin. "I was thinking Mel's, if you guys are interested?"
Jesse rolls his eyes. "You're always thinking Mel's. I'm pretty sure if they were giving out free Range Rovers at this party, you'd still be thinking Mel's."
She shrugs. "See, I already have a Range Rover, but I've only got a limited number of Mel's trips left before I go back to the city. I've gotta stock up while I still can. Like a bear before winter."
"Living in New York is hardly hibernating, Emma. There are way better restaurants--"
"Er," Andrew interrupts the birth of Jesse's diatribe. "Sorry, but what's Mel's?"
"Mel's! Mel's diner? You don't know it?" Poor deprived thing. She wheels on Jesse, "You never brought him to Mel's. You should be ashamed of yourself." Back to Andrew, "It's an LA staple. Everyone should have the honour of experiencing Mel's."
"Always with the Mel's-- she made me eat it twice a week during filming-- you know not everyone's as enamoured with kitschy fast food restaurants as you are."
"I didn't make you eat anything. You came with me of your own free will. For the pleasure of my company," she says, punctuating it with a wink. "We always have a great time when we go, Jesse."
The stern cant of Jesse's mouth softens slightly.
He looks at Andrew. "The studio really wants us to be at that party."
Andrew returns the look. "Justin was going to introduce me to Andy Samberg."
Jesse smiles thinly at that, shrugging slightly. She feels like his kid sister, begging to be allowed to play with her brother and his friends.
"He really should try Mel's," Jesse says finally, turning to Emma.
"Thank God!" She claps, elated. "To Mel's!"
They take her parents’ Range Rover, sneaking out of the building and into the underground parking garage with only an apologetic text to their agents.
Emma kicks off her heels as she slides into the driver's seat. The way her dress slides against the leather seat is seriously gross-- she keeps slipping down off the seat, but eh, it's nothing a seatbelt won't fix.
Buckled in, she revs the engine and stares impatiently at Andrew and Jesse, clustered around the open passenger-side door, having a considerate-off:
"Go ahead, man, it's all yours." Andrew swings his hand on to Jesse's shoulder, trying to gently shove him into the seat.
Jesse resists. "I really don't mind sitting in the back, Andrew please go--"
"No no come, on just get--"
Emma presses down, long and hard, on the horn. Andrew takes advantage of Jesse's ridiculous overreaction-- all unmanly shriek and startled jolt-- to open the back door and dive in.
"Let's goooo," she whoops and Jesse shuffles sullenly into shotgun.
"You know," she sniffs. "If you didn't want to sit next to me, you could've just said so."
"Well," he says flatly, "It's just that-- you have a particular odour. Which I find somewhat difficult to bear."
Andrew sniggers in the back seat. "Hey!" She snaps. "I will leave the both of you on the side of the road for the paparazzi to feast on."
Jesse shrugs. "They don't care about me."
"Uhh, they care about Spiderman back there! And they'll care if I tell them you're Michael Cera."
"We apologize," Andrew calls, arms up in submission. "Now tell me what makes this Mel's place so wonderful?"
Emma takes a deep breath. "Where to start? Mel's might seem like your typical tourist trap but it's actually a treasure trove of tastiness." She grins, flicks her gaze over to Jesse."That was pretty good right?"
Jesse smiles reluctantly. "Yes, it was. I enjoyed the alliteration."
"One up her," Andrew pipes from the back and Emma can see the mischievous smile on his face in her rearview mirror. Which she should probably be using to, you know watch her rear view, but--
Jesse scowls and sticks his head through the space between their seats to complain: "Was it really necessary to bring that--" He cuts himself off with a wary, "Are you wearing your seatbelt?"
"I don't need it when Emma's driving," Andrew laughs. "She actually stays in her lane. I don't have to fear for my life, which is a pleasant change."
Jesse's shoulders tighten over the back of his seat.
"Will you please just--" There are some scuffling noises and he leans further into the back, straining his seatbelt and completely distracting Emma from the road in front of her.
"Eyes front, Jesse," she barks and he jolts back into his seat, a light flush climbing up his neck.
She can tell from the way his jaw is clenching that he's getting sulky, so she adds a conciliatory, "Thanks Andrew, but I just know the right back streets. Been here longer than Jesse."
