BLOCK: Social Media #3

by JA Huss

  Chapter Eight

  GRACE pounds her little fists on my back, demanding to be put down.

  "Will you come along nicely? Or should I carry you all the way upstairs?"

  She lets out a groan as I walk, bouncing her along. "I’ll walk nicely."

  I set her down and she straightens her dress, looking around at the people who are now staring at us. She smooths her hair and then squares her chin and shoulders, steeling herself for a confrontation as she looks me in the eye. "I’m not going to your room, Asher. That much is for damn sure. And if you pick me up again, I will scream."

  And then she turns on her heel and makes her way towards a restaurant. She approaches the hostess, and then she disappears inside.

  Jesus Christ. She tires me out. I just spent the worst hour of my life trying to win an opportunity to see her tonight and set things straight, and she blows me off like I’m some… some… some nobody. I scrub my hands down my face and go after her. Again.

  Why, Asher? Why are you so fixated on this girl?

  I look around at all the women in this hotel. So many to choose from. I spot ten or fifteen who would be candidates for my sexual attention. A few even catch my surveillance and openly flirt. But I don’t want them. I want the one who just walked away from me.

  I huff out a breath and follow her. "Good evening," I tell the hostess. "I’m meeting the woman who just came in. I’ll just—"

  "I’m sorry, sir. The lady said you were harassing her and asked me to call security if you tried to follow her."

  "You’re kidding, right? She and I are dating."

  "I’m sorry, the lady said she’s not interested and wants to be—"

  "I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding. Perhaps she meant someone else?"

  The hostess gives me a sneer. "Is there another Vaughn Asher who looks just like you? Perhaps you’re his twin brother?"

  "Ha ha." I peek past the hostess turned security and spy Grace at the bar, chatting with the bartender. This restaurant is quiet and almost empty. "Look, just let me in so I can talk to her, OK? Obviously you can see we’re having a little fight—"

  "Little fight?" The hostess laughs. "Dude, your girlfriend is pregnant and you’ve been cheating on her with that woman, who said she knew nothing of your secret life. So—"

  "None of that is true, OK? I just need a minute to explain what happened to Grace and then she’ll see I’m the victim here. Me! I was never dating that bitch on TV and she certainly isn’t carrying my child since I haven’t slept with her in six months. She’s a fraud, a liar, a gold-digger! I’m innocent and you, ma’am, are helping to perpetuate her plan to ruin my life. That woman," I say, loud enough for Grace to turn around, "is the one I’m interested in. Grace," I call. "Just listen to me for a moment." I look back at the hostess. "Five minutes. Just give me five minutes and if Miss Kinsella wants me to leave, then I will. But I’m tired of fielding strangers who think they know what the fuck is going on when they don’t. I’m having my say tonight, whether you want me to or not."

  The hostess crosses her arms and sneers. But just then a man in a suit approaches looking like he’s the manager. "Can I help you with something?"

  "Yes," I say calmly. "That woman at the bar is my girlfriend. There was a public accusation against me today that is false and I need five minutes of her time to state my case. That’s all. Five. Minutes."

  He looks me up and down. "Invisible Man?" He smiles. "Oh, yes! I love that movie! You rocked that shit, right?"

  "I did." I give the hostess a smug look all the while beaming my movie-star smile at the manager. "So look"—I check his name tag—"Mr. Sollen, I just need a moment. That woman at your bar is the only reason I’m in Vegas right now. I need to talk. Please."

  I stare at him as he weighs his decision.

  When was the last time I had to beg someone to give me what I want? When was the last time I was denied? Maybe Conner was right. Maybe my life has been too easy and when things get hard, I just bail and don’t know how to cope.

  "OK," the manager says. "Five minutes. But if she makes a scene, I’ll have to call security and have both of you escorted out."

  "Deal." I give him a we’re-all-in-this-together clap on the back as I move past him, straightening out my jacket. I head towards the bar and Grace isn’t even paying attention. She’s chatting up the bartender, who sees me coming and excuses himself as I take a seat two stools away from her.

  "Hey," I say in a low voice. "I’m sorry for picking you up back there. It was presumptuous to think you’d talk to me tonight, let alone come up to my room."

  "Another margarita," Grace calls out to the bartender.

  I catch his eye and hold up a finger. "Scotch, please. Top shelf."

