Someone Else's Fairytale (31 page)

“The
New Light
trilogy, boxed set.”

 
“Mom!”

“Okay, okay, send it back if you don't want it. It'll come from Amazon. As will your Christmas present, which is just a gift certificate, so you can buy textbooks or something.”

“I sent you some rock salt,” I told her. “Just so you know how much I care. You can de-ice your walk with it.”

That sent her howling with laughter. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Oh, that's too funny. I've gotta run to Ron's house, but just wanted to say Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too.”

“Now for this scene,” came the director's voice, “I wanted to get that rock into the shot. Look at that rock. Isn't it just craggy and fabulous?”

“What do you think it adds to the story here?” said the writer.

“I dunno. Which part of the story is this?”

It was the day after Christmas and the cellophane from the
New Light
movies was crumpled on the floor. I had already watched all three and was now watching them again with the director's commentary on. I was that pathetic.

On New Year's Day, Jason called. My heart just about stopped.

“Hello?” I answered the phone.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Sooo, me and some friends are going out to eat tonight. You want to come?”

I felt torn right down the middle. Of course I wanted to go, but at the same time, I knew I'd be a total wreck and probably look like an idiot.

“Chloe?”

“Yeah... yeah, sure. I can come.”

“Okay. It's at Tia Anita's at seven. See you then?”

“Yeah, see you.”

“'Kay, later.” He hung up.

I put my phone down, my heart thundering. It was this or not see him at all, and I didn't know which was worse. Tia Anita's, of all places. What would Jen think? I looked out the front windows and saw that the sky had grayed over. A few flakes of snow drifted down.

For once, I hated myself for my lack of wardrobe. I'd worn my gray skirt around Jason a couple of times, and I wasn't sure if he'd seen me in my black dress. I decided that if I was going to make a fool out of myself, I'd at least try to look stunning too. I went shopping and got myself a fitted, burgundy dress with a shawl. That plus some new pumps helped bolster my confidence.

I showered and took half an hour to blow dry and style my hair, curling the ends the way I'd seen Beth do it. (Why not? We did have the same shape face and it'd looked fabulous on her.) I did my eyes up dark and smoky, which would be a disaster if I started crying. One more reason not to cry. My lips, I did up with a light plum lipstick under lipgloss. Matthew had once told me it looked very kissable, and I hoped that was good advice, even considering the source.

I timed the drive so that I could sweep into Tia Anita's at 7:05, only there was a huge crowd of fans at the door, and no one to call me and give me access through the side entrance. I had to muscle my way through the crowd to get inside.

It was probably more like 7:10 when I presented myself to the host, who looked a little surprised when I told her what table. My already low self confidence sank another notch. “One second,” she said. She disappeared back into the restaurant, with its smells of green chile, queso blanco, and warm sopapillas.

I waited, feeling like the most pathetic fangirl on the planet, until the host returned and waved me on back. I followed her around the corner and down a small hallway to the private room, where Jason, Donovan Reilly, and Rick Lucero all sat. The table had either been switched out, or had some leaves removed. It was big for four people, but not enormous. Rick Lucero was another actor around Jason's age, with similar dreamboat status. His eyes were hazel gray, his hair dark brown, his tan perfect, his body toned. Not remarkable at this table. I had no idea what he was doing here in Albuquerque. When I walked in, all three guys looked up. Rick raised his eyebrows.

“Chloe, right?” said Don.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey, have a seat,” said Jason. The only seat was at the far end of the table, opposite and facing him. I slid into it and crossed my ankles. There was a hint of surprise in his gaze as he looked at me. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

“How've you been?” asked Don.

“Good. I'm surprised you even remember me.”

He gave a self conscious chuckle. “Of course I do.”

“What brings you to Albuquerque?” I asked. As weird as it was to have him there, it was nice too. I could just turn and talk to him, rather than making calf eyes at Jason.

Jason sat back in his chair and turned to Rick. The two of them started talking.

“Rick and I have a shoot starting here next week, and we just came out early to hang with Jason,” said Don.

I nodded.

“'Cause, you know, he's got his shoot starting tomorrow in Vancouver.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “No, I didn't know.”

