Can't Turn Back Now, I'm Haunted (A Ben Willbond Rom Com)

Chapter Three | Don't You Want Me, Baby?

The next morning I found myself back at Button House in the kitchen, shooting an ensemble scene with the whole cast. It was a fun one — I got to throw a tantrum at my character's cameraman while the ghosts conspired against me. My voice was a little hoarse from the late, boozy night at the pub, but it rallied.

Ben stood next to me in the scene, and when we held for a beat while the cameras moved around to catch things from another angle, he leaned over to me.

"By the way," he said in a low voice. "I just wanted to say I'm very, very sorry if I was at all, erm... embarrassing last night."

I looked at him in amused surprise.

"I just mean," he cleared his throat and chuckled, awkwardly. "I had quite a bit to drink, and I'm normally the driver of the group so I cut loose a bit last night and I just wanted to say that if I did or said anything embarrassing or untoward, I sincerely apologize."

"I mean, the striptease to 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go' was a bit much," I joked. "But you know, it's nothing to apologize for."

He laughed, putting his finger to his lips to keep his Captain mustache from falling off.

"Yeah, but that was sober," he joked. "That was a very deliberate decision."

"Well sure, you had to put real thought into the song choice."

"Yeah," he said with committed seriousness. "But I can't shake the feeling that I should've gone with 'Careless Whisper'."

"Next time."

"Definitely."

We snickered and a moment of eye contact passed between us. It was interrupted by the director's brusque voice.

"Ben, can we adjust one line?"

Ben snapped to attention and nodded a quick 'excuse me' to me before walking over to the camera setup to confer. Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked it, discreetly, trying not to look unprofessional.

—Unbelievable. You've been in London two days and haven't called me? I get it, I get it, Hollywood's made you too big for us little peopleeeeee

I chuckled to myself — it was from my old friend Kamie, who I'd met on my study-abroad ten years ago. Before I had a chance to write back, my phone dinged again.

—I'm obviously joking, you could never forget me. When are we getting drinks? x

—Tonight, please?? — I typed back.

—OMG yes, my mate just opened a karaoke bar in Shepherd's Bush, invite your Ghostie friends! xx

I passed around the invite and while many were exhausted from the night before, a few promised to try and make it out. We got released on time, and by eight o'clock I was whizzing in a taxi from my apartment to Fly Me to the Tune — I was dubious about the name of the place, but resolved to be shiningly positive to Kamie's friend about it.

I walked in and it was moderately busy for a Wednesday night — and the vibe was immaculate. A fabulously hammered woman in a "bride-to-be" shawl and a little white mini-dress was belting out "Stop Right Now" by the Spice Girls, while her friends danced in front of the stage, raising their cocktails in the air with a giddy abandon. Purple lights swirled around the dance floor, which was flocked by several booth tables, creating a disco feel, while closer to the bar was a warmer, more mellow atmosphere that was almost cozy. I spied Kamie perched on a barstool talking to a handsome employee — classic, I thought with a smile. When she saw me, her face lit up and she leapt to her feet, abandoning the dreamy waiter in favor of running toward me, her magenta platform heels clacking across the floor like impossibly cool horse hooves.