The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (29 page)

The video cuts again to the girls carrying Spencer into a hotel room. He crawls on to the bed and promptly passes out. Lauren and Rebecca proceed to draw on his face with magic markers while giggling like madwomen. It makes me laugh. I’m so grateful for it that I dial Lauren’s number straightaway.

“Did you enjoy that?” Lauren chuckles.

“Yes, I did. Thanks for sending it.”

“You’re welcome. I figured you’d find it funny. What are you up to?”

“I’m applying for a Recording Engineer work-study position because I’m so broke I can’t even afford to go window shopping. What about you?”

“That is way more exciting than what I’m doing. I’m waiting for room service to bring me a salad. I’m hungry, but too lazy to go down to the bistro.” Then a distant knocking sound begins in the background. “Speak of the devil,” Lauren continues. She brings the phone with her to answer the door. “Um, hey, can I help you with something?” she asks. I can tell by the uneasiness in her tone that she isn’t talking to a room service attendant.

“Oh, you’re in the middle of something. My bad,” Kendall’s voice smacks me from clear across the country.

“No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

“Rebecca wanted me to ask if you’d like to come shopping with us,” she says.

Silence passes between them until Lauren breaks it. “Kindly tell Rebecca that I politely decline, but appreciate the invitation.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that.”

“Thanks.”

I hear the door creak as Lauren closes it. “She looks like death warmed up. Clearly, she loves you something awful. I wish she was strong enough to own it, for both your sakes.”

“I don’t have any idea what to say to that.”

“I’m sorry. You were starting to get over feeling crappy, and I’ve dragged you right back into it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be okay. But I think I’m gonna go. I haven’t showered in days,” I joke.

She plays along with me. “That’s attractive. I’m sure you smell delightful.” She sniggers. “I need to ask you something before you go.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is yes. I owe you big time.”

“Please, let me ask first before you say yes. Believe me, you’re gonna want to think about it.”

I’m instantly worried. With a caveat like that, maybe I
shouldn’t
say yes.
“Okay. Ask away.”

“Will you come to the Elite Awards with me? It’s my first time being invited, and I’d like to share the experience with someone cool. I also thought you might like to be there, you know, in case Kendall wins.”

“Shit. I forgot I have other plans that night.”

“You don’t even know what a terrible liar you are, do you?”

“Sadly, yes, I do,” I whine. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’m not supposed to be in close proximity to her.”

“Payton, she doesn’t have a restraining order against you. You’ll be there with
me
, legitimately for a change.”

True.
I might not be allowed to talk to her, but perhaps I could be there in support of her if I keep my distance. “All right, I’ll go on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I want a new Victoria Westfield gown.”

She snickers. “It’s a deal. And this time, we’ll have three weeks to prepare. She can probably make you a custom dress.”

“We are
so
going to her shop when you get home! Better let her know we’ll be in to see her next week.”

“Will do.”

❄ ❄ ❄

Monday and Tuesday go well. Today is a different story. I’m in a strange mood, caught somewhere between calmness and restlessness. This morning I found out I got the work-study job. The hours kind of suck—mostly nights and Saturdays, because that’s when the school rents out the studios to off-campus artists—but the pay is great: fifteen bucks an hour. Of course, that’s only because it’s a school-sanctioned job. No recording engineer makes that much once they’ve graduated unless they’re lucky enough to get a contract with a record label. But whatever, I don’t want to be a professional engineer. I’m not thinking about what the future holds for me. I’m too busy focusing on my daily survival.

Anyway, the joy of finding out that I am gainfully employed is short lived. I’m in the student lounge working on some drum charts, when I notice that the TV in the background is tuned into MusicTube, NY. The VJ announces the start of a live Q and A session with the cast of
Idol Worship
. I try to immerse myself completely in my sheet music, but every last bit of concentration I possess drains out of me when the guy working the sandwich station ups the volume.

