by Adele Buck
James squeezed her hand and she looked at him, her eyes a little shiny. “No, Fred. It’s not because I don’t want you ‘that way.’ I want you that way, and this way, and the other way. All the ways.”
“Okay.” Freddie’s fingers returned the pressure and the corner of her mouth quirked up.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When it’s right, we’ll know.”
He just hoped it was true.
A few days later, Freddie was packing up her things after rehearsal. The cast milled around, gathering their own belongings and talking. A sudden, unnatural hush from the stage made Freddie look up. Almost to a person, the cast was looking at the back of the house. Turning her head, she saw James, standing at the top of the aisle, shaking hands and chatting with Michael. He was wearing a soft-looking dark green Henley, the sleeves pushed up to reveal muscled forearms. Freddie suppressed a sigh.
The man doesn’t even have to try to make an entrance. He just does.
Glancing back at the stage, she saw that, with the exception of Candace and Susan, the cast had mostly returned to their normal activities and stopped staring. Candace’s face might as well have been replaced with a heart-eyes emoji. Her mouth was even hanging open a little. Susan was looking at James with undisguised fury, her eyes narrow and her lips tight.
Strap in, this is going to get interesting.
Candace hopped down from the stage, setting an intercept course for James as he moved down the aisle. Freddie shouldered her bag, stiffening when Susan moved over to stand by her.
“So. You two are still an item,” Susan said, her voice like an edged weapon.
Freddie’s stomach tightened and her pulse quickened. “Again, not still,” she said, proud of the way she was able to control her voice. It didn’t shake, squeak, or waver. She picked up her mechanical pencil from the table and slid it into the outer pocket of her bag, focusing on the mundane task to avoid the actress’s gaze.
Susan’s eyes slid from Freddie to James and back again. “I saw on a gossip site that he was moving back into town. Still in television, is he?”
I’m sure you know he is. Freddie nodded. “That new superhero show.”
Susan rolled her eyes, a swift dismissive flick. “I suppose it pays the bills. It’s not art, though.”
Freddie suppressed a laugh. Michael had told her that Susan’s last job was an industrial video on product safety for a toy company. Her Serious Theater Artiste pose was just that—a delusion that only she believed.
“Well.” Susan’s spine straightened. “I’m not hanging around to chitchat with the guy who made me look bad in front of Paul Mainwaring.”
Unable to keep from snorting, Freddie turned the noise into a cough. Susan hadn’t needed anyone’s help to look bad in front of the director. She had one too many meltdowns in rehearsal and he had declined to extend her contract when The Catalyst transferred from regional theater to a New York run.
But of course she would see that as someone else’s fault. Susan, according to Susan, was never at fault. Always a victim.
Susan moved up the aisle where James was backing away from Candace, practically peeling his body away from the avid redhead, one hand extended as if ready to fend her off. He glanced at Susan as she approached. Despite her claim of not wanting to speak with him, Susan’s next words were clearly audible to everyone.
“So, you’re dating our stage manager. How long has that been going on?”
James’s response was a low murmur, rejecting the attention-seeking tones she had adopted.
Susan’s next words rang out. “Huh. Funny you’d say that now since you told Hollywood So Fine that you were single.”
James’s veins ran with ice water.
Yep, same old Susan.
His brain scrambled for purchase, trying to remember the short interview with its disorienting revelations. He hadn’t given much thought to it since, what with working, making an offer on the apartment, and getting the paperwork he needed for the closing. Without glancing at Freddie, he took a steadying breath and said, “No, I didn’t say that. I told that journalist that my private life was private. I haven’t seen what they posted, but if they said I said I was single, they’re fabricating.”
“Hm.” Susan’s eyes narrowed and he could see that fine lines now fanned out from their corners, her perpetual dissatisfaction now permanently etched into her face.
