Celebrity

by De Ross, Melinda

  I found my panties and jeans, put them on and went downstairs into the living room, where I found Duke sprawled on the sofa. He was alert though, cautious of the unfamiliar surroundings. I sat with him for a bit, stroking him as I talked in a whisper, to reassure him all was well.

  We both went into the kitchen. The fridge was nearly empty, but I managed to scrape the makings for a sandwich—peanut butter and biscuits. I gave Duke the last piece of ham and refilled a bowl of water for him. Then, having nothing else to do, I padded up the stairs again. In the bedroom, I took off my clothes, put them on a chair, then got back into bed next to Blake. As soon as I touched him, he drew me closer possessively, the way a lion keeps his paw over his piece of meat. I was still smiling at the thought when I fell into a deep sleep.

  ****

  Duke gave us a rather rude awakening the next morning. I must have left the bedroom door open, because I was yanked from sleep by a heavy set of paws trampling all over me and Blake. I opened my eyes in time to see Duke’s hairy butt as he circled twice, then settled down between us, resting his big head on my lap.

  “Go away, dog,” I mumbled, trying to push him aside.

  “God, he’s heavy,” muttered Blake, prying his eyes open. “Hey, buddy, that’s my liver you’re crushing.”

  He reached out a hand and began scratching Duke’s ears. Duke yawned hugely and moved his head onto Blake’s lap, adjusting himself for maximum rubbing access.

  “If he were a cat, he would purr loud enough to make the bed vibrate,” I remarked, stretching sleepily. “What time is it?”

  Blake turned his head to look at the clock on his nightstand.

  “8:15. Wow, I haven’t slept this late in weeks. I’m becoming a slob.”

  The sarcasm in his voice made me laugh, as did his whistle when I climbed out of bed and he noticed I was naked.

  “Man, you were here all night, next to me, naked, and I did nothing but sleep?” he asked incredulously. “I must have been in a coma.”

  “Just dead tired, poor baby... Listen, I wanted to unpack last night after you fell asleep, but I had no idea where to put anything.” I unzipped his suitcase and rummaged inside until I found a clean T-shirt. I put it on, then shimmied into my panties.

  Blake managed to slip from under Duke and got out of bed. As usual unmindful of his nakedness, he gave me an affectionate pat on the head and knelt beside me to help take the clothes out of his sports bag.

  “Pretty much everything goes into the laundry basket. And these go onto the bathroom shelf,” he said, handing me a small toilet bag, from which I removed a bottle of shower gel, soap, shaving cream, tooth paste, and a few other items.

  I got to my feet, my arms loaded with dirty clothes.

  “You’d better show me where the washing machine is.”

  Since there wasn’t anything to eat, we ordered three pizzas—one for each. By the time the food arrived, I was dressed again and loading the washing machine a second time.

  “I’ll get it!” I shouted to Blake, who was upstairs, talking on the phone with Mark.

  I grabbed my bag from the living room, fishing inside for my wallet as I ran to the front door. A young boy with a snake tattooed on his neck handed me the three large pizzas. After I paid him, I bent to pick up the newspaper from the doormat and pushed the door closed with my foot.

  I took the pizzas to the kitchen and put them on the counter, sniffing the aromatic steam. I was about to call out to Blake, when my gaze fell on the newspaper. I sat down very slowly, staring at the front page. There was an old photo of me there, and next to it, a photo of Richard. Above them, a bold headline screamed the nasty title: KENDRA KENSINGTON’S DIRTY LITTLE SECRET: EX-BOYFRIEND TELLS ALL. HAS BLAKE TYLER MANAGED TO WARM UP THE ICE QUEEN? Under it, strategically placed next to Richard’s picture, there was a line written in italic letters and encased with quotation marks: “I don’t know how such a frigid woman can write about romance and sex. She never managed to satisfy me in bed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Something broke inside me. I could actually feel the tear as my gaze scanned the article, pausing here and there, when a particularly ugly phrase caught my attention. The title had successfully captured the essence of the statement Richard had given to the press. I stared dumbstruck at the newspaper, wondering how and why he would do this to me. A torrent of humiliation and shame flooded me, at the same time my eyes filled with painful tears. I felt as though I was being ripped apart, my very essence shattered into a million pieces. All the self-confidence I’d gained since I met Blake turned into dust. I read the headlines again and again, trying to suppress the dry sobs that built a chocking pressure inside my chest. This wasn’t me. They were writing about someone else.

