Someone Else's Fairytale (35 page)

I blinked and looked down at it. My head still spun a little.

“Or we can split a pizza? You want to split a pizza?”

“Since I'll end up with half your pizza on my plate anyway, sure.”

He laughed, flipped to the pizza menu, and plied me with questions about what I wanted, but I just told him to order. “I don't care,” I said. “Really, I don't.” I flopped down on the couch while he called in an order for a Tuscan pizza with prosciutto. Now that I had a moment to look at his suite, I saw it was nicer than any hotel room I'd ever been in. The sitting area was larger than most hotel bedrooms I'd rented, and the couches were so plush I wondered if I'd be able to get up again. I felt like I was still sinking into the cushion. The carpet was cream colored and the furniture a deep, chocolate brown.

“So... yeah,” Jason said, once he was off the phone. “Had enough of my glamorous life yet?” He sat next to me on the couch.

“You really do have the weirdest job.”

“The recreational drug use and spontaneous nudity are not part of the job. I'm just glad you're here. Especially when you said...” He raised an eyebrow. “You lied to me, didn't you?”

“Jen's idea.”

“She is so
mean
to me."

“She paid for my ticket. Happy birthday. Make sure you remember hers.”

“I don't ever forget hers. I sent her a lump of coal like I always do.” He reached for me.

I moved closer and put my arms around him. He nuzzled my neck and took a deep breath. It had felt good to be held by him the first time; this time felt even better.

“Where's your suitcase?” he asked.

“My room.”

“Oh, okay. You staying at this hotel?”

I nodded.

He didn't bat an eye. “I'm paying for your hotel room when you come up next month too-”

“Jason-”

“You want one on this floor?”

“No...”

“It's not that expensive. Not for me. Dave's got a room up here.”

“Not my kind of thing at all. I just want a normal room, and I will-”

“Let me pay for it.”

“Look-”

“No, you look,” he said. “I want to see you, and I want to be able to see you regularly, and it's my job that has me running all over the place. Just let me do this.”

“I don't like the idea of a guy spending money on me, okay? I don't. Dr. Winters bought my mom stuff all the time, and I just have issues with it now.”

Jason nodded. “Fine, so you don't want me to send you out for spa days and shopping sprees and exotic trips, though you can have those if you want.”

I shook my head.

“But this is spending money on me, okay? And it's not very much money. Not with your tastes. And I don't know exactly what you make at Flying Star, but really, you shouldn't be blowing any of your savings that you could put aside for grad school.”

He knew me too well. He'd found the one argument that would impact me. Grad school was going to clean me out and require me to take on loans. I wasn't entirely sure how I'd pull it off.

“Yes?” said Jason.

“Just a normal room.”

“Yes. And plane ticket-”

“Jason-”

“Economy class, if that's what you want. You can have first-”

I shook my head.

“Economy it is.” He smirked at me. “Of all the things to have our first fight about.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder and felt his arms tighten around me. “I don't mean to fight with you.”

But he was laughing now. “Especially after what just happened. You show up and find me with a half-naked woman in my room,
alone,
and you handle that just fine. Then I try to pay for stuff, and that makes you mad.” He kissed my forehead, my cheek.

I lifted my head and he gave me a long kiss on the lips. When it ended, he gazed at me as if he still couldn't believe he was allowed to do that. “Been too long,” he whispered. “Wish we could do this on Skype. How long you here until?”

“Tuesday.”

“Nice,” said Jason. “You can come to work with me tomorrow. Only, I kind of have to do a love scene. Not an extreme one where I have to be naked but... um... yeah. With Gigi.
 
I hate my job right now. Please don't break up with me over this.”

“Get out of here!”

“Make me.”

“Hit your mark, Gigi.”

I sat and read an article while Jason shot his “love scene” the next day. It was, according to him, “very mild”. I wouldn't be allowed to watch a serious love scene. They closed the set for those.

As it was, I wasn't allowed to watch this one either. Once the cameras started rolling, everyone was supposed to look down. I read my article for organic chemistry while Jason and Gigi yelled at each other and tore at each others clothes.

The lights were hot, even from where I sat, out of their glare. The set was Jason's character's “apartment”, which was actually the corner of a warehouse with a fake window and a rumpled bed.

