Fix You (23 page)

“What did you say to them?” He actually sounds unconcerned.

“Nothing. I hung up, and then you called.”

“Good.”

“What?” He’s okay with this? “What about the boys? I’m not ready for them to get any attention. And you’ll get in trouble—the whole Franca thing—oh, and I saw the cover with you and Franca. I know it’s fake, don’t worry about it, but I still don’t love seeing you and seeing the headline—”

“Time out! Kelly! Breathe!” Andrew has raised his voice a bit.

“Huh?”

“My phone was stolen. Whoever it was is just fishing.”

“What?” Not all my cylinders are firing on this new information yet. I hope the guy behind me isn’t listening.

“They have my phone, Kelly. With my numbers in it. They’re calling all the numbers. They’re fishing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And they should have about two minutes’ more time to snoop, because the phone company is in the process of turning off my cell as we speak.”

I’m quiet for a second. “So they don’t have anything more than my name?”

“You did good. Hanging up was good—they have no dirt on you. You’re just another name from my cell phone.”

I guess that’s good.

He laughs a little. “You saw the cover, though.”

“Yeah.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you about that.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s Jeremy.”

“With a little help from Sandy, my publicist. But she just does as she’s told. She’s actually a good person.”

“As opposed to Jeremy?”

“Naw, he’s not a terrible guy. He’s just very single-minded. Kind of terrier-like. When he wants something to work, he’ll do everything he thinks might make it work. He thinks the on-set romance thing is a good angle.”

I’m totally distracted. It’s finally my turn in line, and I don’t want to be, you know, that person who’s on her phone while checking out—even if I’m currently looking at the person on the other end of the phone on the cover of a magazine, which is a weird sensation.

“Hey, I have to go.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. As long as it’s a false alarm on the us-being-outed thing. I want the boys left alone. But it’s my turn in line at the store.”

“Get off the phone! Don’t be that person. I hate that person, the one on the phone when they’re supposed to be paying.”

“Me too. Love you. Bye.”

“Love you.” And the call is ended, just in time for the checker to ring me up.

30: The Good Part of a Bad Night

S
ERIOUSLY
, E
VERYTHING
I
S
G
OOD
, up to a certain point when it isn’t anymore. And kind of in a sudden way.

I fly to LA for the
Churchill’s Man
premiere in the early morning. Tucker’s waiting for me at the curb, and he drives us through the streets of LA. It’s a relief, really, to have someone else handle the traffic. I’m not a baby about it, but I don’t want to nervous sweat right now. It’s not attractive.

I sit with him in the front seat of the gigantic black SUV. I resist the urge to fiddle with the stereo and look up at the side of a huge office building. Andrew’s face is forty feet tall. He’s working a smoldering stare. I smile, because if he were with us, he’d probably make some comment about his lip gloss and the blue steel photo shoot.

The text under his handsome face reads:
Churchill’s Man
.
Coming 1/28.

Tucker points to the billboard. “There’s your guy.”

“He’s not my guy. He’s somebody’s man.”

He smiles. “Careful. You say it that way and it sounds like he and Churchill had a very special relationship.”

“That’d be a different movie, wouldn’t it?” I try to chuckle, but the butterflies in my stomach are threatening to crawl up my throat. I check the backseat for my garment bag and suitcase. Tucker took care of it, but I’m feeling a little OCD. “Tucker, what’s this going to be like?”

“Truthfully, premieres make me break out in hives.”

“I’m so glad I don’t have to do the red carpet thing. I would fall apart.”

“Andrew and I bond over our hatred of premieres. They’re a necessary evil, but mostly they’re just evil.” Tucker pulls the SUV into the valet circle of the hotel. He hops out of the car and has my bags at the curb all in one swift, graceful motion.

With a big smile, he hands me a room key. “He’s doing press for another couple hours. He’ll sneak up when he gets a chance, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Tucker.” He’s so nice. I wish he were assigned to handling me. I would be so much calmer by association. Cooler too.

The hotel’s very chic—lots of mirrors and glass, high ceilings in the lobby, big fireplaces, and a glossy black piano.

As I’m dragging my rolling bag—which refuses to stay the right way and keeps flopping over, into the elevator—my cell phone rings. I’m distracted by the hoopla, but if Hunter and Beau are calling to check in and let me know they haven’t tied Tessa up yet, I want to take the call.

“Hello!” It kind of comes out in a gasp of air.

“Are you okay?” It’s Andrew.

“Yeah, I’m just trying to get my luggage to cooperate with me.” No one else took the elevator up, and I’m grateful for that, because the bag is now on its side diagonally across the floor of the elevator.

“What room are you in?”

I look at the envelope with the key in it. “Three forty-five. And I’m excited. This is going to be fun.”

There is a longer than usual pause. “Me too.”

He’s quiet. Uh-oh. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. I’m just stressed. They’re fitting my suit for tonight. Kind of a big crowd. But I’ll catch up to you soon. I’m staying here tonight too.”

That excites me. I think about what could possibly happen later.

The last time we Skyped, we had a good time doing our super top secret spy plan to make this whole thing work out. We’ll spend as much time as we can together tonight without actually being together. No public appearances for us as an “us.” I never thought for even a second about me walking the red carpet. I know Andrew and I like the way things are right now. We don’t like the conditions laid out by Jeremy and his crew, to be sure, but we like that Boise is still our secret place. We like that Hunter and Beau haven’t seen a big disruption to their lives.

I find my room. As I get in the door, the phone rings again. I drag the uncooperative rolly bag in on its side and throw it as far into the room as I can, then answer the call.

“Hi, Mom.” Beau’s on the line.