  Or were they? I lifted my head and caught my reflection in the immaculate glass of a paneled cabinet. For the first time in my life I experienced a terrifying feeling of depersonalization. Who was this woman, staring back at me with ravaged eyes? Was she the loving, sexy woman Blake had fallen in love with, or the cold, frigid bitch Richard had seen in me? What scared me the most was that, right then, I didn’t know the answer.

  I pressed my fist against my mouth, breathing deeply. I needed to get out of there, right now. I couldn’t face Blake, couldn’t face anyone. My entire world had collapsed, and my first reaction was to run away as fast as possible. I didn’t stop to think about what was right or wrong. I just snatched my bag from the kitchen table, then darted out the front door. As I ran, I threw a look over my shoulder and saw Duke standing in the doorway, watching me with troubled brown eyes. But I couldn’t take him with me. I had no idea where I was going. I only knew I had to escape.

  I climbed into my car, revved the engine and took off in a cloud of dust, still not fully aware of what I was doing, or why. A strange numbness enveloped me, but in the back of my mind I was aware of everything. The situation was bad enough for me to face, but when I imagined Blake, my parents, my friends reading that article, I couldn’t contain my desperation any longer. I let myself cry, let all the heart-wrenching sobs echo in the empty car, as I drove half blinded with tears along the streets of Los Angeles.

  “God, what am I going to do? What will Blake think?”

  When I voiced this disturbing thought, I realized this was the reason the article had affected me so much. To be humiliated so cruelly in the eyes of the man I loved was public crucifixion. There was no way out of this situation. I was being ridiculed and insulted in the lowest, dirtiest way possible.

  But why? What had I ever done to Richard to make him loathe me so much that he would say those things about me to a national newspaper? If ever there was a master of blows below the belt, Richard was it. I couldn’t fight back. I was defenseless against this vicious, uncalled for attack.

  My phone rang inside my bag, making me jump. I knew by the ringtone it was Blake, and cursed myself for leaving the newspaper on the table, in plain sight. He must have read the article by now. I was sure he was worried sick, but I simply couldn’t face him, not even over the phone. With one hand on the wheel, I reached into my bag and switched off the phone, wishing I could do the same to all the pain that was going to haunt me and my loved ones for a long time.

  I had no idea how long I’d been driving, when I found myself on a dead-end road. I barely had time to step on the brakes in front of a barrier stamped with the message: DO NOT TRESPASS. Beyond it I could see the ocean, bordering what I assumed was a private beach. Unmindful of the laws I was breaking, I opened the door and got out of the car. There was no one around, so I squeezed myself between the barrier and a tall hedge, then walked down the beach until I reached the edge of the water.

  The ocean was moody today. The same wind that ruffled my hair stirred the water, so wave after wave stroked the shore, some gently, some more roughly, in a graceful, hypnotic ballet. It reminded me of Blake’s way of making love. Sometimes he was tender, sometimes aggressive, yet he always managed to turn every sensation into a peak of d
elirious pleasure.

  Tears stung my eyes again as I lay down on the cool sand, facing the ocean. The October sun was shining weakly above me. Now and then, fingers of cold water slid to stroke me gently, as though nature was trying to bring me a bit of comfort.

  I sat there for hours, not moving, lost in recollections, then in frantic searches of a way out of this mess. There wasn’t one. Or if there was, my mind was too rattled to find a solution. I would have to leave this fragile oasis soon. I would have to switch on my phone, face everyone. That wasn’t so bad, but what hurt the most was the thought of facing Blake. To see pity or disgust in his eyes would kill me. I was sure he would support me, outwardly, but what would he really think of me, deep down? Would he wonder why Richard said I was so lousy in bed, such an unfeeling lover? Would he start seeing me like that too? The thought was too painful to contemplate.

