Map to the Stars (13 page)

It's Not a Date: I spent way too long admiring the pyramid at the Louvre and then the three of us shuffled through an endless rope
line to see the
Mona Lisa
. When we finally got to the front, Roddy judged an impromptu contest of who could best replicate her smirking expression. Graham won. I declared him ineligible due to his advanced professional training.

It's a Date: Graham tugged me into a patisserie entrance and clutched me against his chest in the confines of the tiny doorway while we waited for Roddy to determine if the guy behind us with a long-lens camera was a tourist or a paparazzo. His heart hammered against mine and his breath warmed my cheek the entire time it took Roddy to determine it was a fashion photographer on his way to a shoot. When we broke apart, neither of us could make eye contact.

It's Not a Date: Roddy joined us for dinner at yet another café where we doused pommes frites in vinegar and threw our leftovers to the gathering pigeons.

It's a Date: This time we ordered dessert and Roddy disappeared to the bar while Graham insisted we share bites of our buttery banana-and-drizzled-chocolate crepes. His lips closed over my fork in a way that made my stomach turn somersaults.

It's Not a Date: He told me last night he was contractually prohibited from any and all dating.

It's Definitely a Date: The moment the sun dipped low in the sky, Graham steered us to the Eiffel Tower. What could possibly be more romantic than watching the sun set and the lights twinkle from the top of the freaking Eiffel Tower?

Aside from the fashion shoot guy, we hadn't had so much of a threat of anyone who might recognize Graham. I was starting to warm to
his American tourist getup, but it certainly didn't look like anything anyone with a stylist would ever be caught dead in and most Parisians didn't bother with a second glance. I think it was the Rasta hat that sealed the deal. I felt safe and cozy between Graham and Roddy, despite the crowds that were beginning to form to ride to the top of the tower. So maybe fame wasn't so bad if you could give the stalking cameras the slip like this.

When we stepped off the elevator, I practically ran to the railing to take in the view. Even though I'd seen the Paris rooftops from the dome at Sacred Heart, there was something about seeing it all from the top of the Eiffel Tower in the dusky light that made it so much more magical. Graham smiled at my expression.

“Like it?” he asked softly.

I nodded, entranced.

“Stay here, I'll be right back,” he leaned close to whisper. I shivered.

Out of the corner of my eye, Graham handed something to Roddy and he held out his own hand in return. Though they were clearly talking, I couldn't hear any of it in my earpiece. Graham's arms were crossed and Roddy had a sullen look on his face. He kept giving short shakes of his head until he finally threw up his hands in defeat.

As Graham began to make his way back over to me, Roddy turned the corner to take in the view from the eastern side. Of course, most everyone else was clustered with us on the western-facing side to watch the sun sink below the gabled rooftops.

“What was that all about?” I asked Graham.

“Give me your earpiece,” he instructed, holding out his palm.

“Why? Where's yours?”

“Roddy has it. I convinced him to give us a little privacy,” he said with an unreadable expression.

“Priv—” I began.

“Please, Annie,” he said, and his eyes pleaded with mine.

I placed my earpiece in his open palm and watched his fist close over it.

“I don't get it. What about everything you said last night about your management team and your mom and . . . everything?” I trailed off.

He tugged his hand through his hair. “I know. I know. But screw it, I
don't
know. Right now that all seems so far away and all I can focus on is how you smell like baby powder and the way your left eye crinkles more than your right eye when you smile.”

Oh. Oooooh.

He stepped closer. “Roddy is scoping out the observation deck. I think we're safe here.” He took another step in as I took a step back and we were suddenly in the dark shadows in the center part of the tower. Everyone's attention was focused on the view. No one seemed aware of two tourist kids who only had eyes for each other.

“Hey, I got you something at the market today when you weren't paying attention,” he said, reaching down and unzipping his fanny pack. Even hours later, the sight of the pack still made me giggle.

“You did?”