Kendall’s slight, solemn voice bombards my ears. My eyes take it upon themselves to wander up to the screen. There she is, golden hair all jagged and sharp-edged down to her elbows, baby blues alight with shimmer, lips plump with pastel pink balm—and none of it does a damn thing to conceal her listlessness. There’s no life left in her, whatsoever. She’s nothing more than a marionette performing at the command of an invisible puppeteer.

“Is that Kendall Bettencourt?” A girl at the table next to mine points the back end of her pencil at the TV.

“Yeah.”

“Is she
high
or something? I thought she was supposed to be the poster child for beauty.”

“Ask her,” the other girl gestures to me. “Yo, Payton, your girl is looking beat. Must be missing all that lesbian sex she wants us all to think she’s never had.”

“Go to hell.” I grab my notebook and bag from the table and haul ass out through the exit into the courtyard. By the time I take a seat on the low retainer wall, I’m crying—wondering if the pain will ever go away or if it’ll always feel like I swallowed a stick of lit dynamite every time I see Kendall’s face on TV or in a magazine.

Man, these last three weeks have been the longest of my life.
I miss the days when I didn’t have to fight to get out of bed in the morning.
I decide right then and there to skip the rest of my classes for the week and spend Thursday in bed with the curtains drawn across the windows to help me forget that the sun exists. I know it’s melodramatic, but again, I don’t care. Being conscious only means that I play that night on repeat in my head: the sparsely lit alley, Kendall kissing me as if it were the end of the world. I wish that it actually had been the end of the world. I haven’t just lost the person I love, I’ve lost my best friend.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kendall

M
y plane is twenty minutes away from LAX. After forcing myself to smile for three weeks while giving bogus answers to intimate questions about my fake relationship with Gunner, the prospect of being home is uplifting. Until I remember that Payton won’t be there when I get in, then I throw my sunglasses over my eyes and cry as quietly as possible. I’ve gotten so good at concealing my blubbering that no one seems to notice anymore.

Lawrence is in the seat next to mine.
He knows I’m crying, but doesn’t say anything to comfort me. Instead, he hands me a cocktail napkin. “I arranged for Gunner to pick you up at the baggage claim. Dry your eyes before you get off this plane and for God’s sake, act like you’re happy to see him.”

I snivel out a meek “okay” and do as I’m told. I doubt I’ll have to act happy to see Gunner. I’ll probably be genuinely happy to see him. It’ll be nice to be in the presence of someone who isn’t either an interviewer prodding me for information, or cast mates who pity me for being such a remarkable tool.

The plane touches ground. I’m on my feet the second it rolls to a full stop. Lawrence catches me by the arm before I can take a step forward. “Is there something else I should do?” I ask in all seriousness.
I’ll do whatever you want. I just have to get off this giant steel bird.

He shakes his head. “It didn’t have to be this way. I told you that from the get-go. I hate seeing you so unhappy.”

Oh, it didn’t have to be this way? No shit! I made it this way.
My mom sure thought it was a great idea though! That was the second hint that I had made the wrong decision, bested only by the first hint, which, naturally, was Payton walking out on me. “Lawrence, you said it yourself—I am universally adored and looked up to.
Don’t I need to be exactly that in order to be a successful actor? People admire me so much that they want to
be
me. I’m America’s Sweetheart… not because I have to be, but because I choose to be. Obviously, I’ve made my decision, now I have to live with the consequences.” I move away from him and scamper down the aisle toward the exit.

As promised, Gunner is waiting for me at the baggage claim. He smiles at me as I approach from the gangway. I’m so sincerely happy to see him that I run at full speed into his arms. He lifts me into the air, twirls us both around, and then sets me back on my feet. “Welcome home,” he says. He nods over his shoulder at a small crowd of people with cameras in hand. He leans in close to my ear. “Media alert. I’m sorry. They followed me here from my damn house!”

Right. I know what they’re after, a photo that will sell for big money.
If that’s what they want, I’ll give it to them. Screw it. Who cares anymore? “Kiss me,” I mouth to him. “And not like you’d kiss your mother.”

