Chapter 14: Christmas Dinner (Part 1)
Joey asked, "What does your mom cook for Christmas dinner?"
Bruce thought for a moment. "Well, for big holidays my mom goes all out. She makes roasted chicken, stuffed mushrooms, glazed ham, crab cakes, grilled salmon, garlic shrimp, braised short ribs, and sometimes the chef from my dad's restaurant brings over his specialty duck. Classic comfort food—how much depends on how many people are coming."
The moment Bruce finished, Joey didn't hesitate. "Count me in. I haven't heard of half that stuff, but it all sounds incredible."
Bruce looked at the others. "Everyone's welcome. I know it's last-minute—my mom only called half an hour ago."
Ross said, "I don't want to eat Christmas dinner alone, and I'm not in the mood for pizza. I'm in. Monica, you coming?"
Monica shrugged. "Sure, I'll go. As a chef, I'm curious about your mom's cooking. And Ross—remember this for next year. I'm ordering pizza."
The others chimed in one after another: "I'm in!"
"Great. Get ready—we leave at five sharp."
Bruce went upstairs and called home, telling his mom he was definitely bringing six friends.
"Make all your best dishes tonight and show my friends what real home cooking looks like."
His mom replied, "No problem. It's not even ten yet—plenty of time. Oh, on your way, can you pick up Grace and her roommate? Should be on your route from Greenwich, right?"
Bruce sighed. "Maybe, but I don't have a car. How am I supposed to pick her up with six friends?"
"None of your friends drive?"
"Nope. Even if someone had a car, it wouldn't fit nine people. Grace can get there on her own."
"Then come home first, take the family car, make two trips."
"Mom, please. Fine, I'll just rent a car."
"Good idea. I'll cover the rental."
"Keep your money. I'm not a kid asking for allowance anymore."
"Where'd you get money?"
"Writing. How else would I survive?"
"Don't brag. I know how little freelance writing pays."
Bruce had never told his family about his script sales. They thought he was still doing freelance work.
"Mom, I'm not freelancing anymore. I sold two scripts these past few months and made some real money."
"Really? How much?"
"A bit over ninety thousand."
His mom burst out laughing. "Bruce, that's more than your dad makes at the restaurant all year!" She couldn't stop chuckling.
Bruce laughed too. "I know you don't believe me. Next time I'm home I'll show you the bank statement."
"Deal. I'll call Grace and tell her you'll pick her up. Once I get her address, I'll leave you a message."
"Perfect. I might be at the rental place when you call."
Bruce hung up, threw on a coat, grabbed Joey, and the two hailed a cab to the nearest car rental office.
At the counter, the manager showed them two minivans—both seated eight. With Grace and her roommate, they needed nine seats.
Then they spotted a Lincoln Town Car stretch limo in the garage. Bruce and Joey exchanged glances and headed straight for it.
The manager followed. "This one's perfect—twelve seats and seriously cool."
Joey was already sliding behind the wheel when Bruce asked, "How much per day?"
"Six hundred. Add three hundred if you want a driver."
"No driver," Joey cut in. "I've got this."
"We'll take it—no driver needed."
"Great. Let's do the paperwork and she's yours."
Fifteen minutes later, after copying his license and sorting insurance, the agency put a hold on Bruce's card and charged six hundred for the rental.
The manager and Bruce checked the fuel gauge—full tank. Per policy, Bruce had to return it filled.
Finally, the manager handed over the keys to the Lincoln limo.
The car had been moved to the curb. The instant they stepped outside, Joey called out, "I'm driving!"
Bruce handed the keys to Joey and took the passenger seat.
Once they were on the road, Joey said, "I've never driven anything like this before!"
"Me neither. After you've had your turn, let me drive for a bit."
Joey laughed. "Deal!"
A few minutes later, Bruce suddenly said, "Wait—we only needed something basic. Why are we driving a stretch limo?"
He groaned. "From the Village to my parents' place is maybe ten miles. We could've taken the subway. My mom said to get a car, not a limousine. Isn't this overkill?"
Joey shrugged. "Don't think like that. Isn't this thing cool?"
"Sure it's cool, but—"
"Cool is all that matters. You're a successful young guy—do whatever you want!"
Though Joey's pep talk was convincing, Bruce stayed skeptical. "Successful? Me?"
Joey shot him a look. "You wrote a script and sold it for tens of thousands. I've been acting for years and can't scrape together five grand. Estelle's right—you're talented."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "She really said that?"
"Yeah, last time I saw her. She's been in the business for decades, and she swears you're going to be big."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Why would Estelle tell you that, and why are you repeating it? Are you buttering me up for a loan?"
Joey looked wounded. "No! But now I know how you'd react if I ever did ask."
"Relax. Even if you were, I wouldn't say no. You're my favorite of the group I met since moving here."
Joey grinned. "Remember that when I really do come knocking. Now listen to what else she said."
"I'm listening."
"I begged her for real roles. I'm tired of being a butt double and doing VD posters. I want to actually act."
"What did she say?"
"She said there are more wannabe actors in New York than pigeons under the Brooklyn Bridge, all chasing the same dream."
Bruce chuckled. "Same with wannabe writers."
Joey quoted her: "Instead of fighting for scraps, stick with Bruce White. He's going places, and smart actors will follow him there."
Bruce, knowing what the future held, expected success—but Estelle saw it after reading just a few scripts. "She's that confident?"
Joey hesitated. "Well, her exact words were a bit more... colorful. But Tribbiani men don't kiss up to anyone."
"Good, because I don't want that either. If I ever get to the point where I'm casting my own films, I'll pick you first—because you're a good actor and because you're my friend."
Joey was genuinely touched. "Thanks for believing in me. And when you say you like me, it's the friend kind, right? No weird vibe?"
"Definitely friendship. I like women. And lots of people like you—Ross does too."
Joey beamed. "Then keep writing hits, Bruce. I'm waiting for your big break."
They'd meant to swap driving, but by the time they pulled into the apartment lot, they'd talked so much they'd forgotten.
Bruce opened the passenger door, but Joey stopped him. "You paid hundreds to rent this thing—are you going to let it sit here until dinner? It's only eleven!"
"What else should we do?"
"Round everyone up, drive around the city, then head to your parents' when it's time to eat."
"Great idea. Where should we go?"
"Come on, didn't you go out in college?"
"I worked at my dad's restaurant most of the time. My friends called me 'the manager.'"
"Well, today, Mr. Manager, we're taking the day off."
"Stay here. I'll get everyone."
Upstairs, Bruce played his messages. His mom had left Grace's address on Roosevelt Island: 560 Main Street, Rivercourt 9B—plus her phone number.
He copied the info into his notebook, then went to Monica's apartment where everyone was lounging in front of the TV.
"Hey, the car's ready and we've got hours before dinner. Let's go do something fun."
Ross looked up. "How many cars did you rent? We'll need at least two."
"Come downstairs and see for yourself. Joey's waiting in the limo."
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