“Cut! Hit your
mark.”
The director pointed at a taped mark on the floor where Gigi was supposed to stand when Jason lunged at her in his romantic, leading man kind of way. I flipped another page of my article. The first assistant director had made it crystal clear that if there was so much as the hint of the sound of paper rustling, I'd get thrown off the set, so I was careful.

“Had enough of this yet?” said Jason. Without my noticing, he'd come up to stand next to me. “Because I have. I just want this to be over.” It didn't show in his performance. His job was strange, but he was very, very good at it.

Gigi had been late to work, which meant everything else had started late, and as Jason explained to me, guild rules required twelve hours off between shifts, so starting late one day guaranteed they'd start at least as late the next. “I'm getting a lot of work done,” I said.

“I know. What's that say about my performance? You aren't riveted? Don't answer that. I'm glad you're not riveted.”

I tugged the cap off my highlighter with my teeth and ran the felt tip over some text.

“I'll make this up to you, I promise,” he said.

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but before I could ask, the director summoned him over and he went back to yelling at Gigi and then collapsing onto a nearby bed with her. Then the shots moved on to kissing scenes, which I had to admit, weren't even remotely romantic. Not with the director making them tilt their heads this way and that so that they didn't cast shadows on each others faces and Jason breaking it off the very second he heard “Cut!”

I carried on reading.

When the director shouted, “That's a wrap!” I'd finished one article and moved on to another.

“Okay,” said Jason. “Let's get out of here.” Dave, his assistant and a handful of other people gathered around and Jason conferred with all of them a moment while I packed up my things and stretched my legs.

“Have a nice night,” Gigi Malone said as she glided on past. She looked fabulous. Her skin was translucent and radiant. Her hair was glossy and styled. Her eyes even sparkled. Jason ignored her completely.

I rode back to the hotel in a car with Jason. He had a driver and Dave in the front seat and several other guys in tow. Everyone went up to his room and talked business until Jason sent them all away.

Okay, I thought. Now what?

“You want to watch TV?” Jason asked.

“Sure.”

He handed me the remote and we settled down on the couch. He slipped his arm around my waist and seemed more interested in me than watching anything. I found a news channel and then turned my attention to him. He kissed me a couple of times, but it didn't escalate. He was more intent on scanning my face, as if trying to read my thoughts, rather than establish a mood.

“I know,” I said. “I'm boring, huh?”

“No.” He smirked as if I'd said something funny. “Not even close.”

I leaned against him and rubbed his chest with my hand.

His arms tightened around me and we held each other like that for the whole evening. Like before, I dozed off and woke up to him stroking my cheek. “It's
midnight
,” he whispered.

“I should go.”

“Okay. I'll come pick you up in the morning. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” That was no exaggeration. I was already in deep, and we'd only been together a month.

When I got back to my apartment in
Albuquerque
late on Tuesday, my mailbox was jammed full. I pried out all of the junk mail and coupon offers from grocery stories and found, wedged in the back, a large envelope from
Loyola
University
in
New Orleans
. It wasn't easy to extract; it'd been stuffed in so that the paper tore as I wiggled it loose from the corners of the box, but in about five minutes I had worked the wrinkled mess free.

The envelope was ripped open, but the acceptance letter inside was intact. There was also a prospectus and a housing brochure. I sorted through all this as I called Jason.

“You got in?” he said. “Is that a good school?”

“It's one of the best. It's the one I wanted.”

“
New Orleans
is a really nice city.”

“I've never been. I don't know if I'm going, though, yet. I need to find out the financial aid package and that's not in this.”

“Oh. Well, I'd be surprised if that were a problem. I mean, no offense, but I'm guessing you don't have a ton of assets for them to go after.”

“Me, no. My mother, no. My father-”

“Never gave you a dime.”

I rubbed my forehead and dumped the whole mess of papers from Loyola onto the coffee table. “Problem is, schools still want to take his assets into account because I'm under twenty-six. They try to, at least. I just have to keep after the financial aid office to understand my situation. It's not like I even know what his assets are.” That had never been a big problem at
UNM
, given I was on the state lottery scholarship, but grad school would be different.