She spun on her heels in my direction, holding a large knife in her hand and pointing it at me.
My arms instinctively raised in defense as I fell into the chair behind me. “Whoa. Be careful with that thing.”
“How am I feeling?” She sounded angry, and I was suddenly worried that James had been wrong. She wasn’t a harlot looking for a meal ticket. She was a mass murderer on the loose from prison, and I was an easy kill.
“How am I feeling?” she repeated.
“I’m suddenly afraid to know.”
“I’m feeling like a prat. That’s how I’m feeling.
“A prat?”
“Like I’ve made an utter joke out of myself for the last month and you’ve let me.”
“Why? What happened?”
She slammed the knife onto the counter and walked out of the room.
“Kei?”
“I’ll be right back. Don’t you move.”
Fearing for my safety, I glanced at the back door and started to plan an escape, but curiosity won out over fear of death, so I stuck around. I wanted to know what she was so ticked about. My mind raced over our conversations from the last several days. I didn’t remember saying anything inappropriate or offensive; unless I said something that would only be offensive to a missionary from Africa, and that could be just about anything.
Her voice traveled from the hallway. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went into Oliver’s office to straighten it up a bit.”
“Yeah?”
She walked back in with a stack of magazines in her arms, and I immediately knew the jig was up. She’d found out who I was, and she wasn’t happy.
“Kei, before you say a word—”
“Thanks for informing me that I was spending time with, oh let’s see…” She flipped through the magazines. “‘The Eighth Wonder of the World,’” she practically shouted as she threw the magazine onto the table in front of me. “‘The Sexiest Newcomer of the Year,’” she continued. The magazine landed on the table with a thud. “‘The Man Every Woman Wishes She Could Have.’”
That one landed in my lap but thankfully did less damage than the backpack had.
“Should I continue? There’s approximately ten more here, and you’re on every single one.”
I threw the magazine off my lap and stood up. “I can explain.”
“And who’s this bag? You said you didn’t have a girlfriend. Does she know that?”
The magazine cover had a picture of my last co-star, Sofie, and me. It was taken at a premiere, and the headline read, “Moving In Together!”
“You can’t believe everything you read. We don’t like each other that much.”
“I can see why she doesn’t like you. You’re a liar, and who in their right mind likes a liar?”
“I didn’t lie. I withheld information. There’s a difference.”
“You keep telling yourself that. And in the meantime, explain how you let me tell you all about how it feels to have people staring at me all the time. You let me bang on, trying to explain what it felt like, and all along you were…were…bloody this!” she said, pointing at another picture of my face. It was
People’s
“Sexiest Man Alive” cover.
“Look, I—”
“Sack it!”
I shut my mouth and sat back down.
Kei flew around the kitchen, tossing pots and pans as she rambled. “Do you know that I Googled you? All I had to type was C-A-B and your name popped up.” She picked up the knife again, and I instinctively leaned back in my chair. “That means that millions of people type your name in that search bar every day.”
“I—”
“I’ve not finished.”
I slammed my jaw shut again.
“Have you seen how many websites are dedicated to you? Have you read them? Some of them are absolutely disgusting. Old women talking about what they wish they could do to you.” The knife flailed around in the air as she spoke. “Young girls talking about how they want to marry you. Geez. Homosexual men have sites dedicated to you. People don’t just fancy you. You’re like an idol or something. They bloody worship you.”
I buried my head in my hands as she spoke. Hearing it come from her, it was even more ridiculous than I’d imagined.
“I could order a supper box with your picture on it if I wanted to, or a pillowcase. Honestly, I don’t even want to know what people do to pillowcases with your face on them.”
“I don’t either.”
“Or a life-sized cutout. Did you know there are life-sized cutouts of you? Thousands of girls have life-sized cardboard pictures of you standing in their rooms right this very minute. They probably practice snogging with it. Who knows what in the world they do with them. Do you know?”
“Well—”
“Water bottles. We can’t even get water in some places in Africa, but here, not only can you get water, but you can get a bottle of water with your mug on the front.”
“Technically, it’s a thermos. You have to add your own water.”
“There’s one website that I visited, and they took a live interview that you did for a film and they turned it in to hundreds of still photographs. And then they went and analyzed every facial expression you made, every gesture. I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean you’re a nice-looking bloke, but come on. You’re not
that
good looking.”
I looked back up at her. “Hey now. Let’s not get carried away—”
“And here I was, telling you about what it’s like to have hundreds of people staring at me.”
Unbeknownst to Kei, she was pointing the knife in her direction when she referenced herself, and every time it swung her direction, I about jumped out of my skin.
“Good God! Will you just put the knife down? I’m afraid you’re going to stab yourself. You’re scaring me to death.”
She threw the knife onto the counter and then paced back and forth in front of the stove. It was obvious that she had some sort of inner dialogue going on in her head, because her face contorted in various ways, as if she were reacting to a conversation.
I stayed silent for several minutes until her pacing finally slowed. “Will you sit down and let me explain?”
She stopped and scowled my direction. Her hazel eyes practically shot fireballs through my skull.
“Please?”
“I don’t know. I’m not certain I like you anymore.”
“Give me a chance to explain. Isn’t forgiveness part of your job description?”
Her eyes rolled before she jerked the chair out from the table and sat with a thud. “Why did you do that to me? Were you attempting to humiliate me?”
