Someone Else's Fairytale (41 page)

“Just because I'm young-”

“Youth has nothing to do with it. You've got to have a grip on reality. Doesn't matter how old you are. My mom, when she was Jason's age, still thought Dr. Winters was going to leave his wife for her, and it was just as delusional then as it was when she was your age.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can date a movie star.”

“Which is good for them. Not that I don't love Jason, I do, but his career and money and all that...” I shook my head. She had me thinking about that dang apartment again.

“You don't like it?”

“It's just... I don't hold it against him. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't.”

Kyra looked me up and down. “You ready for a whole summer with him?”

“Yes.”

“Because here's reality for
you.
What do you plan to do when you go to
New Orleans
?”

“I don't know.” I shrugged. “We have to be long distance a lot of the time-”

“He hates that and you know it. You're going to have to get used to his lifestyle eventually, because he's going to want to share it with you. You can't live in your stupid little rental house off Central forever.”

Why not? I wanted to say, but she was right. She'd turned this conversation on me fair and square.

“What are you hiding from, anyway?” she asked.

“I like being a normal person,” I said. “That's all.”

Dave met us at the airport, his spiky hair wilting slightly in the heat. I had no idea New York was so hot, or humid, but once we stepped out of the air conditioned interior of La Guardia, we hit a wall of superheated air. I put on my sunglasses, which almost slid off my nose, I was sweating so much. It was disgusting.

“So how was the flight?” he asked.

“It was good,” said Kyra, brightly.

I nodded.

Dave didn't see, because he was tapping away at his phone. “Car will be here in a sec.” He put the phone away and rested his hands on the pushbar of our luggage cart.

My awkward, nauseated feeling edged up a notch when a shiny black limo pulled up to the curb, long and sleek and silent as a cat.

“Oh
cool,”
said Kyra.

“Yeah, stylin', right?” said Dave. He and the driver loaded some of our bags into the trunk and the rest inside. I climbed in and settled myself as best I could on one of the plush seats while Kyra bounded in next to me. “A fridge?” she said, pulling open the square appliance set into the wall. “And a computer terminal? And a television?”

I just stared out the window and craned my neck upwards to take in the skyscrapers. The limo slid away from the curb and we were underway. I swallowed hard, a rich liquid rising in the corners of my mouth.

The apartment was in a highrise. I had no idea where we were in the city. The building had a doorman who helped Dave and the driver with the luggage. All of my attempts to chip in were rebuffed.

They loaded everything onto the elevator and the doorman handed me a set of keys and said, “Fourth from top floor.” He nodded at the other elevator. I wondered if I should tip him, but before I could fumble for my wallet, Dave slipped a folded couple of bills into his hand. This was just not my kind of place.

I followed Kyra into the elevator and up to our floor. Each apartment on this level had a pristine white door, gleaming brass knocker, and peephole. Our door was already open and Dave had moved our suitcases from the other elevator into the sitting room.

Much to my relief, the apartment was small. The sitting room barely had enough room for the three of us and the luggage; the overstuffed couch and chair hogged the rest of the floorspace. There was a tiny kitchenette and then two bedrooms with double beds. Mine had an en suite bathroom, Kyra had access to another bathroom off the sitting room. It looked just like the virtual tour Jason had emailed.

“You all right?” said Dave. He was looking right at me.

“Yeah,” I said. “This is great. Thanks.”

Kyra went to open the windows and took a deep breath of smoggy, city air.

“Okay,” said Dave, “well, just call me if you need anything. Kyra, I'll pick you up in the morning.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said.

He left with another unsure glance in my direction. Once the door shut, I sat down on the couch, my head in my hands.

“What's wrong?” said Kyra. “Isn't this cool?”

“It's very nice. Way too nice.”

“What do you mean, too nice?”

“Nothing.” I got up. “I'm going to lay down for a while, all right? I'm tired.”

A knock on the door woke me up. The light that diffused through the window shade was dim and dusky. The clock said it was
seven pm
. I sat up. “Yeah?”

Jason stuck his head in. “Hey.”

“Hi.” I rubbed my eyes.

He came and sat down on the bed, the mattress tilting under his weight. “This place okay?” He asked.

“It's great.”

“I know it's more than you want, but I wanted you close and Kyra needs her own space and it isn't real expensive for the area-”

“Jas, you were right. I'm not going to complain about this amazing apartment. I don't want to argue.”

“I've really made you uncomfortable, haven't I?”

“Did Kyra say something?”

He didn't answer that, just kicked off his shoes and lay down next to me.

I put an arm over him and rested my head on his shoulder. He hugged me around the waist. “It's all me,” I said. “I have issues. My mother still doesn't know I'm here, because I don't really know how to explain it to her.”

“She wouldn't approve?”

“She'd totally approve. She'd think it was the most romantic thing ever.” I rubbed my cheek against the smooth cotton of his t-shirt. Even now, the image of my mother back from one of her spa days, her eyes glowing, made me cringe. She'd always had a hungry look when Dr. Winters bought her things, like she couldn't get enough of it, and to me it seemed so sick.

“You know I don't expect anything in return, right?” He rolled onto his side so we were facing each other. I propped myself up on one elbow as he stroked my cheek. “I'm glad you tell me how you feel, and I do get it, okay?”

“I
am
grateful.”

“If I wanted to buy you off I'd, I dunno, give you a big gift certificate to Amazon or something.”

I laughed.

“I just need to have you close. The more time I spend with you, the more I want.”

I felt the same, only having him here, on my bed, that was different. This would be our private space, now, with Kyra in the picture. It could get pretty cozy. I'd been attracted to all my boyfriends, but none of the others had had personal stylists or those unreal, blue eyes.

“What?” he said. He looked me right in the eye.

“Nothing.”

“No, c'mon, what?”

“I didn't go for my run today.”

“Yeah, about that. I did get you a gym membership too. I know you didn't want it-”

I really didn't want to fight right then. “Fine. We can spend more time together that way.”

“You want to get dinner? Though I'll warn you, I'm paying for that too.”

I punched him lightly in the chest. “Okay.”

Kyra walked past my door, talking on the phone in a low voice.

“It's the guy,” said Jason.

“Nate?”

“Whatever his name is.”

“She's not going to get over him in half a day,” I told him.

Two weeks later, I was much more put together. I was done with work for the day – I'd found a job as a barista at a coffee joint within walking distance of my apartment. The tips I got in that neighborhood were something else. I'd stopped by the apartment to get the mail, then caught a cab over to where Jason was filming. They were shooting a bunch of scenes at dusk this week.

The cabbie gave me an odd look when he pulled up to a crowd of gawkers. “You gonna watch them shoot this movie?” he asked. He had an accent I couldn't even guess at. Nigerian maybe? Ghanaian?

“Something like that,” I said. “My roommate works in catering.”

“Catering?”

“Provides the food for the cast and crew.”

“Can you get autographs?”

I tugged loose enough bills to pay for cab fare plus tip. “You want one?”

“My wife is a Jason Vanderholt fan.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out an autographed picture. I had to use my big purse to carry the mail, as there were several large envelopes. “Here you go. I can't get it personalized, I'm afraid-”

“No, no, you keep this.”

“I can get more. Don't worry about it.” I paid him and got out into the sweltering heat. The pictures were the last of a stack I'd gotten for the people at work. Kyra had come by one day, full of stories about life on set, and they'd hounded me for autographs ever since.