Authors: Emma Taylor
She didn’t know if it was the wine, the thrill at seeing Elliot, or the notion of minor fame that made her head so dizzy.
***
How did I go from a run-of-the-mill cold to this?
she asked herself as she emerged into the night air. The paparazzi covered the sidewalk and the road. Elliot’s driver and another man she had never seen before shielded the couple as they walked towards the car. Photographs were snapped and lights flashed in her eyes, leaving halos of light in her vision. Before they entered the car, Elliot leaned across and whispered in Charlotte’s ear. “Let’s give them a picture worth taking,” he said.
He took her arm and turned her toward the paparazzi. Charlotte followed Elliot’s lead and smiled when he did, facing the cameras and ignoring the blinding lights. Then they turned and entered the car, the paparazzi trailing behind them like a troupe of ants after a sugary treat.
Elliot put his hand on her leg and sighed. “That was Step One over and done with,” he said.
“Now what?”
“Now we go to an excellent restaurant and enjoy our meal. There will be no paparazzi on the way in. But some patron will email or Tweet our location, so prepare for them on the way out. Other than that, we can just enjoy ourselves now.”
Charlotte was glad the pretense was over, if only for a little bit. She laid her hands over Elliot’s hand, which was still of her leg, and turned to him. “This is crazy,” she said.
“I know,” Elliot said. “Crazier than I’d have thought. But, it’s exciting too, isn’t it?”
He looked deep into her eyes, and she knew if she lied he would know. There was no point in lying now. She could lie to herself, she could lie to Simone, but she couldn’t lie to Elliot. For some reason she was sure he would look within her and see the falseness of any deceit she attempted. “Yes,” she said, recalling the flashing lights and the clutching hands, and Elliot’s arms protectively wrapped around her. “Yes,” she said, with more conviction. “It is exciting.”
***
Charlotte had never seen the restaurant’s entrance; neither had she seen the inside of the main part of the restaurant, except from the window in the room in which she and Elliot had had their first date. The main part of the restaurant was no less impressive than the private room. Medieval weaponry and landscape English art hung from the walls. The furniture was all carved, dark wood and the embroidery and tablecloths were elegant. Charlotte thought it all looked sophisticated and impressive.
Heads turned and people muttered amongst themselves as they realized that, yes, it was Elliot Sanderson and the woman he’d been photographed with. Charlotte did her best to ignore the eyes. Elliot didn’t even seem to notice that people were watching him. He walked to the table and slid gracefully into his seat, while a waiter sat Charlotte at hers, just as last time.
She felt like slumping, but instead looked around the restaurant, then down at the table, and then up at Elliot. “Do you ever get used to it?” she said.
Elliot shrugged. “I barely even notice it anymore. It is not like this, usually. It is only because we have been in the magazines. Usually, only one or two people will recognize me. Not…” He waved a hand. “Not the whole restaurant.”
He smiled at her, and that infused her with strength. She shrugged off the gazes, pushed them from her mind as best she could, and turned to the menu.
She barely had time to look at the menu before the wine waiter sidled over to their table with a sheepish grin on his face. In his hands he clutched a bottle of champagne. He nodded to Elliot and smiled at her. “The manager wishes to give you this, complements of the house,” he said. “He said it is a token of his appreciation for your patronage.”
Charlotte was glad that Elliot spoke to the waiter. She wouldn’t have had any idea what to say. This was out of the parameters of her normal life. Never had she been offered free champagne, for any reason, except for a glass at a work functions. And that wasn’t aimed at specifically her, for something she specifically did. She watched as Elliot smiled up at the man. She could see that the smile was tight, forced, but the waiter didn’t seem to notice.
“Tell him thank you,” he said with a false happy voice. “It is very kind.”
