The Next Big Thing

by Johanna Edwards

  I looked around my immaculate apartment. My plants had all been watered, my fish had been fed. Without Donna’s relentless care, my place would have fallen into total disarray. But she’d been over here, meticulously tending to the details of my life while I was away. I didn’t know another person in the world who would have done that for me.

  With trembling hands, I reached for the cordless and dialed her cell. She answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hi,” I said timidly.

  “I was going to let the voice mail pick up, because I was afraid you might yell at me. But then I figured it was better to go on and face it.”

  “I’m not going to yell.”

  “You have every right to.”

  I shook my head vehemently even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Donna—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” I said. “Please don’t. I’m the one who screwed up. I never should have dragged you into this.”

  She paused. “He’s an asshole, Kat. You’re better off without him.”

  “I know that,” I said, my throat tightening. I was on the verge of tears. “I love the apartment. It looks amazing over here. I can’t thank you enough for keeping up with it.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say for a long moment, and then I threw out, “You want to go do something tomorrow? Get a cup of coffee, or go see a movie?” It seemed best to meet on neutral ground.

  “You know me. I drink like ten cups of coffee a day. What’s one more?”

  “Starbucks?”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “A little coffee shop I discovered. It’s pretty unusual and I guarantee you’ll like it. And you won’t even have to go incognito. I doubt anyone there has even heard of From Fat to Fabulous.”

  “Sure, sounds great,” I said. A root canal would have sounded great. I was dying to see her.

  “Grab a pencil; I’ll give you directions,” she said.

  I rummaged through my desk for something to write with. “You’ve organized this place so well I can’t find anything,” I told her, laughing.

  ***

  We met at Otherlands, a funky little coffee shop on South Cooper in Midtown. I had driven by it a million times, but never thought of stopping in.

  “I discovered it!” Donna said, even though the place had been there for at least ten years. “They make the ultimate coffee drinks,” she promised. “And like I said, I seriously doubt you’ll be recognized here.”

  She was right on both counts. Not only was their coffee divine, but the tattooed, multi-pierced barista seemed completely oblivious to my reality-star status. Either that, or he was kind enough not to make a scene.

  “For here or to go?” he asked, barely giving me a second glance.

  The place—which catered to an eclectic crowd of artists and wayward poets—provided a refreshing escape from the Starbucks scene.

  I sat on a futon by the front window, stirring my skim cappuccino and basking in the glow of anonymity while Donna waited for the barista to warm up a blueberry scone.

  A minute later she plopped down beside me, flashing a friendly smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I replied awkwardly.

  “You look great, by the way. I can tell you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smoothing my button-down shirt against my noticeably smaller body. I wasn’t skinny, not by a long shot, but it felt great to wear a size fourteen.

  “Looks like the show left you pretty fabulous after all.” We sat in silence for a moment, sipping our coffee and staring awkwardly at each other. “These things are incredible,” Donna said, spreading lemon butter on her scone. “Seriously! It’s awesome.”

  “It smells nice.”

  “I love scones. They’re the perfect mix of savory and sweet.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I concentrated on my cappuccino. It was strange to watch someone eat and not feel jealous that I wasn’t having any. My cravings for junk food hadn’t gone away, not completely, but they were less urgent.

  Living under the microscope of From Fat to Fabulous had forced me to scrutinize my eating. It had become painfully obvious that I often took in more than I realized, eating to soothe anger, boredom, and pain. It wasn’t an easy thing to overcome. But knowing, as they say, is half the battle.

  “You know, I used to love donuts, but they’re too rich for me now,” she said between bites. “Scones hit the spot.”

  Was this what our relationship had been reduced to? Pathetic conversations about pastries?

  “Kevin and I come here all the time,” she said, and I blinked.

  Two minutes into the conversation and already I was lost. “Who’s Kevin?”

  “Oh, sorry. My boyfriend. I keep forgetting how long you’ve been gone.”

  Apparently. “You have a boyfriend now?”

  She giggled self-consciously. “Yeah, his name’s Kevin Arp. He’s a lawyer from St. Louis. He moved to Memphis last month to be with me.”

  “Sounds serious.” I felt so left out of her life.

  “It is,” Donna admitted. “I think this might be it for me. I think”—she paused—“that Kevin might be the man I’m going to marry.”

  “You sound embarrassed about it,” I blurted out. It was the truth; she looked ashamed.

  “It’s because I know how messed-up things are right now,” she said sadly. “I don’t want to make the situation any worse.”

  “What situation?” I asked, even though I already knew.

  “Our friendship,” Donna said, tearing off a small piece of scone. “I just want us to be normal again.”

  I squeezed her hand, my eyes welling up with tears. “I want that, too,” I said, feeling like a sap. “But everything’s so different now. You’ll be out with this new guy all the time . . . I don’t know where I fit in anymore.”

  She turned to face me. “How can you ask that? Didn’t you read my letter?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “You mean the world to me, Kat. I’ve never had a friend like you before. It’s cheesy, I know, but I’ve kinda pictured us growing old together. . . .” I laughed.