James couldn’t find much sympathy for this. It was self-imposed, after all. Susan had been given all the advantages in the world: talent, beauty, intelligence of a sort. Or cunning, at least. And instead of using them to bring joy to the world, she used them as weapons, seeing anyone who wasn’t her as the enemy.
Susan’s lips crimped together. “Well. Congratulations on the TV gig. Hope it lasts.”
James almost laughed. That was about the most gracious thing he’d ever heard from Susan’s mouth. Coupled, of course, with the implication that the show would be cancelled more or less immediately. He inclined his head toward the stage.
“And to you. I can’t sing or dance, so I don’t know what this entails, but I’m sure it’s impressive.” He allowed himself a sort of petty congratulation on his restraint for not following that up with, “At your age.” There was no need to sink to the woman’s level.
“Well. Yes.” Susan’s shoulders straightened as she preened slightly. “Musical theater is challenging, but I do enjoy a challenge.”
You are a challenge, you monster. “Right. Well, I have a date with my best girl, so nice seeing you again, Susan.” He glanced around to see if the dizzy, predatory redhead was still around, but she seemed to have taken herself off. Thank God. The woman had been as transparent as spring water, though hardly as refreshing. He was a piece of meat to her, pure and simple. He spotted Freddie in the theater’s aisle, her shoulders hunched as he approached, a bad sign.
“What’s up, Fred? What’s the matter?”
“Gossip sites?” Her dark eyes flicked up to his face, then she busied herself looking for something in her bag. James suspected it was a something that didn’t exist and she therefore wouldn’t find.
He held up his index finger. “One gossip site. The PR people sprung it on me without warning.”
“And you said you were single?”
James’s neck went rigid. “No. Did you not hear what I told Susan?”
Freddie’s breath huffed, a puff of impatience and temper. “No. She was the only one whose voice was carrying loud enough to be heard.”
“As I’m sure she wanted it to.” James licked his lips and tried to summon the patience to deal with Susan fucking Vernon again. “That woman doesn’t do anything halfway. She’s always been up to no good. Anyway, I didn’t say I was single. I told the reporter that my private life was private. If they published something else, I don’t know what to do about that.”
Freddie was standing a little straighter now, her composure returning even as her face flooded with color. “Sorry. It was…that was just weird.”
James reached out and rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry too. I should have mentioned it to you. The reporter said some weird stuff that I haven’t even confirmed yet. Fan stuff. I guess I have fans now. Who knew? I’ve been so wound up in shooting and trying to get this apartment settled… it completely slipped my mind.” He thought back to the girls on the subway. Wondered if there was more of that in his future. “I was approached by two strangers who recognized me the other day, wanting photographs. Pretty surreal.”
Shrugging, Freddie looked at him for a long moment, her eyes telling him nothing about her mental state. His arm dropped to his side and she turned and set out up the aisle. “Um. Okay.”
“Are you all right?” He hurried after her, hitching his backpack up on his shoulder.
Freddie stopped so abruptly he almost ran into her. “I don’t know. I didn’t consider what would happen if…you being in the spotlight. I don’t know what to do with that.”
James reached out a
nd gripped both her shoulders in his hands, fingers flexing gently. “Hey. Let’s figure out what exactly this all is before you run away screaming.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Freddie’s skeptical eyes scanned his face.
“I was thinking we’d try Google.”
While they had originally planned to go to the Met, Freddie’s skin crawled with unease about the gossip site and she suggested going to her place.
“We can check my laptop,” she suggested. Half of her wanted to keep the stupid computer closed and never find out what was going on and half of her burned with curiosity.
When she opened the front door to her apartment, Miranda hopped down from the sofa and greeted them with a trembling, back-arched stretch and yawn, her sharp teeth bared and her eyes squinting with the effort of it.
“Nice to see you too, Miss Lady,” James said, bending over to stroke her. She butted his hand with her head and he laughed softly. “Never had a cat. Are they all like this?”
