Chapter 4: My Social Life

Monday, my work routine had settled into a steady rhythm. I had my tasks for the day, and once I finished them, I was free to head home. Typically, I wrapped up around 4:30 p.m. and left the office. Most days at noon, Penny would give me a call, and we’d chat while I ate at my desk. Our conversations ranged from various topics to the plans we were making for the future.

One afternoon, during our usual lunchtime phone calls, Penny told me she’d be getting her boot off that day and was planning to go out Friday night to celebrate being back among the “normal” people. What caught me off guard about her announcement was that she wanted to go dancing, and I had been roped into being her partner. I immediately spotted several issues with the idea and voiced my concerns. First, I had no idea how to dance, and second, I wasn’t exactly the type to enjoy being out in public. Naturally, Penny had a response for each of my objections. When Friday arrived, I found myself back at the St. Croix estate, nervously knocking at the front door, unsure of what to expect from an evening with Penelope St. Croix. According to the PR material I managed to find, Penny was known as quite the party girl, as reported by various entertainment news outlets. However, this image seemed to contradict everything I knew about Penelope.

Penelope St. Croix reminded me a lot of the girls I knew back home and in college. She had her wild moments, but most of the time, she was just the sweet, down-to-earth girl I spoke with every day during my lunch breaks. This was what I was thinking as I waited for someone to answer the door. A few seconds later, the housekeeper opened it, greeted me warmly, and invited me inside. As she left me in the living room, she assured me it would be “uno momento.”

It ended up being closer to five minutes than one, but the wait was definitely worth it. Penny greeted me with a warm hug and explained that since we were heading out clubbing, she’d arranged for a car service. She mentioned that this way, I wouldn’t need to worry about directions, and if I wanted to have a drink, I wouldn’t have to stress about getting arrested for being under the influence.

I felt my anxiety levels rise as we got closer to our destination and remembered that this would be a new experience for me. I told myself to just go with the flow and worry later if things went south. I reminded myself to stay in the moment and enjoy being with a pretty girl, because you never know how long it will last.

We finally reached the club, and the driver of the town car came around to help Penny out. I followed her as we stepped out, and suddenly, a flurry of commotion erupted, with camera flashes blinding us. I held onto Penny’s hand, letting her lead the way to the club entrance. Instead of waiting in line, we bypassed the crowd and went straight to the VIP line, where we were granted immediate access. I couldn’t help but think, “I could get used to this.” I wondered if the same VIP treatment applied at sports stadiums. That was something I’d have to ask Penny.

Inside the club, a swarm of people gathered around us as we made our way to the VIP area. I wasn’t fond of people crowding my personal space, and I was about to push back when we finally reached the rope that separated the VIPs from everyone else. Penny led me to a table where it seemed like she knew everyone. Once again, stuck in an uncomfortable social situation, I fell silent, standing behind her and letting her handle the conversation.

I was introduced as Michael, her last ever boyfriend, and she told her female friends that I was her forever guy. I think I got whiplash when I turned to look at Penny. Then I remembered her dad’s warning: Penny was used to getting her way, and once she set her sights on something, she usually got what she wanted. I glanced over at one of the guys sitting at the table, and he rolled his eyes at Penny’s announcement. “You and me, Bud, this ‘last ever boyfriend’ story was new to me too.” As soon as we were somewhere private, I’d explain to her how wrong she was, even if I had to walk home or take public transportation.

The club staff brought over extra chairs so we could join Penny’s friends, who were gathered around the table. I scanned the group and recognized a few faces from movies and TV shows. A couple of them seemed too young to be drinking, and I was relieved I didn’t say anything. As it turned out, they were both over twenty-one, just looking younger than their age. Penny had ordered two bottles of Fiji water for us, and they arrived shortly after. I made sure both bottles were still sealed when they were brought to the table. The last thing I wanted was to end up in the hospital from being drugged at a club—or worse, let it happen to Penny while I was there.

It wasn’t long after our drinks arrived that the interrogation began. How did Penny and I meet? How long had we been dating? Was I going to pop the question? My answers to those questions were plain and simple: like most people, “None of your business,” and again, “None of your business.” I was really making her female friends angry, much to the amusement of the guys who were sitting there.

