Starlight (Peaches Monroe) (Volume 2) Paperback – September 2, 2013 (34 page)

Dalton rolled on top. “Say uncle!”

He was pulling Keith’s hair, his hand full of it.

I looked around at our audience of two dozen or so people, all of them rapt. Three of them held up their cell phones, recording.

“Enough already!” I reached down and grabbed Dalton by the armpits and hauled him off Keith.

Keith jumped up and gave me an angry look, made even more crazy-looking by the swelling around his left eye. “I was just about to pin him,” he said.

“We’ll call it a draw,” I said, keeping them apart with the mere power of my steely glare. “People are watching, so why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”

They both nodded, so I led them down the hall and into the makeup room.

“Please stop hitting each other,” I said. “Threatening bodily harm is awesome, but actually doing it is just sad. Okay?”

They both nodded like scolded puppies, then sat down on opposite ends of the long bench in the room. I sat across from them in the swivel chair. Looking down, I said, “Great. I’m in nothing but my underwear. Again.”

“You look great,” Dalton said, leering at me.

Keith jumped up, whipped his T-shirt off, and tucked it over top of me like an apron.

“Thank you,” I said sweetly to him.

To Dalton, I said, “I appreciate you coming by, but we’ve got one shot left, and they’re going to be banging at that door in a minute. You do nothing but cause chaos in my life.”

“It was Alexis,” he said. “That’s how I knew you were in Malibu that day.”

“Oh.” Mystery solved, sort of. Alexis was the daughter of the porn star actress Dalton ran away from home with a few years back. She was also a giant pain in the ass, always lurking around and taking photos when you didn’t want her to. Just thinking about her gave me the urge to check the closets in the makeup room.

Dalton explained, “She’s trying to get out of the paparazzi stuff and do some private investigation work.”

“You had her following me?” I looked around for something to throw at Dalton, but all I saw was a bowl of fruit. Good enough! I picked up a banana and a grapefruit and chucked them at him. “You fucking creeper.”

“She wasn’t following you.” He caught the fruit easily and started peeling the banana. “Bruised. Yuck.” He tossed it into the trash bin. “She has a scanner and she listens into some frequencies for leads on photos, just to pay the bills in the meantime. She raced out on a security lead and saw you, sleeping on the chair of some rich oil sheik’s vacation home, and she called me.”

“She could have at least woken me up and given me a little warning.”

He began peeling the grapefruit. “You’re not exactly her favorite person. You reamed her out pretty hard at that coffee shop in your town. Made her re-examine her life. People don’t appreciate so much honesty at once.”

I held up my hand, because I’d had about enough on the topic of Alexis. She didn’t deserve another word.

Dalton glanced warily over at Keith, who was sitting shirtless and being very patient, then he said, “Peaches, I want you to spend your last night in town at my place.”

Keith blinked at me. “Is this happening?” He blinked again, his eyebrows high. “Are you… ?”

Mitchell tapped at the open door, his face pinched in apology. “I’m really sorry to interrupt…” He waved his hand at the three of us—two of us partially undressed. “All of
this
. But we really need, like, two more takes of that last shot. Three, tops.”

I stood, handed the T-shirt back to Keith, and said, “I have to do my job.”

In unison, both of them said, “I’ll wait.”

I walked out of the room with as much dignity as I could muster, praying they weren’t looking at my nearly-bare ass.

Following Mitchell down the hallway, my stomach hurt from all the stress.

Out of the side of his mouth, Mitchell said, “Two guys. Aren’t you lucky.”

I snorted. “So lucky. I bet the videos are already online, right?”

“Nope. Everyone here is bound by certain terms. A couple people forgot themselves and started recording, but everything’s been deleted. I saw to it. That’s why I was only listening in at your change room door for the tail end of that exchange.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Easy to do your job when you care so much.”

I stopped walking, just short of entering the big studio space. “Mitchell, you are one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. I cannot thank you enough for everything. Or can I? What can I do for you? I could write a letter of recommendation.”

He patted my hand, the sheen of his eyes betraying emotion. His voice thick, he said, “It’s just nice to be appreciated. Send me a postcard when you get home.”

I gave him a hug.

“Thank you for not leaving me with that security guard woman,” he said.

“How did she get you tied up? Isn’t that illegal? She wasn’t a cop or anything.”

He pulled away from me, blinking and smiling. “I know, right?”

“But seriously, if you can think of anything, let me know. And of course you have a place to stay if you’re ever in my part of Washington.”

“We’d better get this shot, or we’ll be back here tomorrow, and saying goodbye one more time will feel even more awkward.”

“Good point.”

I hustled my way back over to the trapeze and climbed on. “Thank you, you’re gorgeous,” I called out to my stand-in, who was sitting on a folding chair nearby.

She gave me a limp wave in return. Fuck me, what was her name?

I ransacked my memory banks.

“Thank you, Justine!” (Big grin. Nailed it!)

She gave me a second half-hearted wave. Oh well, at least I tried.

Up I went, over the roar of the winch, and I began to twirl. I arched my back and imagined the beautiful evening I was going to have. I could hardly wait.

I reached the bottom, and the director said, “Loving that Mona Lisa smile. Keep it up. Another take. Bring her up, boys!”

Up I went again, a peaceful smile on my face the whole time. My last night in LA would certainly be memorable.

We did one more take, and doubt crept in, but by the time my toes hit the netting, I was sure.

I barely waited for them to call it a wrap, and I was off.