“Well, it's only fair. After all, you got me the place to store it. Close
your eyes.” He reached out and took my hand again. With my eyes shut and his hand cradling mine, I wasn't sure I even cared what he was about to put in it. I would have happily stood like that for hours and hours. I felt something as downy soft as the muzzle of a horse tickle my palm and my eyes flew open.

A rabbit's foot.

“I thought if a penny didn't do it for you, you might appreciate an equally acceptable token of luck.” He smiled. “Like it?”

I stroked the soft white fur and fingered the tiny beaded key chain it hung from.

“Here, lemme see it.” Graham took it back and unclasped the chain, fastening it to the strap of my purse, where it swayed gently back and forth. Graham's hands moved to my waist.

“I love it,” I said softly. In truth it was hard to even get those words out. I was having a hard time breathing and I suspected it had nothing to do with the lack of oxygen from being so high up. While we stood, eyes locked, the lights of the Eiffel Tower flickered on and a gasp of appreciation went up from the crowd. It felt like they were awestruck at the moment we were having. I would certainly be gasping for it, if I was capable of making a sound.

“Pickles?” Graham whispered, his eyes darting between my eyes and my lips.

“Hmm?” I managed.

“I'm going to kiss you now,” he breathed, moving even closer so that our faces were inches apart.

I wanted to come back with some snarky remark about how he
needed to secure my permission, but who the hell was I kidding? He definitely had it and we both knew it. Besides, even if I could have spoken, I would never have said anything to spoil the moment. I tilted my head up in response and he cupped my chin in his hand.

He blinked a few times, and then settled his lips over mine in a soft kiss that made me feel about 40,000 things at once. My eyes fluttered shut as I tried to push everything away and just focus on that exact moment in time. I wrapped my arms around him and nestled in closer.

I couldn't tell how long we stood there like that, but I do know I was very far away, drifting on pure sensation, when a loud, shrill voice brought me back to reality. “He's over there! Kissing that girl!”

Graham heard too and we broke apart in unison, spinning to take in the scene in front of us. Two teenagers in Aeropostale T-shirts had their phones held at eye level in front of them, while a more intimidating camera was aimed directly at me. Graham jumped into action, flinging one hand up to cover his face and pulling me across his chest to shield mine as well. I barely had time to ask, “What do we do?” before Roddy was tugging me out of Graham's arms.

“I have to take him,” Roddy yelled as chaos erupted all around us. People turned their backs on the views of Paris and instead pressed in upon us, holding out pens and pushing cell phones in our faces. Roddy grabbed Graham close and used his other arm to straight-arm his way through the crowd. Over his shoulder, Roddy called, “I'll come back for you!”

Graham was protesting, twisting to try to call to me, but he was no
match for his bodyguard's brute force, and Roddy pushed their way onto the just-opened elevator doors.

I blinked at the faces peering back at me and shrugged. Most everyone lost interest in me without my infinitely better-known sidekick and soon returned to the sparkling lights far below. One girl a few years younger than me remained rooted in the spot. “Are you famous too?” she asked.

“I'm . . . no, I'm not famous,” I told her. My head was spinning with everything that had just happened, including the kiss to top all kisses.

“Oh.” She sounded like she'd just found out her pet bunny had died. “I'm Casey.
I'm
going to be a famous actress. It's my destiny,” she declared with a dramatic flair that let me know she was well on her way. She placed one hand on her waist and popped a hip out as she studied me. I stared right back at her, dumbstruck. Was this all for real?

“Hey, is that his?” she asked, gesturing down at the half of a baguette resting in its bag at my feet.

“Um, yeah,” I answered.

“Can I buy it off you?”

“It's half-eaten,” I told her.

“Duh. By
Graham Cabot.
I'll give you ten euros.”

I gaped at her. “You want to
buy
his leftover food?”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “When I get home, my friends will all pay up to touch it, so I'll get my money back and then some.”

Was this the next generation? “Just take it,” I told her.

“Awesome. Can I have your autograph anyway?” she asked, tucking the baguette into her oversize purse.

