Hollywood Princess

by Natasha Madison

  “What do you want?” she finally says with her hand on the doorknob. She’s looking at me, but it’s more like a glare.

  “What do I want?” It wasn’t really a rhetorical question, but everything I was going to say to her went away in a cloud of smoke when she opened her door.

  “I’m waiting Mr. Time and a Half.” She puts both of her hands in the air, mocking me.

  “Do you know what I went through tonight?” I ask her, leaning forward and putting both of my hands on the doorjamb.

  “Yeah, I heard she tried to touch your penis.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Tried to touch my penis. The woman thought I wouldn’t fucking notice that she was pulling my zipper down!” I roar out.

  “You are so dramatic,” she says. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Wasn’t that bad?” I shake my head. “I thought I was having dinner with fucking Ursula,” I say to her and then turn away from the door before I storm to her and plant her on the bed and rip that fucking sorry excuse of an outfit off her. Her whole back is fucking bare, and I know she isn’t wearing a bra. The whole fucking dinner I was on fucking pins and needles from watching the exits and making sure she was safe to seeing her laugh at his jokes.

  “Ursula?” Throwing my hands up in the air, I turn and walk away from the door. Opening the fridge, I take out a mickey of whiskey and down it in one shot. It burns all the way down, making me hiss. I shouldn’t have done that, but it was either that or leave. She comes out of her room, eyeing me as I lean against the counter in the kitchen. “Isn’t that the octopus in The Little Mermaid?”

  “Yes.” The answer comes out quiet, almost in a whisper. “My mother loves Disney, so I have to take her to that fucking place every year. The happiest place in the world, right?” Bringing my hands up to my face and rubbing them, I say, “Her hands were all over me.” Looking at her now straight in the eyes, I continue, “Little by little, they kept going up and up, and I was trying not to make a scene. Since your date was going so well.” She glares at me. “But when she tried to open my fly, I was out.”

  “That’s why you went to the bathroom?” I nod my head at her question. “You take your mother to Disney every year?”

  “Yeah.” Opening the fridge and taking a water bottle out, I say, “Goodnight.” Walking away from her, I head into my room and close the door softly. I untuck my shirt from my pants, and then I unbutton it as I contemplate throwing it out. Bringing it to my nose, I smell her bitter musk all over it, so I toss it on the bed. Then I hear a soft knock on the door. Walking to it, I keep my hand on the handle. “Who is it?” I smile at myself.

  “Who in the hell do you think it is … Ursula?” she answers, obviously not laughing at the joke I just made. My hand turns the knob, and I open it, and I see her there. Her bare feet on top of each other and her hands in front of her as she fidgets with her fingers. She looks at me, her gaze roaming from my eyes to my neck to my chest and slowly coming back up. She doesn’t say anything to me, her fingers just twirling while she fidgets. “Um, I guess I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “Really?” Shoulders back, I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Yeah. I may have, you know”—she rolls her eyes—“not been …”

  “Nice?” I fill in the words for her. “Compassionate?” She moves her eyes away from me, crossing her arms over her chest in irritation. “Insensitive? I mean, I could go on and on.”

  “Okay, fine.” She throws up her hands. “I should have been more sensitive to your penis groping.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m good at dodging.” I smile now, watching her shake her head as she groans. “Her hands were wet and clammy and skeletal.”

  She throws her head back now and laughs. “Okay, how is this? For the remainder of the tour, I will not date.” I look at her, watching the smile on her face as she reaches out her hand to shake. “Deal?”

  I reach out, taking her small hand in mine, and shake it. “Deal. But let’s also mention how you dating and us going to a place where I haven’t had the opportunity to scope out could be a recipe for disaster.”

  “Now”—she pulls her hand away from me—“I need to shower and order room service.”

  She walks away from me, going to her room. “Didn’t you eat?” I ask her. “I saw you eating.”

