Something to Talk About

by Magan Vernon

  To anyone else, we’d look like old friends, people who had known each other more than one night.

  More than one kiss.

  More than a few moments of our bodies pressed together that I couldn’t get out of my head.

  I was with Eddie for over two years, and I couldn’t remember a time that we ever a danced. A time he made me feel like my body was on fire, yet chilled to the bone at the same time.

  This was just a fake relationship. One to get my image back on track.

  It’s what I had to repeat over and over, even as I leaned in and got a subtle whiff of Chris’s cologne that reminded me of the ocean air and my parents’ summer place in the Hamptons.

  “This is the place.” Chris stopped suddenly. I was so in a daze thinking about his cologne and his lips that I wasn’t paying attention to where we were.

  I expected the boathouse or something along those lines, but I didn’t expect a hot dog vendor. Maybe it was a place behind it.

  “Um. That’s where we’re having brunch?” I asked, pointing to the little silver cart.

  “Yeah. What’s better than a New York dog, walking through central park, and feeding the ducks?” Chris asked, sauntering toward the stand.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had something that wasn’t served on fine china, and I don’t think I’d ever fed any animal, not even my grandmother’s cat.

  “And if the ducks aren’t biting, those pigeons will do anything for a crumb,” Chris said with a laugh before walking toward the stand. “Two dogs and two Cokes.”

  “Diet and a plain hot dog on mine. No bun either,” I interjected.

  “Who said one of mine was for you?” Chris raised his eyebrows.

  “Fine, then two plain ones for me, no bun. And a bottled water,” I told the pot-bellied man in the newsboy cap.

  The man laughed, shaking his head as he scooped a hot dog out of the roller. “Ah, young love.”

  “Oh. We’re not in love. Just seeing where things go,” Chris interjected.

  “What he meant to say was, ‘Thank you,'” I said, taking my two hot dogs, even though I wasn’t sure if I even wanted one of them.

  “I call them like I see them. And I’ve seen a lot of couples walk through Central Park. By my guestimations, I say we’ll see a June wedding. June of next year that is. Send me an invite, will ya?” the guy said, handing Chris all four of our hot dogs and drinks as Chris handed him his credit card.

  “If that ever happens, you’ll be the first on the guest list,” I said with a smirk, watching him ring up the card.

  Chris took his card back and handed me my hot dogs and water before motioning for me to follow him down a path where some people were jogging, others walking, and some sitting on benches, watching the water.

  “So, are you going to plan our fake wedding now too?” I asked, taking a tiny bite of my hot dog.

  I was never a fan of the processed meat, but there was something about a warm dog, straight off the roller that always made my mouth water. It brought me back to summers when we would actually leave the Hamptons and go to Coney Island. Dad would buy me a hot dog or a corn dog, and we’d ride the Ferris wheel and play ski ball.

  Back when I could do normal things without worrying about it being all over social media.

  In fact, getting the granita and now walking in Central Park with a hot dog was the most normal thing I’d done in years.

  Chris shrugged. “Hey, the ball’s in your court on that one, but we’re moving into your place if that’s the case. I don’t think my roommates would appreciate a wife.”

  “You have roommates?” I asked as we walked in step along the path.

  “Yeah, can’t exactly afford a place in the city, even Brooklyn without them.”

  “What are they like?”

  Chris stopped and turned toward me, his whiskey-colored eyes meeting mine. “Do you really care or are you just trying to make small talk?”

  “Why wouldn’t I care?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “Because this is a PR relationship. We should be talking strategy or what we can do to improve your image. I thought a walk in the park would be nice, instead of a stuffy restaurant with people staring at us. You know, almost like a real date, I guess. As real as a date can be when it’s a publicist and actress.”

  “You think too much. You know that?”

  He shrugged. “Gotta figure out the next move before someone else does. In business and life. Always trying to be one step ahead.”