I stepped into the change room. Both of the guys sat holding ice packs to their eyes.

Seated across from them, I broke the news gently. “Dalton, I value our friendship, and I appreciate your offer, but I’ve already made plans with Keith. Justine is still in the building, and if you’d like to ask her out, you have my blessing.”

“She’s no Peaches.”

“Maybe she’s stardust from the next galaxy over.”

He turned to Keith and shook his hand. “Take care of Peaches, and call my manager, and also fuck you.”

They were both grinning, teeth bared like animals. “I sure will, and thanks for the suggestion, and fuck you, too.”

Dalton got up, swept his hand through his hair as we briefly made eye contact, then he left.

I looked over at Keith, who seemed stunned. I joined him on the bench and rested my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“You had me fooled,” he said. “I damn near walked out of here right after you left.”

“You deserve someone better than me, but in the meantime, you’re stuck with me for one more night. We’re each other’s rebounds, and we have one last night to unbreak each other’s hearts.”

He was quiet, and when I looked up, he was smiling. We sat there for a few minutes without talking. I let my breathing relax and deepen. What I didn’t tell Keith was how tempted I’d been. To my shame, I’d considered the other offer. Dalton had a way of throwing me off balance, and I’d liked it, the way kids love twirling on carousels and getting dizzy. Part of me wanted another night of that carousel ride (on a pony named Lionheart, no less), but then Keith had literally given me the shirt off his back. He’d covered me with his T-shirt so I wouldn’t be exposed.

There is no such thing as a
small
gesture; gestures can realign lines of fate.

Because of Keith’s gesture, and a hundred other sweet things he’d done for me, I got dressed and left the studio that day with him.

I looked around the parking lot for the green van, which should have been easy to spot. Keith led me to a little sports car, an Alfa Romeo.

“What’s this?” I asked.

He rubbed his eyebrow, which was red and swelling from being punched, and put on a pair of sunglasses. “Nice car, right? Borrowed from a friend. The owner of the restaurant I took you to the first night. He really liked you, and insisted I show you off in proper style.”

“See? I
knew
I made the right choice. Dalton’s car is boring.”

Keith laughed and held open the passenger door for me. I settled in and put on my big sunglasses for the ride.

We drove through the city, me pretending to be cool behind my sunglasses, but gawking around to see if anyone was looking at me. The car was flashy enough that we got a few looks, but nobody was staring. It was LA, after all.

We drove up along the coastline on a sun-soaked road locals call the PCH—that’s the Pacific Coast Highway to Washingtonians such as myself. On one side, there’s nothing but blue water, beaches, and surfers. On the other side, you see mountains dotted with mansions, every one with a spectacular view.

One last night.

As I admired the scenery, I felt homesick for the lush woods of Washington, seeing familiar faces everywhere I went, and even the misty rain.

After the drive, we had dinner at Keith’s friend’s restaurant again, where my money was no good. We danced, alone on the dance floor, lost in our own world.

Then we went back to Keith’s place for our final night together. Keith showed me so much affection, my heart healed and then broke all over again, because I was leaving in the morning.

We lay nestled together under the top sheet, and he practiced his Italian phrases on me. I was exhausted from the day and drifting in and out of sleep. He murmured things that sounded intimate and personal—things that sounded like Italian for love.

I fell asleep in his arms, and when I woke up, I was alone.

Morning had come quickly, and my first thought was that I would miss the light. Keith’s apartment got fantastic morning light through the blinds if you didn’t pull the blackout curtains.

I got up and gathered the clothes I hadn’t packed in my travel bag the night before.

Even though I was probably a completely different person than I was nine days earlier, I planned to wear the exact same outfit I’d arrived wearing, because it was comfortable for traveling, and feeling good is important. I pulled on my black leggings, a pair of Keds, and a red shirtdress with a black belt.

I found Keith in the kitchen, making blueberry pancakes.

“Early flight,” he said.

“Wouldn’t feel so early if someone hadn’t kept me up so late.”

“You weren’t complaining last night, unless that’s what those moans were.”

I took a seat on one of the stools at the counter and tried not to get emotional. Mitchell had already sent me a text message wishing me a good flight, which made me miss him already.

“I’m going to take a cab to the airport,” I said.

Keith peered over at me, but didn’t say anything.

“Because I hate goodbyes,” I explained.

“Peaches, nobody likes goodbyes. Everybody hates them. My parents are already driving me crazy, and I don’t leave for a few more days.”

“You’ll do great in Milan. I can feel it.”

“You could change your flight and stay here a bit longer.”

I grinned, fighting back the emotion choking me. “If we try to top last night, somebody’s going to break something. I need to leave right now, for the health and safety of both of us.”

He chuckled and served up the pancakes, alongside fried eggs and stunning toast made of marbled dark rye and sourdough. Then he sat beside me, and we both ate, barely making a dent in all the food. I would miss this. Sharing a meal with him. Everything about this borrowed relationship felt so good, but it was a loaner, like the Alfa Romeo. A rebound.

I looked up the phone number for a cab and made the call, despite Keith’s protests.

Five minutes later, the driver was there, and Keith insisted on hauling my luggage out. My suitcase was packed tight, and I had two shopping bags as well, with my haul from the boutique. I had a third bag, with Mitchell’s roommate’s dress, and I would be dropping it off at the dry cleaner’s on my way to the airport. Yes, everything was going according to plan. So, why did the movements of that morning feel so wrong?