Someone Else's Fairytale (4 page)

I looked over at Abby, the strawberry blond who shared the shift with me. “Okay if I go on break?” I asked her.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, you find us a seat,” I told Matthew. “I'll be right there.”

“He's cute,” said Abby.

“Yeah,” I agreed. Matthew had a slight swagger in his walk, due to the fact that he wore his cowboy boots everywhere.

“Too bad he's married,” said Abby.

“No, not married.”

“Engaged?”

“Huh? No.” I set out two cups on a tray and poured the coffee.

“He's got a ring.”

“No it's a... what do you call them? A purity ring.”

“Oh, religious and Texan.”

“You say those like they're bad things.”

“Great butt.”

“Yeah, I'll tell him you said that.” I headed over to the table he'd staked out, Abby's giggles fading behind me. Flying Star was a restaurant and coffee lounge. The décor was bright, primary colors. A large, glass case of pastries dominated the serving counter, and one whole wall was magazine racks. The place had power outlets and wifi, so a lot of students hung out here to study during the school year. Otherwise, it was a very popular lunch and dinner spot. The traffic was already picking up, and two other employees had just shown up to help.

“So when did this happen?” Matthew held up the paper as I sat down.

I slid into my chair, set his coffee in front of him, and dismissed the newspaper with a wave. “Ran into him after we finished yesterday. How exciting was yesterday? Two whole hours of the
Hollywood
experience.”

He gave me an odd look as he sipped his coffee. “You never did say what happened after that guy came and got you.”

“It's kind of embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing how? Did Vanderholt proposition you or something?”

“
No
. Of course not.”

But Matthew just sipped more coffee and said, “I saw the way he looked at you in line.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“He noticed you. Take it from another guy. I saw.”

“He did not proposition me and we didn't really have a torrid affair. It was a different kind of embarrassing.”

“Okay.”

I dumped two sachets of sugar into my coffee and stirred. “Can you keep a secret?”

“You know I can.”

“My mother, when she was sixteen, had an affair with her married boss. She had me when she was seventeen, and carried on with this affair for over a decade. The guy was Dr. Winters, the dentist. Jason was friends with Chris Winters, Dr. Winters's son, and so when he asked me if I was related...”

Matthew blinked once, twice.

I sipped my coffee, which was still a little bitter, despite all the sugar. “Ye-ah.”

“I had no idea.” He leaned closer.

“Yeah, well. It doesn't matter anymore. Not to me. I don't live at home and-”

“Chloe, you're on track to be valedictorian.”

“Whatever.”

“I never knew you came from a background like that.”

“You knew I went to
Rio Grande
High School
and had a single mother. You got the gist.”

“I don't know high schools around here.”

“
Rio Grande
's in one of the poorer areas. I mean, it's not a bad high school... well, some would say it is. It's not La Cueva, okay? That's where Jason Vanderholt and my half siblings went. That's up in the
Northeast
Heights
where the property values are higher. It's got this weird, eighties look to it, kind of built like a shopping mall or something, but anyway. It's one of the nicer schools and about as opposite as you can get from
Rio Grande
.”

“Okay. Well, dang, that musta been an awkward conversation.”

“Yeah. The Winters are well known. I mean, you can hear ads for Dr. Winters's dental practice-”

“On the radio. I never thought about you having the same name, though I guess I should. This whole state's like a small town.”

“Doesn't mean we're all related.”

Matthew took a big gulp of coffee. His purity ring glinted in the sunlight. “Well,” he said, “I knew you were cool. Just didn't know how cool.” He winked at me.

The winking thing was new. I shrugged in reply.

That Friday was slow at Flying Star, which was odd for a Friday, but business was like that. Some event at some other restaurant was probably funneling customers away. I had time to stand and page through a magazine behind the counter. I always liked pictures of next season's fashions, not that I could afford any of them.

A small knot of customers whooshed in the glass doors and I put the magazine aside and moved to the cash register. Rather than pause to look at the pastries and read the menu, like most people did, this group came straight up to me. They were all men, and the guy in front wore a baseball cap and sunglasses. I hated when people did that indoors.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

The guy right in front of me took off his sunglasses to reveal sky blue eyes. “Hi.”

I blinked. It was Jason Vanderholt. “Oh, hi.”

“You ever get to take a break?”

“Um...” I looked over at Abby who stared, open mouthed.

“Go,” she said to me.

“Sounds like a yes?” said Jason.

I looked around at the other guys surrounding the cash register. They prevented anyone in the dining room or outside from seeing Jason, but Jason glanced around at them and said, “They don't have to sit with us. You sure you don't want coffee or something?” He looked unsure of himself, like he was afraid he'd crossed a line. But the restaurant was open to the public. He was as welcome here as anyone.