The waiter uncorked the bottle decorously, and poured a little for Elliot, who tasted it, then nodded his approval. The waiter then poured a glass for Elliot and Charlotte, placed the bottle in an ice bucket that another waiter had placed beside the table, then retreated into the hubbub of the restaurant. Charlotte sipped her champagne, savoring the bubbly feeling it brought, and the slight feeling of lightheadedness. “It is nice,” she said.
Elliot sipped his and nodded. “It is,” he said.
Charlotte wasn’t feeling like a massive feast. She ordered a chicken salad. Elliot ordered steak. They waited for their food, sipping their champagne. “So,” Elliot said. “You’re famous now.”
Charlotte smiled awkwardly, and took another sip of her champagne.
“Fame used to be precious,” said Elliot. “Great rulers used to be famous, great warriors, great poets. That’s not how the world works anymore. Now, almost anyone can be famous if they’re seen in the right place, with the right people. You can become rich and famous for walking down the right street these days.” He didn’t sound begrudging, just level and calm. “What I think is, if people are going to treat you differently, then let them. If they’re going to give you free stuff and let you get the best tables at their restaurants, let them. But never let go of who you truly are under the fame.”
“Fame is a mask the eats into the face,” Charlotte said.
“Exactly,” Elliot replied. “Don’t let it eat into
your
face.”
Charlotte was about to reply when their food was brought out. She nibbled at her salad as Elliot cut into his steak. She looked around the restaurant and spied a man surreptitiously taking a picture of them on his phone. He had put his phone under the table and was angling it at them whilst looking at his date, trying to seem natural. Charlotte chose to ignore it. If she made a scene now, the whole restaurant would see, and that would do nobody any good.
When the meal was over, they stood up and walked together toward the restaurant’s exit. Charlotte took Elliot’s arm as they walked into the night. As he had predicted, the streets were lined with paparazzi. The bouncers were stopping them from charging into the restaurant, their arms held wide as they braced the dozen or so bloodhounds. Elliot gave her hand a little squeeze and they stood side by side, allowing their photograph to be taken. Charlotte smiled into the flashing lights, feeling dizzy.
When they’d posed for almost a minute, Elliot led her to the car. The bouncers shielded them without having to be asked, blocking the wide-eyed, animalistic camera-wielders. They jumped into the car and Elliot’s driver zoomed into the night.
Elliot put a hand on Charlotte’s leg. “Are you okay?” he said.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “I think so.”
“Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”
“No, why?”
“Because I’d like to take you out again.”
She could’ve said no. She could’ve returned to her normal life. She could’ve sunk back into obscurity: calm, peaceful, private obscurity. She knew that was the wise decision. But her love for pleasure was too great, and when she weighed the choices, stay in and do nothing or go out with Elliot, it wasn’t a choice at all. “Where?” she said.
“The opera,” he said. “To be honest, I am not a great fan of the opera. But I thought you might like it.”
“I’ve never been,” Charlotte said. “But I’d like to give it a try.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the neck, and then pulled her face to his and kissed her hard on the lips. She breathed in the kiss, and when the driver stopped outside her apartment, she was almost angry. She broke off the kiss and climbed from the car. There were no paparazzi outside her door. Elliot’s driver had driven fast, and probably they were on their way here now. Elliot escorted her to her door and kissed her once more on the lips.
Heart pounding, she turned and walked into her apartment building, into her façade of normality. She climbed into her bed and stared into the darkness, thinking of tomorrow, tomorrow, and all the tomorrows she could experience with Elliot.
A minor cold… the opera… what mad logic brings those two together?
She giggled to herself, and was about to close her eyes and sleep when her phone began to ring. She rolled over with a sleepy smile on her face, thinking it would be Elliot. She answered it.
Simone’s voice was high-pitched and grating. “You’ve really annoyed me, Charlotte,” she growled. “You’ve
really
annoyed me.”
***
Charlotte held the phone in her hand, close to her ear, for a few moments before Simone’s words had registered.
You’ve really annoyed me.