  She stops midway through her room and comes back out, and we are now face-to-face again. “Did you watch me?”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, putting my hands on my hips. “You were sitting right in front of my face. It was you and Henry and his bald spot.”

  “He does not have a bald spot.” She laughs.

  “He totally has one. I think he uses spray paint and also”—I walk to the phone and pick it up to dial room service—“he checked out my junk in the bathroom.” She gasps out in shock while a woman answers the phone. “Can I get two cheeseburgers with fries and a salad.” She tells me it’s going to be thirty-five minutes. “Food will be here in thirty-five minutes; go take your shower.”

  “Who the hell is eating the salad?” She glares at me.

  Holding up my hands in surrender, I say, “I didn’t know if you wanted healthy, so I ordered it just in case.”

  “Good answer, Brian,” she says, turning and going into her bedroom and shutting the door. I look at my watch and decide I have enough time for my own shower, so I head to my room and close the door. After my shower, I grab a pair of shorts and slide into them, then towel dry my hair. I walk back into the living room, but I’m not expecting to see her sitting on the couch watching television. Her hair is piled on her head, and she’s washed her makeup off. She looks over at me, and I see she’s wearing a black T-shirt with gray pants. “Did you not bring shirts in that carry-on?” she asks me and then turns back to watch the movie playing on the television.

  “Does me being shirtless bother you?” I smirk at her, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she huffs out. Tossing the remote to me, she lies down on her side in the fetal position. “How much longer?” she asks, and there is a knock on the door.

  “Now,” I tell her, getting up and walking to the door. When I open it, the man comes in with a huge tray and places it on the dining room table. I sign the paper, and he leaves. Kellie gets up from the couch and comes over to the table. “Do you want to eat here or on the couch?”

  “Here is good.” Pulling out a chair, she sits down on it and grabs one of the plates with the silver dome on it. She places it in front of her and pulls off the top, making an “aaahhh” sound. “Is there ketchup?” she asks while she looks at the big tray, and I hand her the mini bottles of ketchup. She opens it and grabs a knife to stick inside itand spread on her bun. I sit down in front of her, grabbing my own, and when I finally bite into it, she is already on her third bite. “I’m starving.” Right before she takes another bite, she asks, “What is your favorite food?”

  “I don’t know.” I answer when I finish chewing my bite. “I eat just about anything but sushi.”

  “Really?” She sounds surprised. “So if you were on death row and you had to choose a last meal, what would it be?”

  Grabbing a couple of fries, I think. “Probably steak. Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Have you?”

  She nods her head. “Yes.” Like it’s an obvious answer. “Pasta from Italy, almond croissants from Paris”—she uses her fingers to tick off the items—“also macaroons from La duree”—I shake my head—“and Chick-fil-A.”

  “Why would you be on death row?” Grabbing a napkin, I wipe the grease off my hands, then lean back in the chair.

  “I don’t know.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, if it’s anything, it would have to be me killing my husband if he cheats on me.”

  “Why is he cheating on you?”

  “Because he’s stupid and wants to die.” She cocks her head to the side. “Obviously.”

 
I throw my head back and laugh, and she just smiles when she gets up and gets a water bottle. “I’m off to bed,” she says to me, and I just nod at her, then watch her walk into her room and shut the door. I clean up the mess on the table, then turn off the lights and the television before I also head to bed. I leave my door open so I can hear if she needs me, but the next day, I hear a creak and look up from the bed to see her pulling the door closed.

  “Sorry,” she whispers, “I didn’t want to wake you with noise.”

  “What time is it?” I ask her and then turn to look at the red numbers on the table side clock. “It’s six a.m.?”

  “Yeah, I always get up at this time.” She whispers for me go back to sleep, but when she closes the door, I get off the bed. After going to the bathroom, I walk out, smelling fresh coffee. Looking over at the countertop, I see she made coffee. I grab a cup and go to sit outside where I see her sitting in the chair with her knees up to her chest and the blanket on top of her. “You didn’t have to get up.”