Jesse doesn't say anything, but his jaw relaxes a little as he turns toward the window. The streets are relatively empty considering it's the middle of the night and everyone who would be awake is at an afterparty. The earlier sense of adventure their getaway had created has disappeared and she thinks of Kieran's face as she'd stomped out the door, the stubborn jut of his lower lip. Andrew is quiet in the back seat.
She’s never been able to bear uncomfortable silences so she flicks on the radio. It’s set to her dad’s favourite station and an old Etta James track comes pouring out of the speakers. The song is slow and sad and does nothing to improve the mood in the car.
“My dad loves this song,” she says inanely. “He always wants to do sing-alongs.”
“Mine too,” Andrew grins, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirroring. “And Otis Redding and Little Richard too. Especially that one song that goes on a Monday I’m gonna love ya-“ He sorts of mumbles the rest but she knows the song and joins in. It’s hilarious for about thirty seconds until she catches Jesse watching them and gestures at him with her elbow.
“Come on,” Emma sings at him. “You love weird old stuff like this! If you join in, the car might actually take off into the air or something, like we’re in a Disney movie.”
He watches her and Andrew do some aborted shoulder-wiggling attempt at a dance and doesn’t even crack a smile before turning back to the window. “I don’t know- Edna James, sorry.”
“Oh my sweet god,” Andrew mutters from the back but she shakes her head at him and he quiets, chastened. She turns the radio down and keeps driving. She wants to check her phone but knows Jesse would pitch a fit over road safety.
"We're almost there," Emma says when she spots the neon sign up ahead. Andrew's head pops up between the seats, an eager expression on his face. She's pretty sure he's not wearing his seatbelt.
"What should I get? What's the best thing they have?" He asks.
"Grilled cheese," Emma says reflexively. Jesse stares resolutely out the window, chewing his lip.
"Jesse," Andrew says quietly. "Jesse, what should I get?"
There's a tension in the air that makes her feel embarrassed, like she's watching someone else's parents fight. She wants to dissolve it but doesn't know how, so she just pulls into the Mel's parking lot.
As they're parking, Jesse finally shrugs and says, "I like the hamburger platter."
Andrew nods eagerly at him and Jesse's pretending he doesn't see it but he's stopped chewing his lip and Emma's so relieved that for some reason she blurts out, "Oh, I know what you should get-- if you order the kids platter, you get this, like, commemorative car souvenir thing--"
Jesse starts chuckling incredulously as she finishes with, "It's totally awesome," and Andrew grins.
“Sounds perfect,” he says and bounds out of the car.
Emma struggles back into her shoes as Jesse says, “You’re not really getting it, Andrew.”
“Yes I am,” he insists. “I want a hamburger and the car thing.”
"Okay, so you're actually eight years old," Jesse laughs. "Good to know."
"Ugh, but I mean, Linkin Park? Really? That totally killed my indie cred," she moans as they chow down.
Andrew's made short work of his kid’s meal and is currently picking at Jesse's fries. Jesse's too focused on his burger to do much more than slap his hand futilely a couple of times before leaving them at Andrew's mercy. Emma circles her plate protectively with her arms.
"You don't have any indie cred," Jesse points out. "You were in The House Bunny."
Emma flings a fry at him. Andrew scoops it off his tray and pops it in his mouth, like he's trying to stifle a laugh.
"At least I don't think New Balances are the height of fashion," she retorts and grins to herself when Andrew loses it, head thrown back, all neck and unrestrained laughter.
It's a bit captivating and she watches him for a second before she catches Jesse doing the same thing in her periphery. They grin at each other, caught, and dissolve into sheepish laughter.
When they all calm down, there's an odd silence. Jesse becomes very interested in his burger. Emma frowns down at her half-eaten grilled cheese. "Out of mayonnaise," she says as if that will somehow get the conversation flowing again.
"Oh, hey," Andrew says, "I'll go get you some more."
"No, you really don't have to--" she and Jesse both start, but he shakes his head emphatically and bounds out of the booth.
Jesse's mouth is doing that thing where it gets all crumply even though his face is expressionless, so she says, "Don't worry, he still likes you best." She's sort of going for kidding, but like, whatever works. "And same goes for me too."
