Free Pounding the Pavement by Jennifer van der Kwast

we can get there early.” I walk out of my bedroom and start looking for my bag. I find it on the kitchen counter beside the microwave.
    Jake follows me toward the front door. He hesitates when I open it for him, staring at me uneasily. “Umm …”
    “What?”
    “You, uh, want to get changed or take a shower or something before we go?”
    I look down at myself. I’m still wearing the T-shirt and boxer shorts.
    “Oh, right.” I drop my bag to the floor. “Just give me a minute.”
    W hen the movie lets out, I get on the escalator first and Jake steps on behind me.
    “What did you think?”
    “It was all right,” I say over my shoulder.
    Jake squeezes past me and turns around. I’ve noticed he insists on facing me dead-on when he talks to me. It’s not disconcerting. It’s sweet. And when he stands on the step below me, looking up at me with an impish grin, he reminds me of the four-year-old nephew I don’t have and never thought I wanted. He’s adorable in a way that makes me want to show him my thumb and say, “Look, I got your nose!”
    “You hated it, didn’t you?” he says.
    “Hate
is kind of a strong word—”
    “But still not strong enough, huh?”
    “No, I guess not. I’m sorry.” I shake my head sadly. “I can’t lie. I thought it was terrible.”
    “Don’t apologize. I hated it, too.”
    “You did?”
    “Hated it so much, it makes me furious.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far—”
    “I would. Nothing pisses me off more than a mediocre movie. ’Cause, if you’re going to suck, why not suck in style? Figure if things are so bad they can’t be fixed, don’t
try
to make them better. Make them
worse
. Throw in a dance number or something.”
    “Tell me about it. You notice how there are no fun-bad movies anymore? Everything’s just bad-bad?”
    “Paul Verhoeven. Now, there’s a fun-bad director. You see
Starship Troopers?”
    “Don’t you dare!
Starship Troopers
is a brilliant movie.”
    “What about
Showgirls?”
    “Best bad movie I ever saw.”
    “See? They don’t make them bad like that anymore. Everything’s just
kind of
bad.” Jake steps off the elevator. “And don’t get me started on De Niro movies—”
    “Yeah, he sucks.”
    “No, he doesn’t suck. He’s just … not good. And that’s the worse part, ’cause he used to be great. Now, he’s just a caricature of himself. Him, and Al Pacino, and Dustin Hoffman—”
    “And Jack Nicholson …”
    Jake stops cold and scowls.
    “Not Jack,” he says evenly.
    I smile in spite of myself. “You’re right. I stand corrected. Not Jack. I could watch Jack read a menu.” My stomach hears me say the word “menu” and does a somersault on a creaky trampoline.
    “You hungry?” asks Jake astutely.
    “A little.”
    “Any good places around here to eat?”
    “Umm …” In my head, I run down my regular list of sushi, Thai, and Chinese neighborhood joints. But as tempting as they all sound, I’d rather not leave room for discussion. In this case, anything safe and standard would do. “There’s a diner around the corner.”
    “Awesome. You think they have milkshakes?”
    “Well, I would guess—”
    “When was the last time you had a milkshake?”
    “I don’t know,” I confess. “It’s been a while.”
    “I think it’s important to have a milkshake every now and then. Don’t you?”
    “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
    I ’m on my best behavior tonight. Even though I’d kill for a tuna melt, I settle for the rather disappointing Greek salad. Jake has sold me on the milkshake, though. And the side of fries.
    “The problem is,” he says, dipping a fry into a vat of mayonnaise. He ordered it, not me. Still, I’m pleased it’s there. “Even though there are probably no good roles left anymore for actors like De Niro or Pacino, no one’s really stepped up to fill their shoes. I tell you …” He points his drippy fry at me. “Give me the name of one young actor
now
who you could