Take Two (31 page)

“No, you’ve been great. I just need to
write down a few notes
while I’m
out here.”

“Sounds good. If you
’ll
excuse me, I’ve got to make a few phone calls in my office,” she shook my hand and spoke with Matt for a few seconds before disappearing.

“
So
what do you think?” Matt leaned
against
the railing.

“I think you’re an asshole. The venue however is absolutely gorgeous.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t think I stuttered.”

“Are you bipolar?”

“Are you?
” I rolled my eyes.
“
You acted like you barely knew me during the entire tour, like I was some groupie.”

“Melody, first of all, I did not treat you like a groupie. Trust me. Second of all, what did
you
want me to do? Hug and kiss you in front of
the tour guide
? In front of the paparazzi weeks before the wedding?”

“What paparazzi?”

“Turn around in ten seconds. On your three o’ clock, u
p there behind that truck
.”

I glared at him and slowly turn
ed around. I looked up and saw three
shadowy figure
s
looking down at us.

That is so creepy!

“You still didn’t have to act like you didn’t know me,” I turned back around. “I hones
tly regret sleeping with you
now
. I don’t
even
know how I’m going to effectively writ
e about your wedding.
”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I really do.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Matt walked me
to my apartment door
and waited for me to say something
.

“I’m shocked you remember where I live,
”
I
hissed
.

“
Are you really
that
upset
with me
?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve arranged for a private tour as soon as you told me you had to go there. Then we could have had sex on the deck for all I care.”

“Whatever
,” I placed my key in the door. “Keep lying to yourself.”

He g
rabbed me by my waist and spun
me around. “I said I’m sorry. Would you like to go back tomorrow?”

“That’s not the point...”

“I
really
had a wonderful weekend with you
.
I wish it didn’t have to end
.”

“I wish I could believe you
.”

“
Melody,” he cut himself short and p
ushed
me against the door.
“Let me make it up to you.”

I was sitting in the conference room with staff members
, waiting to speak to
Selena Ross.

Normally, I conducted
meetings like this alone, at Central Park or in the lobby of a hotel, but since she was a
n A-list
celebri
ty the rules had to be changed.

The staff had been notified of her love for one hundred dollar chocolates, freshly cut sonata lilies, and the color black. In the two hours they had to put something together, they brought in a black linen table cloth
for the conference table
and two vases of sonata lilies. They hoped she would overlook the missing chocolate
s
—there was only so much they could
do with such short notice.

Selena entered the room an hour past our meeting time, something I would never accept from any other client. If it hadn’t been for the other staffers in the room, I would’ve
said, “My time is very valuable
Miss Ross, and I don’t appreciate the way you’ve made me spend it. Talk to my assistant about rescheduling and try to be on time to our
next
visit.
”

Instead
I heard myself say, “Good afternoon, Miss Ross.
It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here, Miss Carter. I’m so happy you agreed to write about our wedding,” she took a seat an
d plucked a lily from the vase.

The rest of the staff smiled and introduced themselves
.
She nodded her head at each one of them,
blinking
her light gray eyes,
looking more stunning as the seconds ticked by.

I admired
her perfect white teeth and
her perfectly styled hair—she was wearing
it in long black ringlets
.
She was pretty without even trying
to be
.

“How would you like me to write about your wedding, Miss Ross?”
I asked.

“I want it to be romantic you know? I brought some notes,” she pulled a folder out of her bag. “These are a couple of my diary entries from when Matt and I first started dating. I want you to include some of these, you know, like a love story.”

“Okay
.
Is there any particular part of the wedding you want me to hone in on? Besides the vows?”

“Yes. I want you to capture me walking down the aisl
e, Matt’s face as I’m approaching him, and of course our first kiss as a married couple.”

My heart sank.

“Okay, I can do that Miss Ross. I’ll send
you a draft of the article six hours
before it goes to print and you can call up to two hours before publishing for any changes.”

“You’re the best
Miss Carter,” she stood and shook my hand. She walked around the table and personally thanked all of the staff, signing autographs for whoever asked.