  “I know,” I tell her, sitting in the chair next to her, “but when I’m up, I’m up.”

  “I love this time of the morning,” she whispers. “Everything is so peaceful and new and promising.” She looks out into the horizon. “At home, I can see the lights come on from the houses below me.” I don’t say anything to her as I drink my coffee and look out into the distance. The only sound is the birds chirping. This is her time, this is the time she has just for herself, and I’m not going to intrude by talking to her. So I sit here and finish my coffee, looking at her from the corner of my eye and admiring the promise of something new on our own horizon.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kellie

  When I got out of bed this morning and walked out of my room, I was surprised to see his door open. When I tiptoed to his room and looked in, he was lying on his back with the covers to his waist and one hand over his head and another on his stomach. I grabbed the handle to shut the door, and it creaked, so I stopped mid-movement, hoping he would sleep through it, but he didn’t; he sprang right up. I closed the door, telling him to go back to sleep, and then made my way to the kitchen to make coffee. When that was ready, I took it to sit outside. I gazed out in the distance at the hills this morning—a different view but the solitude is still the same. Then I heard his footsteps, and I don’t know why I was surprised. But he didn’t push himself on me; he just sat there looking at the same view I was and gave me my time.

  As soon as I heard the lawn mower, I looked over at him. “We have to go to the venue at noon to do a sound check. Do you want breakfast?” He looked at me, and I inwardly groaned at the softness in his look. His hair is still in place but looks a bit disheveled. “I think I’m in the mood for pancakes.” I walk inside and hear a knock on the door. Opening it, I find Cori with two huge bouquets in her hands. One is all white roses; the other is all red roses.

  “Well, this is interesting,” she says to me, coming in and placing the flowers on the table. Looking at me, she is wearing a robe and looks like she just got out of bed. “Imagine my surprise.” She starts talking and then stops when Brian comes into the room from outside, still not wearing a shirt. “Holy …”

  “Ignore him and his nakedness.” I roll my eyes, walking to the flowers. “He only has a carry-on bag, which only fit two T-shirts.”

  He laughs, coming in and placing his cup in the sink, and then Cori continues, “Anyway, I was sleeping, and the front desk called to say they had a delivery for me. I was surprised because, well, no one sends me anything.”

  “This one has my name on it,” Brian says from beside me now, seeing his name written on the white envelope in the red roses.

  “That is what I said also,” Cori says, going to get a cup to make herself coffee, “but then I thought maybe I shouldn’t touch the card, so here it is.” She grabs milk from the fridge, pouring some in her cup.

  “This one has my name on it.” I look over at Brian who is already opening his and then groaning.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask him. He just hands me the card, and I pull it out.

  Had so much fun last night, hope we can catch up soon.

  Christina <3

  323-555-2727

  “Oh my God,” I say out loud, watching him walk to the phone and pick it up.

  “Cori, you want breakfast?” he asks her, and Cori shakes her head.

  “No, I’m going back to bed,” she says. When she looks at the card in my hand, she laughs out loud while Brian orders breakfast.

  “Where do you want me to put your lover’s flowers?” Cori asks Brian, holding the cup to her lips to hide her smirk.

  “In the garbage,” he answers, and I grab my envelope and open it.

  You were a breath of fresh air last night.

  Let’s catch up after the tour.

  Henry.

  “Breath of fresh air,” I say, laughing. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

  “The guy is a tool.” My eyes go from the card to Brian who is picking up the remote and turning on the television. “Take the flowers out of here.”

  “Um, excuse me.” Leaning in, I smell the flowers. “These are beautiful.”

  “Whatever the case,” Cori says, walking to the door, “Christina wants your number.” She looks at Brian, who glares at her. “And Henry would like a second date.” She opens the door now. “You can fight when I leave.” She slams the door behind her. I look at the door, and when I hear her door slam, I look at Brian who is sitting on the couch watching CNN.

