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tomhardystories · 1 month ago

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Part 9

Jules sat at the counter in her kitchen, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar. Her phone lit up with an unfamiliar number. Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered answering (she had an ongoing rivalry with telemarketers), but she was feeling unusually curious. She hesitated, then answered with her mouth half-full.

“Hello?” she said, wiping at her lips with the back of her hand, already half-prepared to launch into a very specific rant about how she didn’t need life insurance.

“Hi, Jules? This is Leo DiCaprio.”

Jules blinked. She stared at the phone as if it had just sprouted legs and tap-danced across her kitchen.

“Sorry, who?” she said, her voice rising in that specific way reserved for both disbelief and spotting a spider.

“Leonardo DiCaprio” the voice repeated, smooth and velvety, like it had just stepped out of a luxury cologne commercial.

Jules paused, her brain scrambling to process. She had two options: either she was being pranked, or Leonardo DiCaprio had accidentally dialed the wrong number while trying to reach his assistant.

“Right,” she said, her tone deliberately dry. “And I’m Julia Roberts. What can I do for you?”

There was a low chuckle on the other end. “I promise, it’s really me. I got your number through, uh… let’s say mutual friend.”

Ah. Right. The memory of Tom’s warning flickered into her mind like a distant echo: “If he calls, just, uh, be careful.” Jules shook her head slightly. Yup, that’s him.

“Alright” she said, crossing her arms, adopting the tone of someone who definitely didn’t believe a word of it. “Let’s say I believe you. Why are you calling me?”

“Well,” Leo began, his voice dripping with the kind of effortless charm that probably made roses bloom spontaneously wherever he walked “I’m in New York for a few more days before heading back to California. I thought it’d be nice to grab a coffee with you.”

Jules froze. Not because she was swooning, but because this was so absurd she half-expected Ashton Kutcher to pop out of a closet and yell, “You’ve been Punk’d!”

“Coffee,” she repeated, like she was tasting the word for the first time. “You, Leonardo DiCaprio, want to get coffee. With me. A person who, just this morning, spilled yogurt down her blouse in a meeting.”

“That’s right” Leo said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Okay” she said slowly, still suspicious. “Just to clarify, this isn’t some elaborate prank, right? You’re not about to ask me for my social security number, or if I’d like to buy a lifetime supply of essential oils?”

Leo laughed again. “I promise, no pranks. Just coffee. You seem like good company.”

Jules snorted before she could stop herself. “Good company? Oh, wow. Someone didn’t do their homework. I’m the kind of person who accidentally orders decaf and then spends the next hour wondering why I’m so tired.”

“I think I can handle that” he replied smoothly.

“Oh, can you?” she shot back, leaning into her usual brand of chaotic humor. “Because I also talk a lot, use way too much sugar, and have a habit of knocking things over. It’s basically a talent.”

“Well, now I’m even more intrigued” Leo said, and Jules could practically hear his grin through the phone.

“Fine,” she said, waving her hand in the air as if he could see it. “Let’s do coffee. But fair warning: if you’re expecting someone glamorous or mysterious, you’re gonna be very disappointed.”

“Noted” he replied, unfazed. “I’ll text you the details.”

Jules hung up and stared at her phone for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“He wants coffee” she muttered to herself. “Sure. And next week I’ll probably get a call from Beyoncé asking me to babysit her twins.”

She shook her head, because, honestly, what else can you do when Leonardo DiCaprio just casually asks you out for coffee?

She didn’t consider herself the kind of person who had to share every detail of her life, but this? This was too good to keep to herself. She paced her living room, phone in hand. There was only one person who could fully appreciate the absurdity of this situation. She hit the speed dial for Miranda. She picked up on the third ring. “This better be good. I just paid $14 for a kale salad, and I’m already regretting it.”

“Oh, it’s good” Jules replied, her voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Guess who called me today?”

