| !! |
|
|
“I’m Lisa,” I offered politely, still having a little trouble looking her in the eyes after such a strong rebuff. “Yeah, so what, did ‘Weekly World’ send you or something?” Angelina pressed, scathingly. It finally dawned on me. “Weekly Wor–you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a reporter,” I said softly. “Just a big fan.” “Right, and after I down a few drinks, you’re going to be asking me my life’s story. I can smell all of you from miles away,” she said, gazing back down into her half-full shot. I shook my head. “Seriously. Search anything of mine you want. You won’t find even a book of a matches with a tabloid logo,” I said solemnly. “I’m really not a reporter. I’m just...shocked to see you here.”
Her expression softened a bit. “Fine. I’ll bite,” she said a bit skeptically. She then offered her hand. “Angelina. Blah, blah, blah. I’m sure I don’t have to go through the whole preliminary routine.” I smiled, and grasped her hand. “Lisa. Blah, blah, blah. I think I’ll spare you the boredom as well.”