When Jesse's frown doesn't subside, she tilts her head around the booth and sees Andrew engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with their waitress.
He seems to have forgotten Emma's sitting there, which would normally get him a solid sock in the shoulder, but something makes her withhold the punch of death. She recalls the way he'd watched Andrew laugh, the awkward shuffle into the booth, the way he'd been so nervous for Emma to meet him.
Oh, she thinks. Oh, this is good.
"Oh my god, you've been holding out on me," she turns to him and hisses. "You like him-- you like Garfield."
He blinks at her and his eyelids flutter in that panicked way they always do when she asks him about his sex life. "What? That's ridic-- I don't know what you're talking about."
She sticks a finger in his face, which her mother's told her was rude, but whatever.
"Don't lie to me, Eisenberg. I'm not an idiot."
His mouth flattens into a thin line. "It's not even like--"
"Does he know? Are you guys--?" She waggles her eyebrows.
Jesse's mouth contorts again. He bites the inside of his lip and shakes his head. "It's not that simple."
"What? Look, at least he'll be seen in public with you. I think that's a pretty good sign," Emma grouses. She's not projecting her own issues, nope, definitely not.
"And you know, if you need some advice, I know a thing or two about on-set romances," she leers, elbowing him in the side. He inches away, forehead wrinkling in distress.
"Oh my god, please shut up," he pleads.
"You know, I didn't even know you were into--" She gasps, "You were trying to play footsies with him earlier weren't you? That’s why you kicked my ankle!"
"Seriously, please stop talking. He's coming back just-- shhh," he hisses and they freeze guiltily as Andrew reappears with a white bottle and a fistful of napkins.
"Did you know our waitress did a guest-spot on CSI?" Andrew is excited by this, like she's the only service worker in LA with acting experience. "And she gave me this special mayonnaise too." He pauses, noticing their nervous silence and opens his mouth.
Emma panics. "I love curry mayonnaise!" she shouts and regrets it immediately.
Andrew huffs a surprised laugh, taking his seat in the booth across from Jesse. She takes the mayonnaise from him and pours it all over her grilled cheese.
"What's wrong?" he asks, passing Jesse some extra napkins.
"Boy troubles," she sighs and Jesse freezes next to her as he's wiping his hands. It bothers her that he thinks she'd tell so she adds in a rush, "Kieran's a total hermit."
Andrew frowns sympathetically and she widens her eyes at Jesse, trying to telepathically communicate look how sensitive and caring he is jump on that ASAP.
"Do you have something in your eye?" he asks, deliberately obtuse.
She steals one of his fries out of spite.
Emma remembers to check her phone again while Andrew and Jesse argue over the cheque. Andrew wants to pay and Jesse is mortified, keeps insisting they’ll pay Dutch. There’s a text waiting for her that says: watching the legend of zelda. tell me the truth: they based zelda on you?
She can’t help the warm feeling that comes over her. She replies immediately despite herself. Nice job hero…
“Why are you smiling at your lap?” Jesse asks, a trace of his irritation directing itself at her. She sticks her phone back in her clutch and attempts a righteously wounded expression.
“It’s Kieran, isn’t it,” Andrew says, sneaking the bill out from under Jesse’s palm. “You should be honest with him. Tell him that you feel like he’s embarrassed of you and that makes you worry about moving in with him. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Emma gapes at him. “How did you know that?” She sticks her finger back in Jesse’s face. “Did you tell him that?”
“What,” he stutters. “I don’t even know what’s going on. You’re mad at Kieran?”
“Ugh.” She grabs the bill from Andrew’s hand and darts out of the booth. “I’m taking you both home. Emotional idiot-savants.”
Jesse spends the ride back to their hotel both thanking her profusely and insisting they pay her back. Andrew talks over him, telling some convoluted story about Jesse paying for his hotdog at a football game that has them both collapsing into peals of laughter. She laughs along with them, but the pull in her stomach is a stronger feeling than anything else.
When they pull up in front of the hotel, Jesse says, “Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a drink? The hotel has a bar so it wouldn’t be just a load of those absurdly small and expensive mini-bar drinks.”