“Sure,” I relented. “That what you want? Coffee?”

“Yeah, and a biscotti.” He tugged one loose from the jar on top of the pastry display with a crackle of cellophane. I rang up his order, but he shook his head. “You're not having anything?”

“I can get-”

“Put it on.” He nodded at the cash register.

I paused. He was just being nice, but I didn't really want to be taken out for coffee by this guy. I didn't want to create an awkward moment either, so, reluctantly, I added a second coffee and let him pay. His people fanned out across the dining room and staked out a table. “Shall we?” said Jason.

“Gimme a sec. I'll bring the coffees.”

“Okay.” He headed across the room with his biscotti and I poured a cup of regular for him and decaf for me. His visit had given me the jitters.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” said Abby.

“Not you too.”

“You
know
him?”

“He knows my family. It's nothing.” I crossed over to the table in the far corner where Jason's people had seated him, his back to the dining room and windows. Several members of the entourage got coffees and pastries and sat at nearby tables. It was all very over the top, as if they feared a group of ninjas would break into the restaurant and take Jason away. Which I'd seen happen, in the theaters.

But, I had to admit, if his fans usually behaved the way the extras had in line, this wasn't over the top. I slid into my seat and passed Jason his coffee. Jason broke the biscotti in two and put one half in front of me. The other he dunked in his drink.

“So how've you been?” he asked.

“Fine. How's the film?”

“Wrapped. Yesterday.”

“Oh. So you're leaving town soon?”

“Yeah, in a few hours. I just wanted to track you down and say sorry. I was way too nosy about you and your family and all that.”

“It's fine. How did you find me?”

He tugged his phone from his pocket and held it out to me. It was sleek and hi tech and displayed a web page with a picture of me grinning. That, I knew, was on the Flying Star website. I'd been employee of the month last month.

“Oh,” I said.

“I love this place,” he said. “It's the old Rainbow Cafe, right? Started over on Juan Tabo?”

“I don't know.”

“I'm pretty sure it is. Used to go there when I was a kid.”

“Did you Google my name?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I frowned. “Anything else come up?”

“I didn't look, why?”

“Um... never mind...”

“I'm really sorry if I dug into your privacy again-”

“If it's on the internet, it's not private.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it should be. Believe me, I know.”

I shrugged. “Um, okay. Things with the Winters got ugly sometimes, so... yeah. Kind of embarrassing what might be still around in old news stories.”

“Gotcha. Okay.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “So tell me about you?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where'd you grow up?”

“Near the
South
Valley
.”

“And now? You at
UNM
?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I'll be a senior.”

“What do you study?”

“Archeology and biology.”

“Nice.
UNM
's a top archeology school, right? Got a really good department?”

“Yeah, that's why I majored in it. Figured it'd give me the best shot at a good graduate school.”

He nodded, munched some more biscotti, and washed it down with coffee. “You going to be an archeologist?”

“No, forensic science. Which I learned last year requires a hard science bachelors, and not everyone considers archeology a hard science, so that's why I took on the second major.”

“Oh, so you'll be like
Bones
– did you ever watch that TV show?”

“No – yes, I have seen it – but no, she's a forensic anthropologist and I just want to be a forensic scientist. She deals with dead bodies, and I just want to do stuff like fingerprinting, munitions testing,
DNA
evidence. Stuff like that.”

“Like
CSI
?
”

“Right. Without as much funding.”

“You probably think it's stupid that I'm citing television shows to understand what you do.”

“I dunno. It'd be a little more disturbing if you had real life experience.”

“Okay, true.” His blue eyes twinkled. I could see why millions of women found him dreamy. I just found him odd. He was too perfect looking. His teeth were pure white and even. His tan was bronze and fake. At least with the baseball cap on, his hair stuck out around the edge like a normal person's. His hands and nails were manicured and flawless.

As if sensing my scrutiny, he went quiet, as if it mattered to him what I thought.

I tried to fill the silence. “I guess I don't know much about you. Other than that you went to La Cueva.”

“I did, for two years. I mean, I graduated from there too, but I had to transfer credits back to do it. Loved that school.”

“And
 
my housemate heard in an interview that you do martial arts?”

He gave a wry smile. “Maybe I said that. I don't know. I don't bother to tell the truth in interviews.”

“You just lie?”

With a shrug, he drained his coffee. “People don't watch interviews to get to know me. They don't want to know the real me. They just want to be entertained, and I don't want to share my personal information with a bunch of strangers, so I just make up stories and stuff. I don't think I ever said I knew martial arts, though. I try not to claim to have skills that I don't. I might've made up some story about a karate fight or- yeah. Yeah, I did. Karate fight on set where I broke my little finger and cried over it while all the stunt guys laughed at me. Didn't happen, though I probably would cry like a baby if it did.”