  “Me and you, guzzling coffee and gossiping about men—I never want to lose that.”

  She squeezed my hand back.

  I smiled. “We won’t.” I gave her a quick hug, and then pulled away. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed this.

  It felt so good to be back in Memphis again, to be normal. We started chatting after that, dishing on all the latest news. We caught up on our love lives, and I even spilled the story about Jagger.

  “So tell me about this Kevin Arp guy. He must be pretty amazing if you’re thinking of marrying him.”

  “I can’t wait to introduce you. I think you’ll really like him. He’s smart and funny—great-looking, too. But tell me more about Jagger. He’s a catch. And famous!”

  “Don’t jump the gun. I haven’t caught him yet.” I blushed, glancing around the room self-consciously. I didn’t feel right discussing our relationship in public. Luckily, no one in Otherlands was paying the slightest bit of attention.

  “So, you’ll catch him soon enough,” Donna assured me. “From what you’ve told me, the guy’s crazy about you.”

  “Maybe,” I said, polishing off the last few drops of my drink. “But it’s still too early to tell.”

  “When will you see him again?”

  “Funny you should mention it,” I said. I filled her in on Jagger’s invitation to visit him and audition for Wake-Up Call.

  Donna’s jaw dropped. “What in the world are you waiting for? If I were you I’d have hopped the first plane outta here!”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Honey, it is simple! You book a ticket and you go, end of story. Kat, this is incredible!”

  “But I just got back,” I sputt
ered. “I’ve only been in Memphis for twenty-four hours. And what will I tell Geddlefinger? I’m supposed to start work again soon.”

  “Memphis can wait; it’s not like the city’s going anywhere. And as for Richard? What do you want with that job, anyway? Here you’ve got the chance to land a high-paying TV gig and you’re worried about H and G?”

  “Yeah, but H and G’s a sure thing; Wake-Up Call’s a maybe.”

  “So what if you don’t get it? It’s worth chancing. Jagger’s worth chancing. You can find another PR job if you have to.”

  “In this economy?”

  She looked me straight in the eyes. “I know you, Kat. If you don’t do this you’re always going to regret it.” Donna reached into her purse and handed me her iPhone. “Give Jagger a call right now and let him know you’re coming. If you get out there and it sucks, you can always fly right back. What are you so afraid of?”

  “I don’t know . . . the unknown, maybe? Right now my relationship with Jagger is perfect. It can only go downhill from here.”

  “Kat, you’ve kissed the guy once. Believe me, things can only get better. Imagine how incredible it will be, getting to know him without the cameras. All the longs talks you’ll have. The drives up the coast. The nights alone in his bed . . .”

  “You’re proving my point exactly. What if I get out there and he turns into some kind of a monster or something?”

  “Do you honestly think that will happen?”

  “No.” Jagger wasn’t that type of guy. Not by a long shot.

  “But if you’re really that uncomfortable with it, pay for your own ticket.”

  “With what money? In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been out of work for four months.”

  Donna mulled this over for a few seconds, then proclaimed, “Let me buy it.”

  “No way! I can’t.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” she said. “I ruined one of your relationships; let me build you another one.”

  “You didn’t ruin it,” I said. “It was over before it ever started.”

  “Either way, I’m buying this ticket.” I could tell there was no talking her out of it.

  I took a deep breath. “You really think I should fly out to Los Angeles and do this?”

  She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. “I’ll help you pack!”

  “By the way,” I said, “you never said how you and Kevin met.”

  Her lips spread into a wide smile. “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said, feeling myself start to laugh. If he lives in St. Louis and he’s moving here to be with you….”

  “Yep,” she said, grinning broadly. “Match.com.”

  “After all the grief you gave me?” I said, laughing harder.

  “After all the grief I gave you,” she repeated. “Now, come on. Let’s go book your ticket!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “You look terrific,” Jagger said, beaming as he set my bags down in the LAX parking lot two weeks later. I was wearing a knee-length black skirt and a light pink shirt, purchased the week before at the Gap. It was the first outfit I’d ever bought there. Shopping—once the bane of my existence—was now thrilling, though in some ways bittersweet.

  Although Cara and I were still friends, she had declined my offer to go shopping together. The dynamic between us had changed.

  “Uh, thanks.” I blushed, meeting Jagger’s gaze. “You look great, too.”

  Whenever someone compliments me, my first instinct is still to argue, to prove them wrong. If they say I’m pretty, I immediately want to point out all my body’s flaws.

  That was the old Kat; I bit my tongue.

  “You know, I never pictured you with a car like this,” I said. It was a Mercedes SLK Roadster convertible.

  Jagger held the passenger’s side door open for me. “It’s a little extravagant,” he admitted. I climbed inside and snuggled down into the cushy leather seat. “I never thought of you as the convertible type, either.”

  Jagger hoisted my bags into the trunk. “Well, nothing beats driving along the coast with the top down.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “And considering this car was free, I wasn’t about to turn it down.”

  “Free?”

  “Zaidee gave it to me,” he offered, steering the car out of the LAX parking lot.

  My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?” I blurted out.