Emma grins and punches him on the shoulder. “I think I need to go home. Have a drink on my behalf though.” She tosses a lewd wink in Jesse’s direction, “Or you know, ten.”
He laughs and it sounds a little hysterical.
Andrew leans in through her open window. “Think about what I said.” He presses a quick kiss against her cheek. “I’ll see you again, Emma Stone.”
She is definitely not blushing as she calls, “Have a good night, boys.”
Andrew salutes her and slings an arm over Jesse’s shoulder as they head into the hotel lobby, chattering into his ear. Emma waits until she’s sure Jesse can’t see her to pull out her phone. The text reads: well excuuuuuse me princess =)
She rolls her eyes at herself in the mirror, convincing absolutely no one, and pulls back onto the street, headed home.
iiiii don't even know. 4000 words of self-indulgent dialogueing. written to an endless etta james playlist. much of this characterization is owed to lucy.
the social network rpf (andrew/jesse, emma/kieran)
inspired by this interview
The first meeting of The Garfield-Eisenberg-Stone Mutual Appreciation Society.
"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Emma wheedles, pausing in her rush around the hotel room. The car should be here any minute to take her to the salon and they've already had this conversation too many times but she can't resist taking one last shot.
Kieran sighs and pushes himself up into a sitting position on the bed. "The MTV Movie Awards were bad enough, Em. Besides, what's-her-name, your agent made it perfectly clear that I wasn't invited."
"If I'm going somewhere, it means you're invited. That's how this," she says, gesturing between them, "works."
"And that's why you have to go-- it's work." She can tell she's losing the battle when he opens his guitar case. "I didn't make you come to the Movie Awards with me."
"But I would’ve come! And it wouldn’t have felt like work. These things can be fun, Kieran, if you'd just get over yourself and-“
As soon as she’s said it she knows it’s the wrong thing.
"I do not want to go." He speaks slowly, enunciating each syllable as if she's some stupid kid. "Why are you pushing this? Just leave it, Emma, Christ."
He flicks on her stereo and the first notes of Strung Out Again fill the room.
"Oh excellent." He's got to be kidding. "Stay inside by yourself and play your fucking guitar like some angsty art school student."
"You know it's not like that." And she should know, she should, but all she actually knows is that it feels that he doesn't want to be seen with her when all she wants to do is shove him out the door and kiss him in public and let people take a million pictures of how wonderful he is.
He's staring at her with huge hurt eyes, clutching his stupid guitar like it's a safety blanket, and she almost softens, but--
Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she knows she's got to be on national television in a couple hours, alone, so instead she snaps, "I know you are but what am I," and storms out. He doesn't call after her.
Emma's still hot with anger when she steps onto the red carpet, rushing by the press in a move that should drive her publicist crazy, but Sherra takes one look at the tight smile on her face and ushers her into the building.
Penn's already his seat when she plops down next to him. "What's with the face? Don't tell me they discontinued Poppers, because I will hunt those bitches down."
She summons a weak smile and he returns a concerned one, patting her hand as the lights dim and the opening cue sounds. She lets her face crumple a little in the dark.
Emma manages to pout her way through half of Eminem's performance, until Penn starts doing a bizarre lip-synch complete with token “hip hop” gestures and she can't help but join in, even if the sick feeling in her stomach doesn't go away. She definitely doesn't overdramatically muse about how well I Love The Way You Lie applies to her life right now.
When the lights come up, she sees Jesse hurry down the aisle and slide into his seat in the row in front of hers, his The Social Network costars flanking him. Emma feels a pang of longing at the hunch of his shoulders and his ugly suede shoes, realizing how much she’s missed him lately. With both of them on press tours there’s been little time for rambling emails about the virtues of various flavours of ice cream and Groucho vs Harpo. On impulse, she whips out her phone and fires off an obnoxious text: Eisenberg!!!!!!! I can see you ;) and watches the back of his head, waiting for him to respond. He doesn’t look back though, or even up at the stage throughout Chelsea’s opening monologue, head tilted to the right, toward the guy next to him, curiously relaxed despite being the most anxious person she knows.