  "I’m not interested in your excuse, Vaughn. Truly." She looks me in the eyes for the first time tonight. "Truly, I am not interested. I’m not playing a game with you. I’m not playing hard to get. I’m not pretending to be pissed. I’m not even pissed. I’m just not interested. You’re not the man I thought you were. And I get that I was invested in the fantasy version of you. OK?" she says, shaking her head a little. "I get that. It was my fault for turning you into some kind of Prince Charming. So it’s not fair that I had such high expectations of you. I’m sorry that I blamed you for something I caused."

  The bartender delivers our drinks and takes Grace’s empty glass away. I take a sip of my Scotch, then gulp it all, and slide my glass on the bar. "Another, please." The bartender nods and moves off to get that. I put my head in my hands. "Grace," I say, rubbing my temples. "Just for the fun of it, tell me what that Prince Charming version of me was like. How do I not measure up?" I look up at her, but she’s staring down into her pink drink, playing with the paper umbrella. "Was I nicer? Was I more generous? What is the real Vaughn Asher missing?"

  She meets my gaze for a moment, but it’s a fleeting one. Her eyes drop back down just as quickly and she shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. The fantasy was… charming. Not just in a princely way, either. But really, really charming. Saying witty things, and being at ease with himself and others. He jokes with me and makes me laugh. You…" She doesn’t look at me, just continues to stare into her drink. "You make me sad. You make me feel inadequate. You make me feel stupid and small and pathetic."

  Fuck. "How though? How did I do that? Because that was not my intention. OK?" I reach out and cover her small hand with mine. "I never wanted to make you feel like that. I wanted to excite you."

  She looks up at my eyes and I almost wish she hadn’t. Her expression is overflowing with disappointment and she looks tired. She does look sad. She looks like she cried very hard earlier and the makeup can’t quite hide that. "You wanted to excite yourself, Vaughn. You wanted to please yourself. Not me. Everything you did, from picking out those clothes to putting money in my bank account, all of it was for your benefit. You lie to yourself, I think. You’re one long string of self-serving lies. I don’t know how you do it, or how you get so many girls to play along. But all your best intentions were nothing but really good deceptions. And even though I know in my heart" —she clenches her fist and holds it over her chest—"that the fairy tale is fake, that it doesn’t exist and I’m setting myself up for disappointment, I don’t care. Because I deserve that happy ending, Vaughn. I do. You might not think so. You might think I’m just some silly girl who has no right to expect so much from a man. But I don’t care. Maybe that man doesn’t exist and maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life alone, waiting for my prince. I don’t care. I refuse to play this game with you."

  And then she reaches into her little clutch purse to grab her credit card and wave it at the bartender. "I’m done, Vaughn. And for what it’s worth, I do believe you about that girl on the TV. Thank you for the charity money. I will make sure it goes to worthy organizations and send you the receipt so you can claim it on your taxes."

  The bartender shakes his head at me as he takes her card and I cup my chin with my hand and rub the s
hadow covering my jaw. My mind races with ideas, desperately trying to find a way out of this.

  But Grace has made it clear she’s not interested in my games.

  "Grace," I say softly as she signs the credit card slip and tucks her card back into her purse. "Would you like to have dinner with me? Here?"

  She stands up and straightens her dress and then looks me in the eye. "No, Vaughn. I would not."

  I reach out and touch her shoulder, gently, and this is just enough to stop her from turning away. "Grace, please don’t leave. Just listen for one more minute, OK? Because… because… I might not be your prince, but I think you’re my princess. I swear, I never knew I was looking for one. I just always knew that the women I was with before didn’t mean anything to me. But Grace, when I was up in that private suite and you were sent away, I realized something. I realized that I like you. A lot. And I don’t know what that means or where that leads, but I like you and I want to keep seeing you. I want to know you better. I want a chance with you. I’d like another chance to be your prince. I realize I’m a pretty bad substitute, but I can be fun. I can joke. I can make you feel all those things you crave, Grace. I know I can."

  She looks up at me with a tear in her eye and shakes her head. "I don’t think so. I think if I give you another chance you’ll break my heart, Vaughn. I’ll believe in you because that’s the kind of girl I am. I’m hopelessly naïve. You’ll tear me up and leave me, just like you do all your girls. And I don’t think I can survive that. I really don’t. I think…" She swallows hard. "I think if I invest in you, and believe in you, and give my heart to you…" She looks up at me and the tear slips down her cheek. "And you broke my heart? I think I might never recover from that."

  "So it’s better to just never take a risk at all, then? It’s better to turn me away and protect your heart, even though what I give you might make you whole and complete? Because I don’t think that’s right, Grace. I think that’s worse than living with a broken heart. Even if we fail at this and that fairy tale ending eludes us, we will be living it for as long as it lasts. Isn’t it better to live?"