  Jagger laughed. “Nope. It was a gift from the show. Zaidee’s the one who okayed it.” He pulled the Mercedes up to the on-ramp, waited for the light to turn green, then merged onto the freeway. “It’s actually a loaner, sort of like a company car.”

  Before long, we were cruising along the freeway, the wind whipping our hair. “I can put the top up,” Jagger offered.

  “No, leave it down,” I said, tilting my face up to the wind. I liked the feel of the warm air on my skin.

  “Before I forget,” Jagger said, shouting over the noise of the road, “I heard some news about Nick Appleby.”

  My heart quickened. Here I was, cruising along in a gorgeous Mercedes, next to an amazing guy, and Nick Appleby had found his way back into my life. I didn’t even like him anymore, but some part of me was still, inexplicably, attached. He’d faded out of my life so swiftly and completely. I wanted the chance to wrap it up, once and for all.

  “What news?” I asked. “He landed a commercial.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Just as Nick had predicted, his dreams of stardom were coming true.

  Jagger changed lanes to pass a dilapidated pickup truck. “Alyssa’s going to be in it, too.”

  “I guess they really were meant for each other,” I said, accepting it for the first time. I watched the scenery as we sped past for a bit. “So what’s the ad for?” I asked at last, the wind whipping strands of hair against my face.

  Jagger laughed, shifting into high gear and speeding up. “That’s the best part. I was going to wait and tell you when we got home, but this is too good. The commercial is for Lucky Flushes Toilet Bowl Cleaner.”

  “What?” I guffawed. I had expected Armani, or fine wine, or, at the very least, something like deodorant. But toilet bowl cleaner? “Where did you hear about this?” I asked, as Jagger took the next exit, guiding the car onto Hollywood Boulevard.

  “Gigi Rucker,” he said, downshifting and stopping at a light. “She spoke with Alyssa. Lucky Flushes wants Nick to wear an apron and complain that cleaning will mess up his fancy designer outfit. Then Alyssa comes in and scrubs the toilet.”

  I was dumbstruck.

  Jagger reached over and squeezed my hand. “Anyway, enough about them,” he said, letting go to change gears. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “So am I,” I said.

  We spent the morning sightseeing in Los Angeles and driving along the coast, capping it off with lunch at a small Mexican restaurant in West Hollywood. By two o’clock I was exhausted, so we headed back to his place for a little R&R.

  I was antsy on the car ride over, wound up from the day’s events and becoming tense about spending so much time alone with Jagger. I was going to be staying with him for five days. What if we ran out of things to talk about?

  Jagger lived in a split-level house in Beverly Hills, with a Spanish-style décor—it was painted beautiful vibrant colors, with open, airy rooms, and high ceilings.

  “This is great!” I enthused, as I walked inside.

  Jagger followed behind me. “I’ll show you around,” he said, setting my bags by the front door and leading me down the hall. “This is the guest room,” he said, stepping inside a cozy bedroom. The walls were painted in a rich peach color and there was a comfortable-looking double bed with a fluffy white comforter. “There’s a bathroom around this corner,” he said, leading the way. He continued the tour, showing me the beautifully tiled kitchen, the living room, office, and his spacious master suite.

  “Your place is fantastic,” I said.

  He smile
d. “I love it, but it gets lonely sometimes.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I looked down. “You have gorgeous floors.”

  “Thanks. They came with the walls and ceiling,” he joked.

  My mind went blank again. “Well, that’s good. Because it would have been awful if they hadn’t.” Jagger’s nervous, too, I reminded myself.

  “So I have a surprise for you tomorrow,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “A meeting with MTV?” I was having serious second thoughts about auditioning. It was on my mind the entire time I was on the plane.

  “No, I’m still waiting on Ronnie to call me back with a definite time. But that reminds me, you probably ought to have representation. I can call my agent at ICM and ask if he’d be willing to rep you. If not, I’m sure he’d give me a referral.”

  “Oh, wow. I don’t know. It’s all happening so fast.” Talk of agents and auditions unnerved me. I was taking so many risks, already, visiting him. Who knew if any of them would pay off?

  He eyed me quizzically. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just tired, that’s all,” I lied.

  “Why don’t you take a nap,” he suggested. “We can talk about this later. Meanwhile, I’ll call Ronnie and let her know you’re in town. I’m sure she’ll want to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  “Okay,” I said, heading into the guest room. I changed into my pajamas, climbed into bed, and waited impatiently for sleep to engulf me. Five minutes ago I’d been so tired, but now my body refused to unwind. I lay there, silently cursing myself for holding back my feelings.

  As I tossed and turned, my mind drifted, returning over and over again to the same worrisome thought. Maybe this had all been one giant mistake and I should have just stayed in Memphis, in my little apartment, where everything was comfortable, and boring, and safe.

  I awoke to the smell of something cooking, a light delicious aroma that floated throughout the house. Disoriented, I staggered out of bed and put on a fresh change of clothes. Then, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I wandered down the hall in search of Jagger. I found him bent over the kitchen counter, chopping cucumbers and carrots while he chatted on his cordless phone. A pot of water boiled on the stove.