  I wanted to tell him that it was because I felt like there was something more between us. Something real. Something I never felt with Eddie or any other guy for that matter. But if he thought all of this was a PR stunt then I’d go with it. It was about my career after all, right?

  “We’re trending. Number one on Twitter. Did you know that? Maybe we need a hashtag or something?” I asked, changing the subject before nibbling on my hot dog.

  “It’s a start to something, right?” he asked, finally smiling again.

  We started toward the pond, but Chris stopped near a bench where a man in ragged clothes and a beard that looked like something might be living in it, sat half-asleep or drunk.

  “Hey, Willy, the ducks biting today?” Chris asked, smiling as he put his hand on the guy’s shoulder. The shoulder I’m not sure I would have touched for fear something grimy would have come off it.

  The old man shook then looked up, a gummy smile filling his face. “Christiano! No ducks. No bites,” the man said in a gravelly voice.

  Chris handed the man one of his hot dogs. “Got you breakfast or lunch. Or as the fancy people call it brunch. You can always save the bun for the ducks, or eat it all. Hell, it’s your brunch.”

  Willy’s eyes lit up as he took the hot dog, staring at it as if it were precious jewels instead of a piece of processed meat on a bun. “The ducks and Willy will love this!”

  Willy giggled like a small child, still staring at the food and not even bothering to take a bite.

  “Awesome, man. I’m going to take my friend, Mary, here, for a walk around the pond. If you see any ducks, holler for us, will you?” Chris asked, leaning down next to the man.

  Willy briefly looked in my direction then back to the hot dog before nodding. “Willy will.”

  “Shall we continue on our walk?” Chris stood up, approaching me.

  “Do you know him?” Geez, that was a stupid question.

  Chris nodded. “Yeah. I see him every time I come to the park. Sometimes I bring him food; sometimes I just sit with him and watch the ducks when I need to clear my head.”

  My heart swelled. I’d never met a man who would just take time out of his day to hang out with a homeless man in the park. Who was this guy and what the hell was he doing to my heart and my body? And how the hell was I going to keep this just PR?

  Chapter 9

  Chris

  After walking around the park with Mary, I took her back to her apartment and headed to the office where a million emails were waiting for me and more texts from my mother wanting to know about my ‘date’.

  “So, how was brunch, hot shot?” Danny asked, a mouthful of ramen noodles as he peered over his cubicle.

  “I took her to meet Willy,” I mumbled, wondering why in the hell I actually did that.

  Willy was the first person who was ever nice to me when I moved to the city.

  I remember leaving my first modeling audition, after being told I wasn’t ‘ethnic enough’ and sitting on a bench in Central Park. I was wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life.

  That was when Willy sat down next to me and said, “When Willy sad. Willy feed ducks.”

  He handed me the one piece of bread he had, and we sat there, watching the ducks in silence. It was the first time anyone, but my family had been kind to me in the city, and it gave me a new boost of confidence. From then on, I made sure to visit the park a few times a week and bring the old man food.

  What drew me to take Ma
ry there, to show her that vulnerable and personal side of me, I couldn’t pinpoint. If this girl was more than just a client to me, she sure as hell wasn’t acting like I meant any more to her.

  Yeah, there was the flirting, the kiss, and of course talking to my mom, but she was an actress. It was what she did. I had to keep my head in the game.

  “Willy? Your creepy old man friend? Did she run for the hills?” Danny asked, holding onto our cubicle wall.

  I shrugged. “She was cool with it. Maybe some guy with a camera took a picture, and they’ll think she’s a good Samaritan. Then maybe somebody will recognize Willy or get him into a home or something. It’s a win-win situation.”

  That explanation at least sounded good in my head, and if this was all a PR game in the end, then that would be a good result.

  “So what’s the plan with Ms. James? Another sex tape? Maybe get her into porn? Because if she’s getting into that, I volunteer to be director. My phone has a good camera,” Danny said, waving his device.