“Your dermatologist, finally letting you book that appointment you’ve been avoiding?” Miranda deadpanned.

“Leonardo DiCaprio.”

There was a long pause. Then Miranda burst out laughing. “Yes, Jules. Of course.”

“He just said he’s in New York for a few more days and thought I’d be, and I quote, good company.”

“Good company?” Miranda echoed. “Oh, sure. Because you weren’t already great company when you were hanging out with him and Tom and, what was it, Cillian Murphy at that bar?”

Jules waved her hand, even though Miranda couldn’t see it. “That doesn’t count. That was a group thing. This is… more personal.”

“Personal...” Miranda repeated, clearly savoring the word. “First Tom Hardy, now Leonardo DiCaprio. How many Hollywood favorites are planning to invite you out for coffee? Should I book an intervention before or after Jude Law calls?”

Jules snorted. “Well, here’s the real question: do I tell Tom about it?”

There was a pause. Jules could practically hear Miranda narrowing her eyes through the phone.

“No” Miranda said firmly.

“No?” Jules repeated. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why not?”

“Because” Miranda said, launching into what could only be described as a dramatic lawyer monologue “You said it yourself - Tom’s been overworked, stressed, and calling you at ungodly hours talking about yachts, puppies, and Malibu mansions. Do you really think this man, who can barely hold it together as it is, needs to hear about it?”

Jules hesitated. “Okay, fair point.”

“And another thing,” Miranda continued, her voice rising “why is this even Tom’s business? With all due respect to his very charming neuroses, why should he care who you get coffee with? You’re not his life coach or his therapist - or his girlfriend, for that matter.”

“You’re not wrong” Jules admitted, sinking back into her couch.

“Of course I’m not wrong” Miranda said, sounding smug. “Let me tell you something: you are Jules. You’re smart, funny, and somehow magnetic enough to attract men who live on IMDB’s Top 100 Stars list. You don’t need to justify having coffee with Leo to anyone, least of all Tom.”

Jules grinned, feeling a warm rush of affection for Miranda’s relentless practicality. “Okay, okay, I won’t tell him. Happy?”

“Ecstatic” Miranda replied. “Now, go enjoy your coffee date with Hollywood’s golden boy. And for God’s sake, don’t spill sugar all over him.”

“Too late to make promises” Jules quipped, hanging up.

She set the phone down, already bracing herself for whatever chaos Leo’s coffee plans might bring. But Miranda was right.. what business did anyone else have in her life? She wasn’t moving to Malibu, spilling her secrets, or swooning over a movie star.

Probably.

Jules arrived at the café precisely three minutes early, a feat of punctuality that had her feeling smug - until she caught sight of her reflection in the café window. Her hair, which she’d spent a solid twenty minutes taming, now looked like she’d just dismounted a roller coaster.

“No big deal” she muttered to herself, fluffing it in the least subtle way possible as she pushed through the door.

Leo DiCaprio was already there, sitting at a corner table with sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled low. He looked casual, effortless - basically the polar opposite of how Jules felt in her carefully chosen "relaxed yet sophisticated" outfit that now seemed to scream trying too hard.

“Jules” he said, standing up as she approached. “Good to see you.”

“You too” she replied, shaking his hand before realizing she was holding her bag in the same hand. The result was an awkward juggle that ended with her bag smacking the table, nearly toppling the salt shaker.

Leo’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. Gentleman, clearly.

The waiter came over, and Jules was determined to play it cool. “I’ll have a flat white” she said with the air of someone who definitely knew what a flat white was and had not, in fact, googled it.

Leo ordered a black coffee, because of course he did.

As the coffee arrived, the conversation began to flow. Jules was determined to keep things casual, which meant saying absolutely the first thing that popped into her head.

“So, you wear sunglasses indoors. That’s… bold.”

Leo smiled, adjusting them slightly. “Hazard of the job, I guess. Keeps people from staring.”