There’s not much time for her to wonder or even feel hurt that he hasn’t responded because as soon as they’re back from commercial Penn starts up a running bitchy commentary in her ear for the rest of the show, until they’re ushered up on stage to present, humiliatingly enough, every angry fifteen year old blogger from 2005’s favourite band.
Penn doesn’t even try to look impressed when they make the announcement and she has to turn her face away from the camera as it cuts away to hide her grin. She peers over the railing and sees Jesse grinning up at her from his seat. He elbows the dude he’s sitting with and they both wave at her. She waves back but catches Justin Bieber returning the gesture and drops her hand in horror, spinning back around.
“Oh my god,” Emma gasps at Penn as someone grabs their mikes and makes a shooing gesture. He helps her down the stairs. “Ugh, I think just Justin Bieber winked at me.”
He laughs in her face.
There’s a text waiting for her when she gets back to her seat saying, I see you too. I really look up to you at the moment. She snorts and is aggressively unbothered that it’s not from Kieran.
Her empty stomach begins asserting itself after Lady Gaga’s won her millionth award of the night, growling with enough ferocity to remind her she’d skipped dinner so she could fight with Kieran. Gaga’s meat dress is to blame really.
She’s so caught up in fantasies of steaks and burgers that she barely notices the show ending until Penn pats her shoulder and races off, presumably to avoid Perez Hilton’s questions about Blake. She’s about to head up the aisle to find an Outback Steakhouse and eat painstakingly slowly to put off going back to the hotel room, when a familiar chuckle sounds through the crowd. Emma turns back to see Jesse loitering at the end of his row, grinning broadly, and a much better idea comes to mind.
She catches his eye over the shoulder of whomever he’s talking to as she approaches and can’t help but take a dig at him, “Nice lack of presentation skills up there, buddy. Good thing you’re cute.”
"Emma," Jesse ignores her comment, a bit of laughter still in his voice. "You look, uh, wow you're very--"
"You look lovely," a voice interjects. It's someone Jesse's mentioned in every email he's sent her over the past year, all hair and limbs and accent as he turns to face her, smiling.
"Yes," Jesse agrees. "Very lovely."
"Haa," she says, smooth as ever, before managing a, "You must be Andrew."
He nods fervently and leans over, pressing her into a brief hug, which she returns after a beat of surprise. The leather of his jacket sticks to the pleather of her dress as they lean away. She giggles.
So he's touchy, she thinks as his eyes crinkle up at her. Explains the private tilts of their heads throughout the show and the hand that presses against Jesse’s elbow as he moves back. "So lovely to meet you finally. I've been begging an intro for ages now. I think you're incredibly funny."
His face is open and earnest in a way that’s reminiscent of his role in Doctor Parnassus, which Jesse had insisted she rent. "Wow, well you've-- made me cry. Multiple times, so--"
He laughs at that, says to Jesse, "See? I knew she was funny!"
Jesse ghosts a smile in return but his eyes are anxious, flicking between her and Andrew.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she offers. “Jesse hasn’t stopped-” shaking his head emphatically at her from behind Andrew’s back. “-telling me how great the shoot was!”
"Are you going to the, uh, party thing after?" Jesse asks before Andrew can respond.
"I hear there's an open bar," he chimes in.
"Ehh," Emma prevaricates. "Don't really feel like getting groped by Justin Bieber. And I'm totally craving a grilled cheese--"
As she's speaking she can see the understanding dawning in Jesse's eyes. She plasters on her best photo op grin. "I was thinking Mel's, if you guys are interested?"
Jesse rolls his eyes. "You're always thinking Mel's. I'm pretty sure if they were giving out free Range Rovers at this party, you'd still be thinking Mel's."
She shrugs. "See, I already have a Range Rover, but I've only got a limited number of Mel's trips left before I go back to the city. I've gotta stock up while I still can. Like a bear before winter."
"Living in New York is hardly hibernating, Emma. There are way better restaurants--"
"Er," Andrew interrupts the birth of Jesse's diatribe. "Sorry, but what's Mel's?"
"Mel's! Mel's diner? You don't know it?" Poor deprived thing. She wheels on Jesse, "You never brought him to Mel's. You should be ashamed of yourself." Back to Andrew, "It's an LA staple. Everyone should have the honour of experiencing Mel's."