It wasn’t much longer before the DJ started the music, and the club took on a life of its own. Everyone got up to dance, and Penny and I were no exception. We found ourselves in the middle of a group of her friends, and we started dancing as well—at least, Penny did. I, on the other hand, did my best impression of a frog dropped on a hot griddle, hopping and jumping like the aforementioned frog. Everyone was having a good time, and even I was enjoying myself with my spastic dance moves.

While we were having fun with our group, a guy suddenly barged into the middle of Penny’s friends, stepped right in front of me, and body-checked me in a way that would have impressed any hockey player. He then got in Penny’s space and started grabbing at her. It was clear she wasn’t comfortable with his attention.

I moved up next to him and told him to back off, since he was upsetting Penny. He shoved me in response and seemed ready to escalate things, as if he was preparing to start a fight.

I remembered my friend Jimmy Cho had shown me back in college, when we used to mess around on the mats at the field house. Jimmy practiced an ancient form of martial arts that was only taught in Korea. While goofing off, he had taught me how striking certain points on the body could trigger specific reactions. One of those spots was behind the ear, where a well-placed elbow strike could knock someone out cold by hitting a nerve pressure point.

The guy took a typical street-fighting stance, hurling insults at me, trying to get me to make the first move—exactly what would happen in a street fight.

I shifted left, taking Jimmy’s advice to heart. My elbow rose, parallel to the floor, and I drove it into the spot just below and to the left of his jaw. The idiot who’d challenged me on the dance floor collapsed like a ragdoll. By the time the bouncers noticed the chaos, they rushed over, but there wasn’t much they could do except escort the trash out. I half-expected to be kicked out or arrested when the cops arrived. But to my surprise, everyone around us insisted that the other guy had started the fight and had been attacking Penelope St. Croix, the actress. I, her boyfriend, had dropped him with a single punch.

At least, that’s what the entertainment news services reported the next day. Penny’s response to me knocking the guy out just confirmed, in her mind, that I was Mr. Right, no matter how much I tried to argue about it. According to her, I better get used to having her around.

I learned from talking to one of the bouncers who stayed in the area to guard against further trouble that the guy I’d laid out was a bit actor who used to be more in demand than he was now. He thought he still had it, that all he had to do was show up and women would fawn over him. Penny just happened to be the actress he’d chosen that night to be his conquest, but I put a stop to those plans. He’d be okay, but when he woke up, he’d have a terrible headache and a bed in a room with lots of bars.

Late on Saturday morning, I received a call from Penny’s dad, Jim St. Croix, who thanked me for looking out for his daughter the way I had. He had a favor to ask: he wanted me to act as her escort for the rest of my time in California. In return, he offered to help me find a job, either in Southern California or anywhere else I wanted to apply. It seemed like a reasonable request, so I agreed.

A few weeks later, there was an awards ceremony that Penny had to attend, and Jim asked if I could be her escort for the evening. The only catch, he said, was that I’d need a tuxedo. He recommended I grab one from wardrobe at the studio, and if I ran into any trouble, I should give him a call. He’d be more than happy to pull some strings for me.

It was after lunch, and I was enjoying one of my favorite pastimes—reading. A few weeks ago, I had started a classic, and today I finally had the chance to immerse myself in it for a couple of hours. Just as I settled in, the phone rang. It was Penny, calling to thank me for what I had done the night before. She told me how much she appreciated it and how happy she was to have me in her life. Her voice wavered with emotion as she started to cry, and before long, she said she had to go.

It was early Sunday morning, California time, when my phone again rang. Still half-asleep, I picked it up and heard my mom’s voice on the other end. She wanted to know when I had started dating movie stars and getting into fights over them. I was barely awake, and I had no idea what she was talking about. It must have been the club incident—someone had likely taken pictures, and one of the entertainment outlets must have picked up the story. The photos must have ended up being featured in several news segments as filler material.

But in our small-town news market, I was the local guy who’d made it big in Hollywood, out there defending my woman, as Mom put it. The local news had run a story on it. I tried to explain that she was my boss’s daughter and I had been asked to escort her. Of course, that explanation didn’t satisfy Mom either. She wanted to know how serious it was and whether she had enough time to lose the extra weight before the wedding. I knew better than to argue with her when she was in that mood, so I just said goodbye.