“Like what?” Freddie put her bag down on a chair and moved over to open her laptop. Opening up a browser window, she typed in James’ name and the name of the tv show.
James, moving behind her and looking over her shoulder, pointed at a link halfway down the page of search results. “The URL says, fyjamesmartin? Fuck you, James Martin? That doesn’t sound very fan-like.”
Freddie clicked on the link. The header for a tumblr blog sprang into view, proclaiming, “Fuck Yeah, James Martin.” Freddie started to laugh so hard she nearly choked. Scrolling a little way down the page, she saw that it was mostly photographs. “When did all these get taken?” Some of them were pretty beefcakey: James lounging by a pool, his white shirt unbuttoned and his gaze fixed on something in the distance. James pulling himself out of that same pool, wet shirt still unbuttoned and now completely translucent, giving a come-hither look into the camera, water sliding over the hard planes of his chest. Freddie had to admit they were hot. She looked back at James, who was rubbing his face, his eyes closed and his expression sheepish.
“Dammit. My manager in L.A. thought that was a good idea. I never thought the photographs went anywhere. Thought they were a complete waste of money.”
“Well somebody sure likes them.” Freddie continued to scroll. A shot of two young—very young— women on what looked like a New York subway car with James. A selfie. The two girls were grinning maniacally. James’s smile, if Freddie was any judge of the situation, was more of a professional production than a display of real emotion. “Wait. Weren’t you wearing that shirt the other day when we looked at your apartment?”
James was staring at the screen, his mouth open slightly. “Yeah. I was on my way to meet the realtor. Those are the two I told you about before. They recognized me, asked if they could take a picture. I didn’t realize it would end up… well, anywhere, really.”
“Looks like it’s ended up somewhere quite a few times,” Freddie said, hovering her cursor over a note at the bottom that said “275 notes.” Clicking on it, a window popped up saying, “149 likes and 126 reblogs.”
She scrolled through some of the comments until James straightened, saying, “Enough,” his voice pained. Freddie didn’t know whether to laugh or roll her eyes. The comments were typical teenage girl fare.
Oooh. I can’t believe you got so lucky!
He’s OTT or HOTT, OR BOTH, LOL.
I’m melting! This was accompanied by an animated gif of a woman fainting.
Turning in her chair, Freddie looked at James head on. He stared back, eyes glassy. “What am I going to do about this?” he asked.
Freddie laughed. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Dude. You’re getting famous. That’s job security. I think you suck it up and deal.”
His brain scrambling like a squirrel in a trap, James paced around Freddie’s small living room.
“You okay?” Freddie asked. “I mean, I know this is pretty freaky, but… wasn’t it what you wanted?”
“What I wanted?” James stopped walking and turned to her as she stood up from her chair and closed the laptop, shutting out what seemed like endlessly scrolling images of him… and yet not him. Some publicist’s version of him. Some stranger’s version. “I wanted to act. I wanted to work. This…” He gestured at the computer. “This has nothing to do with anything I ever wanted.”
Freddie’s eyebrow quirked up. “Dude. You work in television. You’re so gorgeous, it’s ridiculous. You never thought about what would happen if you got famous?”
James lifted one hand as if trying to grasp for words. “I…it never seemed like the kind of success that would bring attention like this was in the cards for me. I just figured I’d be—at best—a middle of the pack working actor.”
“So you’ve exceeded your goals. What’s so wrong with that?” Freddie moved to stand in front of him, her head tilted back to look him in the eyes.
James settled his hands on her shoulders. They felt strong and warm. Real. Not like… whatever that was that they had just seen. “It just seems so out of control. Out of hand. Invasive. Weird. I mean, I’ve been snapped by the paps before, but I always felt like if I was getting attention it was because there was nobody around who was more important to focus on and they needed to take pictures of somebody—anybody. Third, fourth choice for people who made their living off of that kind of thing. But this… these people could fixate on anyone they wanted to and they picked…me.”