"Always with the Mel's-- she made me eat it twice a week during filming-- you know not everyone's as enamoured with kitschy fast food restaurants as you are."
"I didn't make you eat anything. You came with me of your own free will. For the pleasure of my company," she says, punctuating it with a wink. "We always have a great time when we go, Jesse."
The stern cant of Jesse's mouth softens slightly.
He looks at Andrew. "The studio really wants us to be at that party."
Andrew returns the look. "Justin was going to introduce me to Andy Samberg."
Jesse smiles thinly at that, shrugging slightly. She feels like his kid sister, begging to be allowed to play with her brother and his friends.
"He really should try Mel's," Jesse says finally, turning to Emma.
"Thank God!" She claps, elated. "To Mel's!"
They take her parents’ Range Rover, sneaking out of the building and into the underground parking garage with only an apologetic text to their agents.
Emma kicks off her heels as she slides into the driver's seat. The way her dress slides against the leather seat is seriously gross-- she keeps slipping down off the seat, but eh, it's nothing a seatbelt won't fix.
Buckled in, she revs the engine and stares impatiently at Andrew and Jesse, clustered around the open passenger-side door, having a considerate-off:
"Go ahead, man, it's all yours." Andrew swings his hand on to Jesse's shoulder, trying to gently shove him into the seat.
Jesse resists. "I really don't mind sitting in the back, Andrew please go--"
"No no come, on just get--"
Emma presses down, long and hard, on the horn. Andrew takes advantage of Jesse's ridiculous overreaction-- all unmanly shriek and startled jolt-- to open the back door and dive in.
"Let's goooo," she whoops and Jesse shuffles sullenly into shotgun.
"You know," she sniffs. "If you didn't want to sit next to me, you could've just said so."
"Well," he says flatly, "It's just that-- you have a particular odour. Which I find somewhat difficult to bear."
Andrew sniggers in the back seat. "Hey!" She snaps. "I will leave the both of you on the side of the road for the paparazzi to feast on."
Jesse shrugs. "They don't care about me."
"Uhh, they care about Spiderman back there! And they'll care if I tell them you're Michael Cera."
"We apologize," Andrew calls, arms up in submission. "Now tell me what makes this Mel's place so wonderful?"
Emma takes a deep breath. "Where to start? Mel's might seem like your typical tourist trap but it's actually a treasure trove of tastiness." She grins, flicks her gaze over to Jesse."That was pretty good right?"
Jesse smiles reluctantly. "Yes, it was. I enjoyed the alliteration."
"One up her," Andrew pipes from the back and Emma can see the mischievous smile on his face in her rearview mirror. Which she should probably be using to, you know watch her rear view, but--
Jesse scowls and sticks his head through the space between their seats to complain: "Was it really necessary to bring that--" He cuts himself off with a wary, "Are you wearing your seatbelt?"
"I don't need it when Emma's driving," Andrew laughs. "She actually stays in her lane. I don't have to fear for my life, which is a pleasant change."
Jesse's shoulders tighten over the back of his seat.
"Will you please just--" There are some scuffling noises and he leans further into the back, straining his seatbelt and completely distracting Emma from the road in front of her.
"Eyes front, Jesse," she barks and he jolts back into his seat, a light flush climbing up his neck.
She can tell from the way his jaw is clenching that he's getting sulky, so she adds a conciliatory, "Thanks Andrew, but I just know the right back streets. Been here longer than Jesse."
Jesse doesn't say anything, but his jaw relaxes a little as he turns toward the window. The streets are relatively empty considering it's the middle of the night and everyone who would be awake is at an afterparty. The earlier sense of adventure their getaway had created has disappeared and she thinks of Kieran's face as she'd stomped out the door, the stubborn jut of his lower lip. Andrew is quiet in the back seat.
She’s never been able to bear uncomfortable silences so she flicks on the radio. It’s set to her dad’s favourite station and an old Etta James track comes pouring out of the speakers. The song is slow and sad and does nothing to improve the mood in the car.
“My dad loves this song,” she says inanely. “He always wants to do sing-alongs.”
“Mine too,” Andrew grins, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirroring. “And Otis Redding and Little Richard too. Especially that one song that goes on a Monday I’m gonna love ya-“ He sorts of mumbles the rest but she knows the song and joins in. It’s hilarious for about thirty seconds until she catches Jesse watching them and gestures at him with her elbow.