I locked the door to my office and flipped through Selena’s diaries. I flipped to the last page, dated for the past December:
“Dear
Journal, Matt and I have been
dating for almost two years.
I wish he would
hurr
y up and propose
.
W
e would be so perfect together.

“
Can you picture it? T
w
o
of Hollywood’s brightest stars at the altar? I really hope he proposes soon…I can’t believe I
fell in love with him…This is the most amazing feeling in the world.
”

I closed the journal. I didn’t want to read anymore until the day I started writing the article.

I sat in the doctor’s office, concentrating on the
black and white
Van Gogh painting
on
the door.

I heard the laser buzzing against my skin, but I didn’t look at it
directly. I didn’t want to see.
It was the last phase of remo
val, the last part of Sean I needed
to get rid of.

Matt offered to pick me up afterwards
, but I successfully lied and told him
that Jen and I had plans.
I
didn’t want to see him.

I’d
agreed to let him make me
an “I’m sorry”
dinner at his apartment later, and I was hav
ing
second thoughts.

Sure, Matt was sexy,
charming
,
and nice, b
ut
I was tired of hearin
g about his marriage to Selena—
tired of smiling in
his face
and breaking
down
on the
inside.

All the red flags had been there from the beginning: the over the top chase, his
un
willingness to
really discuss that “contract
,
”
and the “crazy
fiancé
”
he kept around for the press
.

He just needed someone to vent to, someone to remind him that the world outside of celebrity culture still existed. He just wanted to
temporarily
feel “normal.”

Matt’s driver picked me up at seven o
’ clock
. He weaved through the light evening traffic and made
small conversation.

I blinked away the few tears that welled in my eyes as we got closer t
o Matt’s neighborhood. I had
to end this today.

When w
e pulle
d up to Matt’s condo,
an enormous silver
structure,
t
he
driver
didn’t move to open the door
. Instead, Matt himself came
and opened it.

“Hey Melody
,
”
he took my hand.

“Matt.”

“How was your day today?”

“Okay,” I looked away.

End this
now!

We walked into the
building in silence. He swiped a
card at the elevator
and stared at me as we rose to t
he top floor. I avoided eye conta
ct when
we stepped off
.

“What’s wrong, Melody?”

“Nothing.
I’m okay,” I stopped
and took in his apartment.

From his windows
I could see
the
moon
light
danc
ing
across
the East river.
Across his exposed brick wall
was an enormous
flat screen TV
.
Black leather furniture—a chaise, a loveseat, two plush chairs—guarded a large crystal table. A
state of the art
stereo system, protected by a wall of glass panels, completely covered the far right wall.

I couldn’t see any other rooms from
where I was standing
, and I
didn’
t
really
care to look.

“
You know I can get it out of you,” he
kissed my
neck
.

I stepped back
.
“I met with Selena today.”

“Oh. How’d it go?”

“
It went p
retty
w
ell
.
S
he wants me to focus on her walking down the aisle a
nd kissing you
at your wedding.”

“She would…”

“She also gave me her journals that detail how she felt about you while you two were dating.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean what else? She wrote about you in her journal, Ma
tt! The l
ast entry is from December
and she say
s she was
still
in love with you then.
That wasn’t that long ago!
I can’t
believe I
—”

“Do you trust me?”
he interrupted.

“I want to.”

“That’ll work. Let me show you something,” h
e took my hand and led
me past the stereo wall and into a dining room.

He opened a drawer
and pulled out a folder.
“This is our
updated
promo plan,
Melody.
”

I sat down at the table and thumbed through the papers. There were appearance listings—
“
The View,
”
“
The Today Show,
”
“
Live with Regis and Kelly,
”
“
Late Night with David Letterman,
”
“
Late Night with Conan O’Brien
.”

There were press releases
with dates received and dates submitted. At the back of the
folder was the
thick
contract with the OWN network. Right
behind those stapled
pages was a copy of a handwritten checklist.

I skimmed through the numbers and caught what was next to number twenty five: “Create journal for Selena’s past. Submit to
The New York Appeal
.”