I’m glad we can talk before things get too crazy, “Hey, hon. How are you?”

“What’s your room like?”

The room is very posh. It has two king beds and a little sitting area with a loveseat and two chairs. There’s a wet bar to one side and a sliding glass door that opens out on to a tiny balcony. I can see the fringe of cliché palm trees that reach almost to the foot of my room’s windows.

“It’s nice.”

“Does it have a Jacuzzi in the living room?” Beau cuts to the chase. This is about the glamour, not about missing me.

“No, Beau. It doesn’t have a living room, and it doesn’t have a Jacuzzi either.”

“Oh. Well, Tessa says everything’s fine, and we’re about to watch the next movie, so can I go?” He yells something to Hunter with the phone covered.

Tessa’s rented them many movies that their mom most certainly would think were too violent or too adult for them, and she’s gone to the grocery store and bought them non-Mom-approved junk food to munch while watching the terrible movies. They’re not missing me at all.

“Beau?”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Give everybody a kiss for me. I love you.”

“Love you, bye.” He hangs up before I can say another word.

I smile and turn back to my mission. My first job is to get my dress out of my bag. If it creases, I’m done for. I called Barb, who is smart about all these kinds of things, to ask her how to pack a dress. I could’ve asked Tessa, but she was so worked up about the premiere that I got nervous just talking to her about it. Practical information was clearly beyond our capacity in this case. And even Barb wanted to know what was going on, but I told her my mom had a thing in LA that was fancy so I had to dress up. I have still not fully figured out how this relationship will fit into my real world, but I’ll be damned if this event is how everybody finds out.

The dress is wrapped in a complex layering of tissue paper and plastic dry cleaner bags. I haul it out of its cocoon and hang it up. It looks like it’s survived the trip. I find all the outfit components: the shoes and the various firming, smoothing, and shaping undergear. I think all that stuff cost me more than the dress itself, but I want to feel totally safe. No body part will be making an unplanned appearance. And I don’t want to be bulgy in any way.

I’ve already had my meltdown over this, trust me. There’s no way I can compete with the women who will be at this event tonight. And I’m trying very hard to take Andrew at his word. He says he chooses me, so I must believe he chooses me for a reason.

However, I don’t know what in God’s name that reason is right now. I look at all this battle gear I’ll be putting on in a few hours, and I’m not at all convinced I belong here. We can sleight-of-hand it all we want, but I’m a non-famous, nondescript woman dating a handsome, charismatic, famous person. It’s ridiculous.

I try to shake this off. Now is the time to be excited, not self-critical. I need to soak up the atmosphere and enjoy it for what it is, not for what I’m not.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text. I know it’s not the boys. I just talked to them, and all is well there.

I read the text.

Still doing the business thing. Catch up to you soon.

I text back.

Relax. Come when you can. xoxo.

I glance at the time on my phone. I have four hours. I probably need two to get ready, and that’s only if I take the longest shower in world history, which I think they frown on in California, ’cause they’re running out of water. I’m going on a run.

I get changed and go downstairs, then out the side doors by the pool. There are several guys camped out by their cars. A few sit on little scooters or motorbikes.

Game on. This must be the paparazzi. I examine them. Most are younger than I would think. In their twenties. I don’t notice any women—that’s an interesting piece of trivia. They all seem to be smoking, which must help pass the time. Several talk or text on cell phones. Some sit with each other, chatting. I count fifteen or twenty guys. Wow.

Oh, hell yes, I’m going to spy on them. This is like being behind enemy lines, or deep undercover, or something. None of these men have a clue that I have any relationship to the man I presume they’re stalking. The premiere’s at a theater not too many blocks from here, and if Andrew’s doing some press, then everyone knows where he is.

I run a little in place, then jog closer to them. This isn’t my warm-up routine in any way, shape, or form, but I’m trying to look natural. When I’m within earshot, I pick a palm tree to stop at and stretch out my quads and Achilles. Let the spying begin.

Two young men wearing leather jackets sit on the bumper of a silver sedan. They’re smoking. My back’s partially turned to them, but I can hear. One of them has a bit of an accent that I would place as Turkish maybe?

“This is shit.” The Turkish guy’s speaking.

“Well, it’s a premiere. All the shots are going to suck ass anyway.” The other one sounds resigned, at peace with whatever is sucky about this job.

“Yeah, but he could at least do something before the theater. Walk out and get a damn cup of coffee or something. The guy lives like a freaking recluse.”

Non-Turkish guy sounds sympathetic. “Can you blame him? We’re a circus, for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t bother with the cup of coffee either, if I was him.”

Turkish guy is still grumpy. “His friend is in town, that Todd Ford guy. The musician. They haven’t even gone out one night together.”

This is something I didn’t know. I haven’t met Todd yet. Andrew has mentioned him a few times. This makes me nervous. I have the feeling not all of Andrew’s friends are as mature and enlightened as he is, and I remember the asses some guys were when I was twenty-nine. Am I going to be meeting him tonight?

Non-Turkish guy perks up. “Oh, well, there you go. Todd’s an absolute animal. They’ll be out after the premiere. I guarantee it. We’ll make some shots then.”

Turkish guy snorts. “Pettigrew’s hot or cold. Either they’ll tear it up, or he’ll have freaking ice water all night and go to bed at eight. It’s all or nothing with that dude.”

I realize I probably need to run now. There’s only so long a person can stretch. I turn my back on the men and trot off.

As I run, I feel nagging worry start to eat at my insides. This is a new bit of information, Todd being in town. I don’t know how he might change things. What if he doesn’t like me? Does his vote count for a lot with Andrew? And what did the guy mean with that “hot or cold” comment? My gut rumbles with uncertainty.