A look of confusion flitted across Don's face, but it was gone as fast as it came. “How're your studies going? Dig up any good bones?”

“Not recently. Saw your cover on
People.
Very suave.”

“Oh really?” He pretended to preen. “Ye-ah... prepared for days for that one, you know. Practiced the look.”

I laughed.

Jason and Rick paused and looked at me. Jason's expression was unreadable.

“So, your high school was called La Cueva?” said Rick.

“Yep.” Jason smiled.

“Nice name.”

“Well, you know, it's actually in a cave.”

“Seriously?” said Don.

Jason nodded, then shook his head. “No.” He laughed. He was being smooth and charismatic and silly, just like he was in his interviews. There was little hint of the quieter, just as crazy, self effacing guy I knew. I wondered if that was because he was with his famous friends, or because that guy was gone.

The waiter came in and deposited a basket of sopapillas on the table.

“Are you going to show us how to eat this food?” asked Don.

“I'm sure you can figure it out,” said Jason.

Don turned to me. “You know how to do this?”

“Yeah. It's not rocket science.”

“Can you teach me?”

“I can try.”

“Can I trust you not to make me look like an idiot?” asked Don.

“I dunno, how hard is that to do, usually?”

“Ouch,” said Rick.

“Yeah, well,” said Don. He grinned. “Now you've met Chloe.” He raised his glass, and I realized he was flirting with me.

He was my mother's age. I handed him the basket of sopapillas. “Tear off a corner and put a couple of spoonfuls of honey inside.” Talking was fine. Flirting, no way.

Jason pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. I decided to tone down the sarcasm, though he'd never been embarrassed by me before. That hurt.

Rick leaned forward. “How do you know Don?”

“She knows me,” said Jason. He didn't look at me as he said it. He was looking everywhere but at me.

“Oh.”

“We're both from here,” he went on.

“So did you go to high school in the cave?” Rick asked.

“No, that's where the spoiled rich kids go. My high school is a bunch of mud huts at the west end of town.”

“I can't tell if you're kidding.”

“Okay, cinderblock,” I said. “And portables.”

“Aw, we've got those in LA,” said Don. “Public schools without enough funding. Not to... I don't mean to knock your education. Chloe's... don't get into an intellectual argument with her.”

“Noted,” said Rick.

Jason fidgeted with his menu and scowled at it as if it were a bad review of one of his films.

And then Jennifer came out, wearing her white chef's uniform and apron. I wished I could just crawl under the table and disappear.

“Hey, it's my mean sister,” said Jason.

Everyone exchanged hellos. I managed a sheepish wave. Jen tried to look me in the eye but I feigned interest in the menu instead. While the others made small talk, I sensed her gaze on me. Yes, I thought. I'm pathetic. Those piercing, Vanderholt eyes seemed to peel back all my bravado to examine the scared, clueless girl underneath. My new clothes now felt frumpy and my makeup clownish.

“I'll try not to drop your food on the floor too many times,” she said to her brother as she left.

“See how mean she is?” said Jason.

“Brutal, having a chef for a sister,” said Don.

“Brutal on the waistline, yeah,” said Jason. “I'm supposed to be in shape for this role.”

“She married?” said Rick.

Jason nodded and took his cellphone out of his pocket. He read something on it and keyed in a response.

I noticed that Rick glanced at my left hand. I slipped it under the table. This meal could not be over fast enough. Jason clearly did not want me here. The waitress arrived soon after to take our orders and the food came mercifully fast. The problem was, I couldn't eat. I picked at it diligently, stirred the black beans and rice around the plate so that it looked like I was eating, and traded more barbs with Don, but I was sick to my stomach. The food was fabulous, though as Jason had promised me, very different. The sopapillas were now made with whole wheat flour, my chile relleno was a poblano chile, and there wasn't a refried bean in sight. The black bean side was slightly sweet.

Jason stayed quiet, though he didn't eat much either. He kept glancing at his phone. He kept it under the table so as not to draw attention to it, but I noticed. He glanced at me, too. It was as if he too wondered why I'd come. It was a disaster. This guy wasn't my friend. He was a megastar who didn't have time for the likes of me.