  Trying to take my mind off my situation, I focused on my body, which was alerting me to several facts: I was chilled to the bone, hungry, very thirsty, and I desperately needed to pee. I had to get to a bathroom, quickly.

  I sat heavily, hugging my thin cardigan around me and swaying slightly from dehydration and lack of food. On my way back to the car, I dusted the sand from my clothes and hair, feeling my hands frozen and clumsy.

  Disoriented, I consulted the GPS, grateful when I discovered a mall nearby. I drove toward it with increasing urgency, fighting the crazy traffic. I was just making a U-turn into the large parking lot, when I nearly ran over a skinny redhead. She was crossing the street, her eyes glued to her phone, and one hand tugging her minuscule red dress down to cover her ass.

  “Watch where you’re going you stupid bitch!” I shouted at her through the open window, feeling my nerves at the breaking point.

  When she turned her head and I saw it was Sandra, I gaped at her, forgetting all about my anger. She, on the other hand, cursed me quite inventively for several seconds before she recognized me. When she did, she started laughing, gesticulating incoherently until a couple of cars began honking their horns impatiently.

  Sandra was the first to realize we were holding up the traffic, so she ran quickly around the car and jumped onto the passenger seat.

  “Drive before they lynch us,” she said, still giggling.

  I did as she instructed, found a parking spot, then turned to her.

  “Don’t say anything until I’ve used the bathroom. My bladder is about to explode!”

  “Come on, I’ll take you,” she said, rushing beside me on four inch red heels.

  We didn’t talk during our mad dash for the nearest ladies room, but as soon as I got out, Sandra started to grill me.

  “What the hell happened to you? You look dreadful,” she said, reaching out to smooth my ruffled hair. “Don’t tell me you’re upset because of that silly story from Keyhole.”

  My shoulders slumped as I walked to the hand basin to wash my hands and face. She knew already. Probably everyone did. I watched the water going down the drain for a minute, wishing I could do the same. Then I turned to face Sandra.

  “It’s not that silly, you know. Richard might have a point, although I couldn’t understand why he felt the need to make it public.”

  “Oh, bullshit! Girl, do you really think a man like Blake would have stuck by you if you were frigid and lousy in bed? Get real!” She waved her arms, gesticulating as she paced the mall bathroom, which thankfully was empty. “I mean, it’s obvious the man is hot and I bet he’s amazing in bed. Any idiot who watches you two can see there’s an incredible chemistry between you. That wouldn’t be the case if you didn’t satisfy him in bed, and then some. It’s obvious why that asshole ex of yours is doing this. He’s insane with jealousy. I bet he never got you off and he’s got a two inch dick,” she added in an undertone.

  I nearly smiled.

  “Maybe not two inches, but... God, Sandra, I feel so embarrassed, so humiliated!” I sank down beside a white tiled wall, burying my face in my hands. “How can I face anyone, ever?”

  She knelt beside me and yanked my hands down.

  “Simple. In the true Hollywood way: with class and dignity. If you know how to spin this around, Tiny Cock Richard will be the one whose feathers will be ruffled the most. Kendra, this is nothing. You should see what the tabloids write about me,” she added, laughing. “A few months ago I read an article that said I aborted Rod Stewart’s child. I mean, Rod Stewart! I didn’t mind about the abortion thing, but he could be my grandfather, for God’s sake! Why didn’t they pick Chris Pratt or Jason Statham?”

  She looked so genuinely scandalized I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. One could never stay sad when Sandra was around. She had such a cheeky and shameless personality, she should have been a depression counselor.

  When I told her that, she rolled her eyes and said she had no patience with people who spent their time in a permanent pity party.

  “Life is about knowing what you want and getting it. I don’t understand people who sit around eating chocolates and whining because some almighty power doesn’t offer them everything they want on a silver platter. You want something, you work your ass off, do what you have to, and get it. Come on, get up.”

  As I took her outstretched hand, I surveyed her in a new light. There was an impressive determination in her eyes, a tough side to her I’d never seen before, and which I admired. I wondered for the first time just how she’d landed in Hollywood, and what she had to do to accomplish her dream of becoming an actress.

