Traffic was a staple of L.A. Less than a mile from the venue and yet here they sat, backseat of a limo in their fancy garb, waiting for the bumber to bumber to inch down the roadway. As if the suit wasn’t suffocating enough. With his hand at his collar, Bennett— much to the chagrin of his stylist— loosed his tie. “If we’re lucky they’ll start without us.”
This was nothing more than a PR moment. Not like either were too interested in viewing the sequel to the female Ghost Busters.
Leaning into the door, Bennett strained to glimpse out the window. Grid-locked. Perfect. A sentiment he acknowledged aloud with a deep sigh. Sitting up, he grabbed for the bottle of champagne because if this was their fate? Oh, they’d need it. “We got time,” he said, working at the wrapping and littering the foil on the floor. “Do you want to practice their questions? They fucking love their questions, don’t they?” A true statement punctuated by the pop of a cork.
He didn’t ask if she wanted any, just assumed. See, he was giving. “Tell us, Zoey, how is it working with Bennett on set? Are the rumors true?” ( @honcvbees )