“You don't want my autograph,” I said. “I just told you, I'm not anybody.”

She tilted her head and looked as if she felt sorry for me. “But you are. You're Graham Cabot's girlfriend.”

Roddy was a total sweetheart when he returned a few minutes later after having sent Graham home in the sedan he'd had waiting for what was supposed to be an uneventful end to our perfect day. He listened to me babble incoherently the whole cab ride back to the hotel, but he couldn't offer much in the way of reassurance that we hadn't totally screwed things up.

Mom had been pacing the lobby when I'd pushed through the revolving doors and she wasted no time in beelining us to Melba. I took my cue from Mom and stayed silent during the elevator ride. I couldn't get a read on whether she was pissed or worried, but I was about to find out.

Once again that day, I was trapped in the claustrophobic conference room, but this time it was having its revenge on me for my earlier prank. Karma's a bitch.

As little as Roddy and Mom had to say on the matter was as much as Melba did. She used
all
the words. In fact, she had quite the
vocabulary. Graham had his head down on the table when we arrived and it stayed there as Melba lit into him.

On top of everything else, he was also in trouble for not allowing his bodyguard to deliver him all the way to the hotel, insisting instead that Roddy go back for me. I don't even want to think about how he made it past the screaming fans at the entrance. Graham lifted his head briefly to telepath an apology to me with his eyes, but cradled it back in his arms a moment later, when Melba used the hotel phone to conference in his mom and a few others.

I finally got what Graham meant when he'd said “Mom in manager mode” versus “Mom in mom mode.” We were definitely being treated to Manager Mom. I didn't understand a lot of the industry lingo she and the other members of Graham's team tossed around easily, but I did pick up enough to realize that a publicist had been dispatched on a flight and we were all to avoid any form of communication with anyone at all outside our “circle of trust” until further notice. None of us, least of all Graham or me, was to set foot outside the hotel doors until she arrived the next morning. So much for scheduled mother/daughter bonding time.

It was completely surreal. All this over
one kiss.

Mom and I were excused shortly afterward, Mom's arm offering a comforting weight around my shoulders. I felt like a child being sent to bed without dinner. No, it was worse. I felt like I'd just gotten the “We're not mad, we're
disappointed
” speech after missing curfew. Melba had looked at me like I was a she-devil tempting her precious Graham into a life of sin.

I was never so happy to see my bed.

Whoever said, “Just sleep on it and everything will look better in the morning” clearly never took down an A-lister's career with a kiss. Despite Mom's insistence that it couldn't cause the nuclear-bomb-level damage they were talking about last night, I still felt like I'd been permanently crossed off Santa's nice list. We ordered breakfast in our room and awaited our summons, which took most of the morning to come.

I figured we were as good as fired, but Joe called our hotel room first thing in the morning to put that thought right out of our heads. Turned out the producer of
Triton
had a kid Joe had just cast in a new sitcom and everybody was “properly incentivized” (to quote Joe) to play nice. When Mom thanked him for sticking his neck on the line for her, he'd just laughed. “Not that I don't love you and all, but this favor isn't for you; it's for Graham. He called me last night and asked me to throw around some weight to keep you two on the press tour. Think you girls can handle things over there a little longer?”

I did. I definitely did. And knowing Graham wanted that too made my stomach bubble with warmth.

Around eleven, we once again all convened in the hateful conference room, only this time we were joined by a petite black-haired woman in a pencil skirt and hipster chunky black glasses. She gave me a genuine smile, which took me by surprise.

“You must be Annie,” she said, crossing the room to shake my hand. “I'm Ellis.”

I gripped back and introduced her to my mom, my expression clearly conveying my confusion at the unexpected friendliness. I took in Melba and Roddy, then gasped when my gaze fell on Graham. I couldn't believe I hadn't even noticed him hunched at the far end of the table. He looked like he'd made himself one with the chair. He also looked like he hadn't slept yet.