Freddie rubbed her hands over his. “I don’t find that so crazy. I picked you too.”
James’ fingers flexed, squeezing her shoulders. “Yeah, but you know me. Those people, they don’t know me. They haven’t even met me. The show hasn’t even aired yet. That’s just weird. It seems obsessive.”
“It’s fan culture. You’ve never seen it in action?”
“Yeah. It’s just different when you’re the one in the spotlight.” He drew Freddie to him, her body solid and comforting against him. Her arms slid around his waist and he took a long breath. “Sorry to freak out all over you.”
Her hands moved over his back, soothing. “That’s okay. First and foremost we’ve always been friends. That’s what friends do. Freak out on each other. Weather the freak-out storm together.”
Her steadiness and the warmth of her body soaked into him. He stroked her silky hair and her face tilted up to look at him, dark eyes steady and assessing.
Without another thought, he bent and kissed her, the lightest brush of his lips over hers. She rose up on her toes, seeking more, her hands moving up his chest and around the back of his neck. Groaning softly, he opened his lips and angled his head as her tongue sought his. The citrus scent of her hair, the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth—they were all immediate, demanding his attention, driving away the anxiety and out-of-control feelings. Arousal coiled in his belly, moved lower as Freddie pressed closer, her soft breasts pressing against him and weakening his knees.
Something else soft and warm thudded against his lower legs and dragged. The cat. James ignored her and turned his attention to feathering kisses down the column of Freddie’s neck.
Pain sizzled through the back of his thigh. Jerking upright, he looked over his shoulder and down.
The damn cat had reared up on her hind legs and sunk her claws into his leg.
“Miranda!” Freddie’s face was on fire with mortification as she stooped to grab at the cat at the same time as James moved to do the same. Pain exploded in her temple as it connected with James’ forehead and she staggered back a couple of steps. Miranda took the distraction as an opportunity to race into the bedroom, a black and orange streak speeding across the floor.
“Ow.” James stepped back a couple of paces and sank onto the love seat, rubbing his forehead.
“Yeah. Ow for sure.” Freddie stood, likewise rubbing her temple where it had connected with James’s head.
James squinted at her for a long moment and her face, which had cool
ed a bit, heated up again. His eyes creased in a smile and he waved her towards him, his hands beckoning her to sit. “Come here. You need ice?”
“For what? My head or my embarrassment? Are you okay?” Moving stiffly and pressing her hands to her heated cheeks, Freddie walked to the couch, turned, and sank down next to him. His arm snaked around her shoulders, pulling her against him. She resisted for a moment, clinging to her embarrassment and grievance against the cat, then collapsed against him, allowing his big hand to cradle her head against his chest.
“That’s better.” His deep voice rumbled against the ear that was pressed to him, warm and comforting, his breath a steady rise and fall under her cheek.
“Sorry about my stupid fucking cat,” she mumbled.
His hand stroked her hair. “Don’t worry about it. She startled me more than anything.”
“Still. My cat, my apartment, your leg.”
His chest vibrated under her cheek with a low chuckle. “Fred, she’s a cat. You’re saying you can control a cat? What are you, a miracle worker?”
“No, but she’s never done that before. I think she’s jealous. She likes you.”
“Well, maybe she was our conscience. We did agree to take things slow. And that was heading towards…not slow. On-ramp to the fast lane, for sure.”
Freddie suppressed a frustrated growl. “I want to wring her neck.”
Another chuckle bounced against her face and she lifted her head to look at him. “I could too,” he said, “But you know it’s probably for the best. We haven’t fought since we decided to take things slow.”
Freddie settled her aching head back onto his chest, thinking. “Is that going to be the only barometer of our success? If we’re fighting or not? Because we’re people. We’re going to disagree and fight. At least occasionally.”
His hand moved up and down her back, soothing in spite of her internal tumult. “Yeah. We’re going to disagree. But I think this restraint is helping. And I look forward to kissing you again. Everywhere.”