  “You know, when I met you, I’m ashamed to say I thought you were silly and flighty,” I confessed softly, as we walked arm in arm back to my car, ignoring the people moving to and fro around us.

  Sandra glanced at me, looking amused.

  “Don’t worry about it, everyone who doesn’t know me thinks that. I want them to think it. You could say it’s a defense mechanism, this facade under which stars have to hide. Take Marilyn Monroe, for example. She was always perceived as a dumb blonde, a sex symbol without a brain. She despised that image, but she had to stick to it, because that was what made her famous and gave her a chance to conquer Hollywood. Besides, if she made her vulnerabilities public, those who claimed to adore her would have turned against her and chewed her to bits. Everyone who knew personal, intimate things about her used them at one point, and betrayed her trust.” She shrugged philosophically. “That’s Hollywood for you, babe. To survive, you need a mask. Never let them see who you really are, never show your weaknesses.”

  I was considering her advice, when we reached the car and Sandra stretched out her hand, palm up. I stared down at it, puzzled.

  “What?”

  “Give me the keys. I’m not letting you drive and kill us both. Have you had anything to eat today?”

  I shook my head. Blowing out a sigh, I fished for my keys inside my bag, then handed them to her.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, climbing onto the passenger seat. I realized again how weak I felt because of the lack of food, water, and a complete emotional collapse.

  “First, to a fast food joint. Then, we’ll see.” She started the engine and drove off, raising her eyebrows in appreciation.

  “I like this baby. It’s a man’s car. Makes me want to dress in a suit and smoke a Cuban cigar, as I drive with the music blaring.”

  I chuckled, letting my head fall back on the headrest. “Have you ever smoked a Cuban cigar?”

  The question was rhetorical, so I was surprised when she replied, “Sure. Honey, I’ve done just about everything you can think of. I like new experiences.” She waited a beat, then asked, “So, where is Blake? Has he seen the newspaper?”

  All at once, I felt dejected again. “He must have, by now. I spent the night at his house, and then this morning I was in the kitchen, waiting for pizza. Blake was upstairs. As soon as I saw the newspaper, I bolted without a word. I don’t know what I was thinking. He tried to call me, but I switched off my phone.”

  “He must be worried sick, poor g
uy,” she said reproachfully. “You’re such an idiot. This man seriously cares about you.”

  I gazed out the window, listlessly. Deep in my heart, I knew she was right. After having time to think about the whole situation, I knew Blake would support me. I realized now Richard had made those statements to the press out of spite, because Blake and I were really good together. It must be eating at him slowly—my success, the fact that I was happy. Most of all, he must be consumed with jealousy now that I had a real man by my side. But the question still lingered in my mind, like a nagging pain one can’t exactly locate: “Am I woman enough for Blake?”

  ****

  A cheeseburger, fries and a large Cola later, I was feeling more energized. I still hadn’t mustered the courage to switch on my phone and call Blake, even though guilt gnawed at me. I knew he must be out of his mind with worry. On top of that, I had abandoned Duke too, burdening Blake with another responsibility. Today was definitely the worst day of my life.

  When we climbed back into the car and left the burger joint, Sandra was still behind the wheel. I was leaning back in the passenger seat, but when I saw the route she was taking I became alert. This wasn’t the road to Malibu.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To show the world how false the tabloid gossip is. Mark’s having a party to celebrate finishing filming.”

  I gaped at her. “Are you crazy? I can’t go to a party!”

  She shot me a look. “Oh, yes, you can. But for God’s sake, do something with your face first,” she said, dumping the contents of her small black bag in my lap.

  I stared dumbly at the pile of cosmetics, but didn’t touch them. “Sandra, I really can’t go to a party. I’m a mess, both emotionally and, as you pointed out, aesthetically.”

  “Listen,” she said on a long breath. “I’m not asking you to wiggle your ass all night long. I just think it’s best you make an appearance and act naturally, to settle all the nasty rumors. We’ll only have a couple of drinks and then I’ll drive you home. After that, I’ll take a cab to get me back to my car. It’s still in the parking lot at the mall.”