“Come on,” Emma sings at him. “You love weird old stuff like this! If you join in, the car might actually take off into the air or something, like we’re in a Disney movie.”
He watches her and Andrew do some aborted shoulder-wiggling attempt at a dance and doesn’t even crack a smile before turning back to the window. “I don’t know- Edna James, sorry.”
“Oh my sweet god,” Andrew mutters from the back but she shakes her head at him and he quiets, chastened. She turns the radio down and keeps driving. She wants to check her phone but knows Jesse would pitch a fit over road safety.
"We're almost there," Emma says when she spots the neon sign up ahead. Andrew's head pops up between the seats, an eager expression on his face. She's pretty sure he's not wearing his seatbelt.
"What should I get? What's the best thing they have?" He asks.
"Grilled cheese," Emma says reflexively. Jesse stares resolutely out the window, chewing his lip.
"Jesse," Andrew says quietly. "Jesse, what should I get?"
There's a tension in the air that makes her feel embarrassed, like she's watching someone else's parents fight. She wants to dissolve it but doesn't know how, so she just pulls into the Mel's parking lot.
As they're parking, Jesse finally shrugs and says, "I like the hamburger platter."
Andrew nods eagerly at him and Jesse's pretending he doesn't see it but he's stopped chewing his lip and Emma's so relieved that for some reason she blurts out, "Oh, I know what you should get-- if you order the kids platter, you get this, like, commemorative car souvenir thing--"
Jesse starts chuckling incredulously as she finishes with, "It's totally awesome," and Andrew grins.
“Sounds perfect,” he says and bounds out of the car.
Emma struggles back into her shoes as Jesse says, “You’re not really getting it, Andrew.”
“Yes I am,” he insists. “I want a hamburger and the car thing.”
"Okay, so you're actually eight years old," Jesse laughs. "Good to know."
"Ugh, but I mean, Linkin Park? Really? That totally killed my indie cred," she moans as they chow down.
Andrew's made short work of his kid’s meal and is currently picking at Jesse's fries. Jesse's too focused on his burger to do much more than slap his hand futilely a couple of times before leaving them at Andrew's mercy. Emma circles her plate protectively with her arms.
"You don't have any indie cred," Jesse points out. "You were in The House Bunny."
Emma flings a fry at him. Andrew scoops it off his tray and pops it in his mouth, like he's trying to stifle a laugh.
"At least I don't think New Balances are the height of fashion," she retorts and grins to herself when Andrew loses it, head thrown back, all neck and unrestrained laughter.
It's a bit captivating and she watches him for a second before she catches Jesse doing the same thing in her periphery. They grin at each other, caught, and dissolve into sheepish laughter.
When they all calm down, there's an odd silence. Jesse becomes very interested in his burger. Emma frowns down at her half-eaten grilled cheese. "Out of mayonnaise," she says as if that will somehow get the conversation flowing again.
"Oh, hey," Andrew says, "I'll go get you some more."
"No, you really don't have to--" she and Jesse both start, but he shakes his head emphatically and bounds out of the booth.
Jesse's mouth is doing that thing where it gets all crumply even though his face is expressionless, so she says, "Don't worry, he still likes you best." She's sort of going for kidding, but like, whatever works. "And same goes for me too."
When Jesse's frown doesn't subside, she tilts her head around the booth and sees Andrew engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with their waitress.
He seems to have forgotten Emma's sitting there, which would normally get him a solid sock in the shoulder, but something makes her withhold the punch of death. She recalls the way he'd watched Andrew laugh, the awkward shuffle into the booth, the way he'd been so nervous for Emma to meet him.
Oh, she thinks. Oh, this is good.
"Oh my god, you've been holding out on me," she turns to him and hisses. "You like him-- you like Garfield."
He blinks at her and his eyelids flutter in that panicked way they always do when she asks him about his sex life. "What? That's ridic-- I don't know what you're talking about."
She sticks a finger in his face, which her mother's told her was rude, but whatever.
"Don't lie to me, Eisenberg. I'm not an idiot."
