“he told the hostess. “With an x.”Even now, ten years after his agent gave him the moniker, he felt silly saying it. Invariably, the other person frowned, not understanding. It wasn’t like saying “Brandy with an i.” Who the hell put an x in Jackson?“J-A-X-S-O-N,” he said when the hostess’s brow knitted.“And your first name, Mr. Jaxson?” she said as she wrote it down beside the reservation list. Before he could answer, her baby blues went double-wide. “Oh, my God. That Jaxson. I’m so sorry. I sho...uld have recognized—”“That’s okay. Some days, I’m happy being anonymous. After No Holds Barred, I didn’t want to be recognized for months.”Ba-dum-dum. A line he’d used a thousand times, and not worth a snicker, much less the guffaw the hostess gave it. That’s the hell of being famous. Everything that leaves your mouth is profoundly witty, profoundly charming, profoundly profound.“Will your guest be joining you later?” the hostess asked as she led him through the darkened restaurant.“She just got a casting call about an hour ago,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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