  I shook my head. “Naw, man. It’s up to her agent to find her, her next role. I’m just here to help her image. But we have a strategy meeting tonight at her place.”

  “Spending the night with a client?” Danny wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Don’t get any ideas, man. It’s business. Strictly business.”

  Chapter 10

  Mary

  A business meeting. That’s the only reason Chris was coming over. That’s what I kept telling myself at least while I shaved my legs and blow dryed my hair. I tried to look cute yet casual in my leggings and low cut top that gave a slight peek-a-boo to my black lacy bra, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  What the hell was I doing?

  If I slept with my publicist and things going went south, then I’d be just another fallen celebrity and get the slut label. The girl who can’t hold a relationship but keeps fooling around.

  Though I could give Chris an NDA or some other contract. Then if he tried spouting some unsavory things, I could just slap him with a lawsuit. I should have done that with Eddie, looking back.

  But I couldn’t keep doing that. I couldn’t let my past mistakes control me, and I needed to move on.

  “The fake boyfriend is on his way up,” Brian said, knocking me out of my trance.

  I had moved from the bathroom to the living room and was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at my phone.

  I’d scrolled through so many social media apps and so many other things so many times in my life that I didn’t know how I’d survive without the thing glued to me.

  But now I wasn’t even paying attention to the words on the screen. My mind focused on a pair of whiskey-colored eyes and a smile. Both belonging to the guy who was supposed to be my fake boyfriend.

  “Okay,” I said quickly, opening up some random app, so I didn’t look like I was just staring at my background.

  The door buzzed, Brian sulking to accept the request for a visitor. I should have just kept my head down and been uninterested, but instead, I found myself completely turning toward the door. I couldn’t help the huge grin that crossed my face when Chris crossed the threshold.

  For a brief second, I thought I saw the same look cross his face. That joy of seeing someone you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  But as quickly as it appeared, Chris cleared his throat, his face stoic again as he walked toward the couch.

  “Hey, Mary, good to see you again.” He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on my temple before taking the seat next to me on the couch, still leaving over a foot between us.

  I frowned. I didn’t want chaste. I didn’t want space.

  Even if it would just be meaningless in the end, I wanted him. Though, with a guy who would feed a homeless man in the park and take phone calls from his mom, I had a feeling that nothing was meaningless with Chris.

  “So, should we get started? I printed out some items I thought we could look over and develop a strategy,” Chris said, leaning over and opening his leather bag on the coffee table.

  “Why don’t we have dinner first?” I blurted, without thinking what I was saying, just knew that I wanted more casual time with Chris before it was spreadsheets and graphs or whatever else he had in his bag.

  “I mean, I’m starving. Are you hungry? What about you, Brian?” I looked up, trying to get some backup from my bodyguard, who stood there with his hands crossed over his chest, staring down at us like two rotten little kids.

  “Yeah. I can always eat. Want me to see if Lance can pick up Chinese?”

  “Does that sound good to you, Chris?” I asked, blinking slowly, hoping he wouldn’t just turn it down and go to business.

  Chris nodded. “Yeah. I could always eat.”

  “And maybe have a glass of wine with me? What goes well with Chinese food? I think I have a bottle or two of Riesling chilling in the fridge.” I shot up, rushing toward the fridge. Maybe alcohol would calm my nerves that I had no idea where they were coming from.

  “I’m not much of a wine guy,” Chris said, following me slowly to the kitchen.

  I thought maybe he’d stay sitting down, but instead, I found my hands shaking and I practically threw the glass bottle on the counter so I wouldn’t drop it. Luckily, it didn’t break on the marble of the island either.

  “I think Brian knows where the hard stuff is. Or he can run to the bodega for some beer if you’d prefer. Can we order that online for delivery too?” I asked, looking at Brian.

  Chris laughed, his warm hand falling on mine and I found myself staring into his endless brown eyes. “Are you nervous to have me in your apartment right now, Mary?”