His mouth flattens into a thin line. "It's not even like--"
"Does he know? Are you guys--?" She waggles her eyebrows.
Jesse's mouth contorts again. He bites the inside of his lip and shakes his head. "It's not that simple."
"What? Look, at least he'll be seen in public with you. I think that's a pretty good sign," Emma grouses. She's not projecting her own issues, nope, definitely not.
"And you know, if you need some advice, I know a thing or two about on-set romances," she leers, elbowing him in the side. He inches away, forehead wrinkling in distress.
"Oh my god, please shut up," he pleads.
"You know, I didn't even know you were into--" She gasps, "You were trying to play footsies with him earlier weren't you? That’s why you kicked my ankle!"
"Seriously, please stop talking. He's coming back just-- shhh," he hisses and they freeze guiltily as Andrew reappears with a white bottle and a fistful of napkins.
"Did you know our waitress did a guest-spot on CSI?" Andrew is excited by this, like she's the only service worker in LA with acting experience. "And she gave me this special mayonnaise too." He pauses, noticing their nervous silence and opens his mouth.
Emma panics. "I love curry mayonnaise!" she shouts and regrets it immediately.
Andrew huffs a surprised laugh, taking his seat in the booth across from Jesse. She takes the mayonnaise from him and pours it all over her grilled cheese.
"What's wrong?" he asks, passing Jesse some extra napkins.
"Boy troubles," she sighs and Jesse freezes next to her as he's wiping his hands. It bothers her that he thinks she'd tell so she adds in a rush, "Kieran's a total hermit."
Andrew frowns sympathetically and she widens her eyes at Jesse, trying to telepathically communicate look how sensitive and caring he is jump on that ASAP.
"Do you have something in your eye?" he asks, deliberately obtuse.
She steals one of his fries out of spite.
Emma remembers to check her phone again while Andrew and Jesse argue over the cheque. Andrew wants to pay and Jesse is mortified, keeps insisting they’ll pay Dutch. There’s a text waiting for her that says: watching the legend of zelda. tell me the truth: they based zelda on you?
She can’t help the warm feeling that comes over her. She replies immediately despite herself. Nice job hero…
“Why are you smiling at your lap?” Jesse asks, a trace of his irritation directing itself at her. She sticks her phone back in her clutch and attempts a righteously wounded expression.
“It’s Kieran, isn’t it,” Andrew says, sneaking the bill out from under Jesse’s palm. “You should be honest with him. Tell him that you feel like he’s embarrassed of you and that makes you worry about moving in with him. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Emma gapes at him. “How did you know that?” She sticks her finger back in Jesse’s face. “Did you tell him that?”
“What,” he stutters. “I don’t even know what’s going on. You’re mad at Kieran?”
“Ugh.” She grabs the bill from Andrew’s hand and darts out of the booth. “I’m taking you both home. Emotional idiot-savants.”
Jesse spends the ride back to their hotel both thanking her profusely and insisting they pay her back. Andrew talks over him, telling some convoluted story about Jesse paying for his hotdog at a football game that has them both collapsing into peals of laughter. She laughs along with them, but the pull in her stomach is a stronger feeling than anything else.
When they pull up in front of the hotel, Jesse says, “Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a drink? The hotel has a bar so it wouldn’t be just a load of those absurdly small and expensive mini-bar drinks.”
Emma grins and punches him on the shoulder. “I think I need to go home. Have a drink on my behalf though.” She tosses a lewd wink in Jesse’s direction, “Or you know, ten.”
He laughs and it sounds a little hysterical.
Andrew leans in through her open window. “Think about what I said.” He presses a quick kiss against her cheek. “I’ll see you again, Emma Stone.”
She is definitely not blushing as she calls, “Have a good night, boys.”
Andrew salutes her and slings an arm over Jesse’s shoulder as they head into the hotel lobby, chattering into his ear. Emma waits until she’s sure Jesse can’t see her to pull out her phone. The text reads: well excuuuuuse me princess =)
She rolls her eyes at herself in the mirror, convincing absolutely no one, and pulls back onto the street, headed home.
iiiii don't even know. 4000 words of self-indulgent dialogueing. written to an endless etta james playlist. much of this characterization is owed to lucy.