“Does it, though?” Jules teased, raising an eyebrow. “Because I feel like it might just make you more noticeable.”

He laughed, and she felt herself relax.

They talked about travel (he loved Italy, she once got stuck in a revolving door in Paris), work (he told a funny story about filming a scene with a baby goat, she countered with the time she accidentally emailed a meme of a screaming cat to her client), and the absurdity of New York traffic.

“I once got stuck in a cab for so long” she said “that I considered getting out and just living on the sidewalk.”

Leo laughed again, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you guys do it here.”

“Pure spite” Jules replied. “It’s the New York way.”

Just as Jules was starting to think she might survive this meeting without embarrassing herself further, Leo leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting.

“Jules..” he began “I want to ask you something.”

Her stomach flipped. Oh God, was there spinach in her teeth?

“I think you’re amazing” he said, catching her completely off guard. “You’re funny, smart, and I don’t meet people like you often. So, I just have to ask... are you and Tom… together?”

For a moment, Jules just stared at him. And then, without warning, she burst into laughter. Not a polite chuckle. Not a soft, feminine giggle. But a full-on, uncontrollable cackle that echoed through the cafe. Heads turned. The barista paused mid-latte art.

“W-what?” she managed to wheeze between gasps for air. “No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Definitely NOT. A million times no!!”

Leo raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a grin. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“God, sorry” Jules said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “It’s just - me and Tom? That’s hilarious. No, absolutely not.”

“Good to know” Leo said smoothly. “Because I was hoping you’d let me show you Malibu.”

Jules froze, her brain grinding to a halt. “Malibu?”

“Yeah” he said, leaning back casually. “Take a week off. Come to California. We’ll hang out, explore, get some sun, maybe spend some time on the yacht. I think you’d love it.”

The words yacht and California had barely registered in her mind when a flashback hit her like a freight train.

Tom’s voice, panicked and slightly too high-pitched: “Promise me you’ll never move to Malibu. Or anywhere tropical where you’ll forget me!”

She stared at Leo, unsure whether to laugh or cry. This was it. This was literally the exact nightmare Tom had rambled about during his 3 am phone call.

“Oh my God” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked, concerned.

Jules waved her hand dismissively, her mind racing. Should she tell him? Could she explain the sheer absurdity of Tom calling her in the middle of the night to rant about hypothetical yachts? No. No, she could not.

“Nothing” she said quickly. “It’s just… I’m flattered. Really. But I’m not looking for anything right now.”

Leo nodded, his expression completely understanding. “I get it. No pressure. I just wanted to ask.”

“Thank you..” she said, relaxing slightly. “And for the record, I think we’d make excellent friends. You’re very… cool.”

Leo smiled. “Friends it is. I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too,” she said, genuinely meaning it.

The rest of the meeting went without incident, the two of them chatting like old friends. By the time they said goodbye, Jules felt oddly proud of herself. Sure, she’d laughed so hard the entire café stared at her, but she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself. Mostly.

As she stepped out into the crisp New York air, she couldn’t help but laugh. Malibu? Yachts? Tom would lose his mind if he ever found out.

And then it hit her: Tom. Sweet, neurotic Tom, who had practically sworn her to a blood pact never to set foot in Malibu because of his bizarre nightmares. She grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

She dialed his number, and Tom picked up almost immediately.

“Tom” she began, calm and measured, like she was reading him a eulogy. “Remember that midnight phone call? You, ranting about the inherent evil of Malibu and how I was never, under any circumstances, to set foot there?”

A wary pause. “…yes?”

“Well” she said, dragging out the word like she was savoring it, “Funny story. I just had coffee with Leo. And he invited me to Malibu. We’re flying out tomorrow morning.”

The silence on the line stretched so long she thought he’d fainted.