“No.”
“Was it a test you were wanting to see if I’d pass?”
“Of course not.”
She crossed her arms across her chest, growled, and rolled her eyes again. I was starting to wonder if I was witnessing a demon possession right there in the kitchen but ignored the fear and kept right on talking.
“Honestly, Kei. I was interested in what you were saying, and it actually felt good to know that someone else in this world understood what it’s like to be me.”
Her hand slammed onto the table. “I have no bloody idea what it’s like to be you. The two don’t even compare.”
“Sure they do.”
“Here I thought I had you figured out. I wasn’t even close. I’m a moron.”
She jumped out of her seat and walked to the sink.
“Whatever you do, spare me a heart attack and don’t pick up the knife again. As a matter of fact, do me the favor of avoiding cutlery altogether.”
Her eyes rested on the knife, and for a brief second, I pictured her picking it up and stabbing me in the chest with it over and over again. Luckily, before my imagination got too carried away, she crossed her arms in front of her.
“Look.” I got up, stood next to her, and slid the knife out of her reach. “You pretty much hit the nail on the head. Other than growing up in a wealthy family, you got everything else right.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“It felt good to have a person talk to me as Cabot instead of Cab. I wanted to feel like a normal person for a while. That’s all. I would’ve eventually told you if we kept hanging out.”
“Would you have told me because you wanted to or because I would have found out once Oliver informed me?”
“I wanna think I would’ve told you because I wanted to and because I would’ve come to find out that I could trust you enough to be honest.”
“Trust?”
“Most people would sell me out, get information, or tell the paparazzi where I’m hiding out.” Her face began to soften, so I knew I was making progress. I went right on trying to justify my failure in being honest with her. “I can’t trust very many people. Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t trust anyone but my family, and even some of them are questionable.”
“Your own family would sell you out?”
“Some of my own family already have sold me out. My family’s far from perfect.”
“I understand.” She finally turned and looked at me. Her eyes were sympathetic and showed concern. “You’re forgiven. Truth be told, if I were in your situation, I’d do the same thing. Sometimes people not knowing who you are is the only chance you’ve got at a good life.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She reached up and started to touch my cheek but stopped herself. “And now I feel bad,” she said, lowering her hand and covering her eyes.
“Why?”
“Because I feel like I should be really impressed or something as such.” She looked back up at me and grimaced. “What am I to do, ask for your autograph?”
“Please don’t.”
Reaching over, she picked a magazine up off the table and held it up in front of my face. “Does it hurt your feelings or damage your ego that I don’t know who this person is?”
“Not in the least.”
She dropped the magazine, sat back in her chair, and stared at me while she drummed her fingers on the table.
“Why are you sad?” I asked as I sat back down.
“How do you know I’m sad?”
I’m an actor. I study facial expressions for a living.
“Your face is wearing a pout.”
“Oh.”
“Why are you sad?” I repeated.
“Because I’ve been walking around thinking I’d made a new pal.”
“Why does that have to change because I’m on a few magazines?”
Her left eyebrow cocked.
“A lot of magazines,” I corrected.
“I’m not certain.”
“Can’t we just be friends and forget the other part of my life exists, for a while anyway?”
“This is huge, Cabot. How can you ignore it? Why on earth would you want to?”
“It’s like you said when we first met. You get tired of having to put on the show for everyone all the time. I want to be normal just like everyone else. Here, in this little space, I can do that if you’ll let me.”
She leaned forward in her seat, and I did the same. We stared at each other for a long time. The more I stared at her, the more time I wanted to spend sitting right there, doing nothing more than just that, looking at her, memorizing her face and searching her eyes for more of who she was.
She was perfection.
Eventually, she broke the trance and spoke. “I’m not going to fetch your water or such. As long as we’re here we’re on equal footing.”
“Good.”
“And I’m not going to stroke your ego or tell you what you want to hear. I’m not that kind of person.”
“It took me less than twenty-four hours to figure that out.”
She sat back again. “I’m probably morally against a lot of what you promote in your films.”
“If I had any morals, I probably would be too.”
“And I may never see one of them,” she threatened.
“They aren’t that good anyway.” I could feel the table vibrate as she shook her foot in agitation. “Have you not noticed that we can barely see each other through the smoke?” I asked.
“What?”
“The bacon’s burning.”
“Bollocks!” She jumped up out of her chair, grabbed the pan off the stove, opened the back door, and threw the entire thing into the backyard. “It’s all gone to pot. Cooking is not my strong point.”
“Obviously.”
“Cabot?” she asked, leaning against the sink. “You’re a massive celebrity. Why would you want to be pals with a girl like me?”
“I think we’ve had some great conversation and a lot of fun. Isn’t that what friends do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have very many friends. At least not my age anyway.”
“I don’t either. We’re two individuals who are surrounded by hundreds of people all the time, but when it comes right down to it, we’re alone.”
She sighed.
“And there’s one more reason I want to be friends with you.”
“What’s that?”
“You call me Cabot.”
“And why is that important?”
“To everyone out there, I’m Cab, ‘The Eighth Wonder of the World.’ To you, I’m just Cabot. It feels good to get to be Cabot every once in a while. It would be nice to have a friend and not have to worry that the person wants more from me.”