The directive shocks him. He doesn’t have to verbalize it—it’s written all over his face. Despite a moment of hesitancy, he does it—takes me in his arms, bends me backward into a dip, and plants his lips on mine. It is so reminiscent of the kiss with Payton that got me into this whole mess that I have to battle against having a breakdown. My single saving grace is how different his lips are from hers. His lips are a little rougher, a little dryer, and my heart doesn’t come close to skipping a beat when they meet mine. I close my eyes and kiss him back.
Fake it for the cameras.
I see the bright, achromatic flashes through my closed eyelids. I hear the shutters click
in quick succession. Then it’s over. He stands me upright and releases me. I smile and ask, “Honey, can you grab my bags?”

He nods. “Let’s get you out of here.”

❄ ❄ ❄

Since arriving home from the press tour a week ago, I have very deliberately been making sure my schedule is packed with public appearances so that I won’t have to spend any significant amount of my waking hours at home. This apartment is haunted by her essence. Yesterday, I realized the sheets still held her scent; her aroma vigilantly invaded my dreams, disturbing my attempts at peaceable sleep. I ripped them off the bed, sent them out for cleaning.

With every passing day it becomes more and more apparent this place will never be the same without her around. It’s too quiet, too empty, and too dead. It’s amazing how after only three months of living with her, she managed to make this house a home.

Christ! There are seven billion people in this world; how many are lucky enough to find love with their best friend? And to think that maybe I could have been one of them! I think I could have built a very happy life with Payton—had children with her, grown old with her. But I’ve messed that all up. I am so spineless I may as well be a jellyfish.

“Hello? Ms. Bettencourt? Mr. Roderick is here for you,” a voice from the front desk disturbs my pity party.

No! I forgot about lunch with Gunner!
I buzz down to the lobby to let them know I’m on my way, then race out the door.

The elevator’s mirrored interior obliges me to come face to face with my reflection after sidestepping it for days. The girl staring back at me from the other side of the looking glass comes across as naturally high-end—with her posh clothes, expensive makeup and chic hair style. It’s almost effortless to overlook the fact that she sold her soul to save her status.

The doors spring open when the lift reaches the lobby. Gunner receives me with a standoffish smile. “We need to talk.”

❄ ❄ ❄

Our waitress sets a plate of salad down in front of me. I thank her and proceed to push the greens around with my fork.

“She’s pretty,” Gunner nods at the waitress as she walks away.

“I guess.”

“You didn’t even look at her.”

“So?” I shrug.

“So, you’re a lesbian. You should act like one.”

The fork drops from my hand, trills shrilly against my plate. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s killing you, pushing away the person you love so you can pretend to be something you’re not. It isn’t thrilling me either.”

I take a quick glance around. The closest occupied table isn’t very far from ours. I don’t doubt the couple seated there could eavesdrop if they cared to. “Must we discuss this
here
?”

“Does it matter where we discuss this? In a restaurant, in your penthouse or in the car, the conversation will be the same. This has to end. I should’ve put a stop to it after everything that went down at the Visibility Awards.”

I lean across the table and lower my voice to a near whisper. “Don’t act like you’re doing this for me. We both know you went along with it to begin with because it was good for your reputation to be seen with me.”

“Sure. I knew it would benefit both of us if the world thought we were dating. But it’s not benefitting either of us anymore. I hate how it’s nagging at my conscience that I’ve taken any part in this smoke screen, and you’ve been marginally this side of suicidal since Payton moved out. For the record, Payton’s been miserable, too. She looks like she only just survived an exorcism.”

My ears perk up like a curious dog. “You’ve seen her?”

“Last night,” he confirms. “She was with Lauren at the West Hollywood Arts Gala. I’m actually glad you stood me up to stay in and sleep. It was nice to have the chance to hang out with her. She would’ve taken off in the opposite direction if she’d seen you.”

“Wait. She didn’t look good?”

“She looked great. On the outside, anyway—all dolled up. Her eyes gave her away though. The kind of pain she’s feeling leaves scars. In all honesty, I think if she could choose between breathing and seeing you, she’d choose seeing you.”

I throw my napkin on the table. “Was it absolutely necessary for you to tell me that? Do you think hearing that kind of shit makes this any less insufferable for me?”