“…what.” Tom’s voice finally came through, high-pitched and slightly strangled.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to show me the sights. You know, the beach, the yacht, maybe even some dolphins. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Tom inhaled sharply. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Jules, listen to me. You can’t go. Malibu changes people. You’ll start drinking green juice out of a mason jar and calling it a detox elixir. You’ll buy a caftan. A CAFTAN, Jules. Do you even know what a caftan is?!”

“I feel like you’ve got a lot of feelings about caftans” she observed, biting back laughter.

“You don’t understand" he continued, spiraling faster than a toilet flush. “You’re not even packed! Do you have Malibu clothes? Do you own linen?!”

“I have linen napkins.”

“Not the same thing, Jules! They’ll know. Malibu people can smell fear and polyester blends!”

At that, she completely lost it, doubling over as a laugh tore out of her. “Tom! Oh my God, stop. I’m dying.”

“No!” he said, dead serious. “You’re going to get on that yacht, and they’re going to feed you champagne and caviar until you forget who you are. I’m telling you, Jules, you’ll become one of them.”

“One of who, exactly?”

“California people!” His voice cracked on the last syllable. “The kind who text you, ‘Sorry, babe, I can’t make it, I’m on my third cleanse of the month.”

“Wow...” she said, grinning. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I’ve SEEN THINGS, Jules!” Tom practically yelled. “People don’t come back from Malibu the same. Or worse, they don’t come back at all. They just vanish into infinity pools and Instagram stories.”

“Uh-huh” Jules said, deadpan. “And you know what, Tom? I think you might be psychic. I mean, how else could you have known this would happen?”

“Jules” Tom said, his tone urgent. “Listen to me. If you go to Malibu, it’s over. That’s where people disappear. They stop answering texts. They start… wearing sunglasses indoors! You’ll come back and tell me I should do yoga on the beach at sunrise. Jules, I can’t lose you to that lifestyle!”

“Wow” she said, trying her hardest to sound serious. “You’re really spiraling here.”

“Of course I’m spiraling!” Tom snapped.

At that, Jules finally lost it. She burst out laughing, so loudly that a passing dog walker gave her a curious look. “Tom, oh my God, relax. I’m not going to Malibu.”

There was another pause. “…what?”

“I’m not going” she repeated, wiping a tear from her eye. “I turned him down. I just wanted to mess with you.”

“You...” His breath caught audibly. “You evil, soulless troll. I hate you.”

“It was worth it” she said, her grin practically audible. “Admit it” she said “you were picturing me on a yacht, weren’t you? All tan and glamorous, sipping champagne and tossing my phone into the Pacific?”

“I’m hanging up now. You’re a monster” he muttered.

“And you’re the best” she said, still grinning. “Never change.”

“I’m putting a tracking app on your phone” he grumbled.

“Bye, Tom” she said sweetly. “Don’t have nightmares about designer caftans, okay?”

As she hung up, Jules leaned against the nearest lamppost, laughing to herself.

Tom was still nursing his post-Jules call anxiety when his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, groaned, and answered.

“Leo, what do you want? Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“Hey, man” Leo’s smooth voice came through, cheerful and unbothered. “Just thought I’d call. So… about Jules.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh no. No, no, no. Don’t even start. I’m already regretting giving you her number.”

Leo chuckled on the other end. “Relax, bro. I just wanted to tell you how it went.”

“Oh, great” Tom muttered. “Did she roast you alive, or are you calling from the ashes of your self-esteem?”

“She’s… amazing” Leo said, clearly trying to find the right words.

Tom barked a laugh. “Oh, she’s amazing, all right. Let me guess, she gave you the Jules Special: one compliment wrapped in three layers of insults, just to keep you humble.”

“Actually....” Leo began, but Tom cut him off.

“No, no, don’t tell me. Let me do the honors” Tom said, sitting up. “First, she showed up ten minutes late, claiming ‘fashionably’ but really because she forgot what time she said. Then, she immediately made fun of whatever you were wearing. Something like, "Oh, nice shirt. Did they run out of the expensive ones?”