Why would she be really annoyed? They hadn’t even seen each other in a week. What could Charlotte have possibly done to annoy her friend so much?
She cleared her throat, and then said: “Why?”
Big mistake,
she thought, as Simone launched forth.
“Why?” she snapped. “Why? You know, babe, I am your friend. I care about you. I love you, okay? So you know it annoys me when I see you making a fool out of yourself in front of everybody. Do you realize what you look like, leaving that restaurant with him? You look like a slut. Yes, that’s right. You look like a slut, Charlotte. And that’s the truth. I’m sorry if it’s a shock to you, but it happens to be true. You look like a gold-digging slut.”
Charlotte refused to get angry; Simone had often gone off like this, reacting unstably and disproportionately to events. Charlotte had learnt that calmness was the best repellant. “The picture is online already?” she said mildly.
“Yes,” Simone said in a tight voice, clearly angry at Charlotte’s apparent ease. “And it’s already got one-hundred thousand views! And two-thousand comments! There are men on there saying what they’d like to do to you! And there are women calling you all kinds of names, calling you a slut!”
“Like you did, just now,” Charlotte pointed out.
“That’s different,” Simone growled. “I’m saying this for your own good. If you don’t break it off with that man, you’ll forever be known as the woman who tried to steal Elliot Sanderson’s money before he dropped you. Because he
will
dump you, babe. You know that, don’t you?”
Charlotte breathed deeply and tried to find a remnant of calmness within herself. It was getting harder and harder to stop from shouting at her friend. She’d gone off before, but never like this, never so furiously, and Charlotte couldn’t understand it. She thought a friend would support her, not bully her. She took another deep breath and said as calmly and steadily as she could: “I do not know why you are so angry, Simone. I can only guess that something has happened in your own life this past week that is making you angry, and you are taking it out on me. Don’t interrupt me. It has happened before. We both know that. Calling up your friend and calling her a slut is not a good way to deal with your problems. You know I’m right.”
Charlotte waited for her friend to say something. Instead, Simone hung up the phone. Charlotte sighed, set her phone on the bedside table, and then rolled over. She wanted to return to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. The picture was online, already, and people were commenting on it. She hadn’t ever realized that Elliot was this famous.
She cursed herself and grabbed her laptop from the floor. It didn’t take long to find the photograph on one of the celebrity websites. Her smile looked a bit shaky, and Elliot seemed a bit uncomfortable, but she didn’t think anyone would notice who didn’t know them. She scrolled through the comments, expecting to be disgusted and offended, expecting to hate everyone who had commented on the photograph. There was some of that. Lots of men had intellectually stimulating things to say about how she liked to be fucked and other degrading comments of that nature. And lots of women were almost seething with jealously. But mostly, it was young men and women commenting things like: “They look so cute together! Lots of love for this picture!”
Charlotte looked through the comments for a few minutes, or so she thought. But when she finally turned away from them, the sun was rising. She had been on the same page, scrolling through the near-endless comments, for three hours. She laughed to herself, finally seeing how people could get addicted to celebrity culture, and then walked into her kitchen to make herself some warm milk. She had nothing to do today except relax and get ready to meet Elliot. She felt like a student again, and she liked it.
After she drank her warm milk she returned to her bed and lay down on her side, closing her eyes and thinking of the nice, heartwarming comments people had left. It was nice, she decided, and it was flattering. That people cared, or at least cared enough to leave a comment on the internet, was a side to her semi-fame she hadn’t anticipated.
She slept deeply and soundly and woke at midday.
***
The first thing she did when she woke up was to ring Simone. She wanted to see how her friend felt about the conversation they’d had earlier. But Simone didn’t answer her phone. Charlotte tried ringing a few more times but there was nothing.
She walked across the apartment to the window and looked down. The street was not covered with paparazzi as it had been yesterday, but a few men holding cameras milled about the street, chewing gum and smoking cigarettes, occasionally exchanging words with each other.