  I grab one vase of flowers and bring them to the coffee table in front of him, placing it in the middle. “It lights up the room.” I turn back to look at him, and he just glares at me. Going back to the table, I place the white roses in the middle of the table. “Did you order breakfast?”

  “Yeah,” he says from the couch, not looking back. He’s comfortable with his legs outstretched and his feet propped on the coffee table. “I got pancakes and fruit and a bunch of other things.” I look at him, and he finally looks back. “I’ll eat the fruit.”

  I smile and then walk to the bedroom, grabbing my phone and going to the balcony to sit, leaving him alone. I scroll through my Instagram and like a couple of posts when I hear a knock on the door and then voices. When I get up and walk in, I see that he moved the vase of flowers to the coffee table. Now the dining room table has five plates with silver covers on them. In the middle is a platter of fruit, a crystal pitcher of orange juice, and a black urn of coffee. I walk over as he is taking the lids off. He ordered eggs, scrambled and over easy, waffles, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and toast.

  “I didn’t know if you ate anything else,” he says, grabbing a plate and loading it up with food but not touching the stack of pancakes, “so I pretty much ordered everything.” I grab a couple of blackberries and toss them into my mouth. I sit at the same chair I sat in last night while we ate. Picking up the empty plate, I slide a pancake on it and pour a heaping amount of maple syrup over it. “We leave at eleven thirty?” he asks while he eats.

  “I have sound check for about an hour, depending on what else is going on, and then I work out. I usually come back and nap, then I head to the venue about five.” I cut the maple-soaked pancake, and it melts in my mouth.

  “Where do you work out at?” he asks me, grabbing a waffle but just putting a touch of maple syrup on it. “Do you do it at the venue or here?”

  “There is a gym in every venue, so we use that one,” I tell him. “There is a trainer there with me, and it’s usually just us. Sometimes, the backup dancers will join me.”

  He nods. “I’ll bring my gym stuff.” He doesn’t say anything else, and we eat, watching the news on the screen. After helping clear the dishes, I grab my phone and go into the room to get dressed. I pick up the big Louis overnight bag, and I toss my pjs in there. I open the little luggage with my everyday clothes and grab a pair of light blue jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt. I also grab the tan-colored thick cashmere jacke
t, then zip it closed. I open the shoe luggage and laugh. Maybe Brian is onto something with his one carry-on bag, I think when I get down on my knees and go through the different booties I have. After grabbing the cream-colored open-toe booties, I slip my feet into them and get up. As I pick up my purse, my phone buzzes, and I see that Cori is on her way, which means we need to get going. Grabbing my jacket, I walk out and find Brian standing there in black jeans and a black short-sleeved polo shirt with the two buttons at this neck open. I smell his cologne as soon as I walk close to him. He looks up from his phone with his aviator glasses already on.

  “Cori is outside,” I tell him, and he nods, following me when I walk to the door. He closes it behind him, making sure it’s shut and locked. Cori is already sitting in the golf cart waiting.

  “I love that outfit,” she tells me when I sit in the front behind the wheel. “What are you doing?”

  “Move,” Brian says before I can answer Cori, tossing his bag in the back.

  “I want to drive.” I look at him, and I hate that I can’t see his eyes.

  “You can drive when I’m not here,” he says, but I hold my ground, “which will be in eighty-five days when you get home.”

  “Brian, just get in. I’m sure I can get us to the lobby without anything happening.”

  “Kellie.” One word, teeth crushed together. “Move.”

  “You might as well move over. This stand-off isn’t going to go your way no matter how long you stand your ground,” Cori says, leaning forward and whispering.

  “She’s right, babe.” He smirks with the nickname, and I glare at him.

  Cori now looks up at Brian. “If there is anything she hates more in this life, it’s being called babe.”

  “You are so lucky I don’t want to go to jail,” I hiss at him as I move over, “or that the keys are not in the ignition because I would leave without you.” He gets in, hiding his smile of victory.