Ellis smiled warmly once again, then addressed the rest of the room. As she talked, she grabbed a tiny remote control from the center of the table and aimed it at her laptop. With a click, she pulled up a grainy image on the large pull-down screen behind her. It showed Graham and me wrapped in a tight embrace. The banner of the website proclaimed “TMZ.”

“Right, okay! Except for Annie and her mom, the rest of you know me. I'm Graham's publicist and I'm here to do a little spin control on this so-called ‘situation.'”

I took a teensy tiny bit of hope from her air quotes around the word
situation
.

She selected the play button on the screen and the video began. You know how it's crazy embarrassing to watch a movie with your parents when a steamy love scene comes on? You basically wish the couch cushions would swallow you and suddenly the condition of your nail beds is far more interesting than what's on the screen? Pffft! Try sitting there all nonchalant when the footage is of
your
steamy love scene.

Where was a good old invisibility cloak when you needed one? All I could say was
THANK GOD
my dad was a continent removed.
At that moment, I wished I could say the same of everyone else in the room, including Graham. He was watching with unusual interest, like he was studying tape of his golf swing to determine why his ball kept hooking to the left. If it hadn't been so weird in there, I would have scooted over and assured him his form was perfect, but all I could do was sink lower in my chair.

Fortunately, the video was relatively short. There we were, spinning around in surprise, Graham in his ridiculous getup. Great. Bet that would make the fashion blogs.

Maybe because I grew up in a hair salon surrounded 24/7 with mirrors, my appearance became commonplace to me early on. I am who I am, and I'm pretty comfortable with that. But I couldn't help cringing just a little bit at how unflattering the grainy cell phone video coupled with the odd shadows in that part of the tower were to the hollows of my face. And here I'd always heard dawn and dusk were photographers' dream shooting times. Pffft again. The whole world was about to be introduced to me and I looked like Quasimodo escaped Notre Dame and headed a few kilometers west.

Graham, on the other hand, in his utterly ridiculous getup, fanny pack, black socks, and all, looked swoon-worthy. I mean, seriously. The kid was born to be on camera. I stole a glance over at him and cringed. Not so picture perfect this morning, though. He caught me peeking and issued a tight smile, which I returned.

Ellis stood in front of us in her pencil skirt, remote control in hand, and clicked over to another screen like she was Señorita Businesswoman. Clearly she was in her element.

This time it was a screen capture of
People
magazine's website. Holy hell.

The text read:

In news from overseas,
Triton
star Graham Cabot shed his fins and became enough of a landlubber to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower for a steamy make-out session with a mystery girl we're working hard to identify. Stay tuned for more and see below for a photo roundup of other stars who've been captured rocking a fanny pack.

Head, this is desk. Desk, head. Nice to meet you.

My mom reached over and massaged my shoulders. Just what every mother dreams of for her daughter. National humiliation by the ripe old age of seventeen.

Ellis said, “Listen, the story broke at five p.m. on the East Coast yesterday. Quite honestly, I can't see the story continuing into today's news cycle, so I really think this is the worst of it. And of course, the photos will make the weekly tabloids, no big shocker there. But I want you to hear me here. Graham? Annie?”

We both turned to face her.

“This is no big deal. It happened, it ran, it's done with.”

Both our jaws dropped. This was not the message Melba was giving last night.

“But—” began Graham.

“No buts,” Ellis interrupted. “So you kissed a girl. Happens all
around the world, millions of times a day. Granted, they all aren't filmed and put up on YouTube, but you're you and there's no getting around that. Your fans
will
be okay with this. We didn't do a great job spinning the whole Merrie Masterson relationship, but that was also two years ago. My PR firm has done some polling on this in the last six months and we think your fans are going to be much more understanding now that you're seventeen. Boys your age have . . . needs.”

Oh God, shoot me now.

“It's natural you'd want to date. I know we've had a different plan in mind for you up until now and, quite honestly, we've been patterning that strategy on the way other child stars in the past handled this. But this is the age when most of them started to hint at a dating life. Notice you saw next to nothing about Justin Bieber dating until he hooked up with Selena Gomez. Right around your age. Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears coupled up at eighteen. Jessica Simpson was eighteen when she started dating Nick Lachey. I really think we can spin this, Graham. But here's the problem.” She paused and looked at me. “Unlike those star couplings, she's not bringing her own fanbase to the party.”