  “No. Why would you say that?” I asked, trying to be nonchalant. Hell, I met the president and Meryl Streep and didn’t get this choked up.

  This wasn’t me. This wasn’t me at all. I was a damn actress, and if I had nerves, I had to suck it up and put back on the bitch face. It was why those damn Teen Scene awards always gave me “Biggest Bitch” or “Most Venomous Villain” awards.

  “You just seem tense. That’s all. Was it something I said at the park, because, shit, if I offended you, you know it’s all in good-natured ribbing,” Chris said, running his hands through his short hair.

  “Please. I’m just hangry and need a drink,” I said, rolling my eyes for good measure before looking across the living room to Brian, typing away on his phone. “Did you make sure to order from that organic Chinese place that doesn’t use gluten in their egg rolls?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Lance is about to go pick up the order now,” Brian said, waving his hand.

  “Then I guess we should have a drink and talk business. Maybe you have something more than pie charts and graphs about how to do this PR stuff,” I waved my hand before grabbing the electric bottle opener.

  “Well, for starters, I’d say you should stop acting like such a hot and cold bitch all the time.”

  My eyes widened as I dropped the bottle opener and stared at him. “What the hell did you just say to me?”

  Brian raised a quizzical eyebrow, and I nodded, telling him I was okay before I took a few steps closer, closing the distance between Chris and I. “I don’t know what shit you’re trying to pull, but this is me. Like it or not. You signed on to be my publicist and my fake boyfriend. We’re in this together. If I fail then obviously you fail too.”

  He smirked as if I didn’t just threaten his job but said something humorous. “Sweetheart, I could throw numbers at you and talk social media or whatever else all day long. We could sit, have some wine and talk about what you want in your career and what I want. But we both know, right now, all we want to do is rip each other’s clothes off, and I’m perfectly okay with that too.”

  My breath caught in my throat and then traveled all the way down beneath my panties. This guy was far too cocky for his own good, and as much as I wouldn’t mind getting between the sheets with him, the better part of myself told me this was professional only. “Why don’t you ope
n the wine and pour us each a glass then I’ll look at your damn spreadsheets or whatever else, fake boyfriend? Maybe we can even take a selfie or whatever you Instagram models do while we’re doing it.”

  Chris nodded, taking the wine opener, but not before his fingers pressed against mine, sending another jolt straight to my belly button. If these little touches were going to continue, I was going to have to change my panties soon.

  “Sounds fine to me, fake girlfriend. Get your face on for some selfies.”

  Chapter 11

  Chris

  I wasn’t a big drinker, and when I did drink, it was usually a few coronas or even some hard liquor.

  No one in my family drank wine, and no one actually told me how strong the stuff was, especially after sharing two bottles with Mary and some gluten free egg rolls that surprisingly didn’t suck.

  “Lo, Lance and I are going to call it a night and head home. If you and Chris are okay?” Brian’s gravelly voice carried over us on the couch, where the spreadsheets laid untouched on the table while Mary and I took another selfie with a dog snapchat filter.

  “Oh, yeah, we’re totally fine,” Mary said, waving her hand and not looking up from her phone as Brian left the room.

  “Lo?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and looking back to Mary.

  “Short for Lourdes. My real name. Though maybe people don’t know that. You probably should have if you’re the one doing my paperwork,” she said, rattling it off without looking up at me and taking a large gulp of her almost empty wine glass, polishing it off.

  “Christiano.”

  “What?” Mary asked.

  “That’s my real name. Only my mother or aunts ever call me that, though.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my wine. Now I was starting to see why people drank this stuff. It was going down like grape juice.

  “When I started acting and got my first major role, I was told Lourdes the brunette wouldn’t get major work, so Mom dyed my hair, and I started going by Mary James and boom! Landed a soap opera. I wish it were that easy to turn my career around again,” she muttered the last part, draining her glass.