There was a long pause.

“…okay, that last part is accurate” Leo admitted.

“Of course it is” Tom said, triumphant. “I know Jules, and let me tell you, she is not girlfriend material. She’s, like, chaos incarnate. She’ll drink all your coffee, borrow your hoodie, and then insult you while wearing it.”

Leo chuckled. “You make her sound horrible.”

“She’s not horrible,” Tom corrected. “She’s Jules. Which means she’s impossible, infuriating, and more stubborn than a mule wearing noise-canceling headphones. I’ve seen her make a personal trainer cry.”

“Okay, but that’s kind of admirable,” Leo said.

“No, it’s concerning!” Tom exclaimed. “She’s the human version of a hurricane. Except hurricanes eventually pass, and Jules? Jules lingers. You’ll be lying in bed at night, and suddenly, you’ll remember something she said three weeks ago and start questioning your life choices.”

“You’re really selling her” Leo said, amused.

“I’m not trying to sell her!” Tom snapped. “I’m trying to save you. You don’t need that kind of chaos in your Malibu bubble. Stick to your yoga girls and organic juice queens. Jules is, like, an espresso martini with a splash of existential dread. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your Malibu mansion into her personal comedy club.”

“Sounds intriguing” Leo said.

Tom groaned. “Of course you think that. Look, just promise me you won’t fall for her, okay? I can’t handle the fallout when you realize she’s allergic to feelings.”

Leo hesitated. “Actually… we decided to just be friends.”

Tom froze. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah..” Leo said casually. “She turned me down. Said I wasn’t her type, but she’d be happy to grab a drink sometime - strictly platonically.”

Tom stared at the wall in disbelief. “She friend-zoned you?”

“Now there's two of us..” Leo said, sounding oddly cheerful.

“Wow.” Tom let out a low whistle. “You’re Leonardo DiCaprio. The Titanic guy. And she said no?”

Leo laughed. “Yep. First time for everything.”

“Unbelievable” Tom muttered, shaking his head. “She’s truly unmatched.”

“Hey, I kind of respect it” Leo said. “Besides, I think we could be great friends. She’s hilarious.”

“You know, talking about Jules earlier... I might have gone a bit overboard. I wasn’t being serious. She’s not that bad.”

“Well,” Leo said lightly, “thanks for introducing us. I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Tom groaned again. “Great. Fantastic. Now, can both of you please leave me alone? I’m not your therapist, your mediator, or your relationship counselor.”

“You kind of are” Leo teased.

“Just do me a favor and both of you stay out of my life for a week. I’m emotionally spent.” Tom shot back.

“Sure thing, buddy” Leo said lightly. “Talk soon.”

Tom was sprawled out on the couch, fully immersed in his righteous annoyance, when his phone buzzed again. He groaned, snatched it up, and saw the name on the screen.

“Oh, for the love of... Cillian, if you’re calling to ask Jules out, I swear to God, I’m blocking your number! I’m quitting society and joining a cult!” Tom yelled as soon as he answered.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Cillian’s calm, slightly confused voice came through.

“Uh… what?”

Tom sat up, his rant not losing any steam. “Don’t play coy with me, Murphy. Are you planning some romantic dinner? A walk on the beach? Or maybe you’re thinking of luring her to some broody, dimly-lit jazz club where you can stare at each other in tortured silence?”

Cillian cleared his throat. “Tom, I’m… not calling about Jules.”

Tom froze, his anger deflating slightly. “…you’re not?”

“No?” Cillian said firmly, though his tone now carried a hint of amusement. “I was actually calling to ask if you wanted to join the charity game this weekend. But clearly, you’ve got some... other things going on.”

“Oh” Tom said, blinking. “Right. Of course. Charity game. Makes sense.” Tom replied and hung up, staring at his phone in disbelief. “Unbelievable, he muttered. “I’m the one who needs therapy.”