Showed what she knew. I could think of at least twenty-five people who “liked” me on Facebook.

“The whole ‘relationship' thing didn't work before, so, we're going to try a different tack here. You're going to sow your wild oats a little. Just like all the ten-year-olds are convinced you're going to wait for them to reach marriage age, all the fifteen-year-olds who are about to outgrow you still need to think they have a real shot with you. And
you're going to continue to let them think it. We're working on getting together some starlets who could use a little extra PR to meet up with us in Barcelona and Venice for your red-carpet walks and you are going to work it, my friend. We tried to sell young love with you and Merrie and that didn't fly, so now we're gonna take Player Graham for a spin. A whole new Graham your fans haven't met yet.”

I checked on Player Graham. He looked a little green. Melba was nodding along like it was all her idea and she hadn't ripped us a new one last night. I was trying to process everything to figure out where I might fit into all this. I wasn't liking the conclusion my brain was coming to.

Ellis continued, “This way, we can show the world that you're becoming a man and taking advantage of all that comes with it. Your mom and I have discussed this and we really think this is going to end up being a great career move. This is going to show directors you're mature enough for the adult roles they want you for. From here on out, forget about any of the restrictions we talked about in the past. I want you flirting with as many girls as you can and I want you dating far and wide. Except, unless she's a celebrity in her own right, I don't want to see any repeats. No one gets to be seen with you twice. It would kill your marquee value.”

My confusion must have been all over my face because Ellis spared me a sympathetic smile and explained, “It means the amount of money a movie can expect to make just for having a certain star attached. Some people will go see any movie Jennifer Lawrence is in, regardless of whether the movie is about her serving cat food to a
deadbeat boyfriend. Just having her name on the marquee outside the movie theater brings in a certain guaranteed audience. Every actor is assigned a value in points and most productions have to put together a collection of stars whose points add up to a certain value to get a green light from the studio to film their movie.”

“What, like a mathematical formula?” I asked.

“Exactly like a mathematical formula. And Graham's point value is in the stratosphere right now. He can carry a film all by himself at the moment, without needing other big stars attached. Which means he can have his pick of projects. But it could all go away like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Don't let any of the art fool you; this is a business first and foremost.”

With that, Ellis turned back to Graham and tapped her remote a few times on the table to ensure she had his attention.

“What this all means for you, for now, is that you are free to date anyone”—she turned her gaze on me, and the rest of the room followed suit—“but her.”

Graham was asked to stay behind with Ellis, but as the rest of us filed from the room, Melba slipped me my cell phone. She'd confiscated it the night before, not trusting that I wouldn't answer it if any reporters happened to track me down.

I peeked at the screen. Thirty-four missed calls from Wynn. I should have known a devoted celebrity tracker like her would be right on top of breaking news like this.

The phone rang once on the other side of the ocean before it was
snatched up and Wynn whisper-yelled in my ear, “It's about freaking time!!!” I could hear all the exclamation points she was adding to that statement.

“Why are you whispering?” I said back in a normal voice.

“Because it's only six a.m. here. But who cares about that? Oh my freaking God—tell me everything and don't leave out one teensy-tiny detail. I need to know it all.”

“Oh God, Wynn, it's all so crazy I don't even know where to start.”

“Fine. I'll ask questions and you answer. There are about a million and two things I'm dying to know. Number one: boxers or briefs?”

“What?” I choked out.

“Graham. Does he wear boxers or briefs? Inquiring minds want to know.”

I craved my best friend. It felt like a physical need. Hot tears prickled at my eyes as I tried to determine whether I needed to laugh or cry more. I settled for both at once. I sank down the wall until I was seated on the floor in the hallway outside my hotel room and managed, “I miss you so much.”