  She smiles, but it's strained and filled with sadness. "No, Vaughn. It’s not always better to live. I know better than most. Sometimes living is the worst thing that could happen to a person."

  “What?” I’m not sure that remark makes sense but she turns away and I react by grabbing her and pulling her close. Pull her right up to my chest. "Grace, please. One dinner. There’s no risk, sweetness. None. Just dinner. You need to eat, let me feed you." She looks up at me and I know we are both imagining our date on the roof of her apartment. "Not like that, Grace. Just a normal dinner. With normal dinner conversation. I owe you a secret, remember? Tell me about your day and I’ll tell you about mine. I think we both had a pretty bad day. Don’t you want to talk to someone about it?"

  She shakes her head no and I’m desperate here. I’m failing. I’m fucking failing. She’s dead set on walking away and there’s nothing I can say to stop her. "Please, let me tell you about mine, at least. OK? I need a friend, Grace. I have none to talk to."

  "I don’t want to hear about your problems, Vaughn. I have enough of my own."

  She tries to turn away again, but I hold tight. "OK, fair enough. No problems. Then… then… let me tell you about my dreams. Dreams, Grace. Did you know that all growing up I wanted to be a surfer?"

  She laughs and I have a glimmer of hope. "Yeah," I say. "A fucking surfer."

  She cocks her head, maybe interested. "Do you surf?"

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. "No. I mean, I did try, but holy shit, I was terrible at it. And to be honest, I sorta hate the ocean."

  "I’ve always wanted to snorkel and dive. But I’ve never had the opportunity."

  "Dive, huh? I tried it once but it was for a movie role I never got, so I never did it again. But I bet… I bet you’d be great at it, Grace. I bet I’d like it if we did it together. We should’ve gone diving on Saint Thomas instead of… well, what we did."

  Her shoulders relax but I respond by clutching her tighter. "Have dinner with me. Please. Let’s talk about dreams."

  She’s shaking her head no before I’m even done talking. "I’m afraid to do that, Vaughn. I really am. Because that might breed hope and I don’t want to get my hopes up about you. I just… I just don’t trust you. I think that the minute I get comfortable, you’ll leave me."

  "I don’t know how to fix that, Grace. I can’t tell you anything that will make you believe me. I can only show you, and you won’t give me a chance to show you because you don’t think I deserve it. So how can I change your mind if you don’t give me another chance?"

  "Even if I did give you another chance tonight, and even if it was amazing, there’s no guarantee that tomorrow will be just as good. What if we wake up and things are worse? I can’t do it.”

  "Just listen. No one has guaranteed happiness, Grace. That’s absurd. Your bar is impossibly high. How can I predict the future and promise you good days for the rest of your life? It’s not reasonable. And you know that. You’re only telling me these things to make excuses. To make me go away. If things suck tomorrow, then we deal with them. Like people do. One date, Grace. Right now. We’ve never had a real date. In public, I mean. We’re in public. This restaurant is cozy and quiet. And I bet they have good food here. Have dinner with me. If you don’t want to talk about your dreams, listen to me talk about mine." She bows her head into my chest and I rest my chin on her head. "One dinner. Just give me a few hours of food and conversation. That’s all I’m asking."

  She’s still and silent in my arms. Very wounded. Very suspicious. Very vulnerable. And so very, very, very much in need of a win.

  "Tonight you win, Grace. You win. I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine."

  Chapter Nine

  I LET Vaughn lead me to a table. The hostess gives me a funny look, thinking what, I can only imagine after the fight I put up to keep Vaughn away from me.

  But of course, I gave in, didn’t I?

  I bet they all give in. He’s a man who does not respond well to no. I’m not sure I like that. In fact, I’m not sure I like anything about him in real life.

  "Drinks?" the hostess asks as she places the menus down in front of us.

  "Another margarita for me, please." If I’m going to do this, I definitely need alcohol. Otherwise I’ll overthink every word he says and assign hidden meanings to things that should be taken at face value.

  "Mineral water, please," Vaughn says.

  Hmmm. He’s in Mr. Responsible mode. "How was your premiere?" I ask him politely. "I saw you on TV." And apparently I am not quite drunk enough to dampen down my venom because he shoots me a look.

  "Valencia is just a friend, Grace. Not even a real one at that. Just a publicity date."

  I cock an eyebrow at that. "Good to know. Just one question, Mr. Asher. Do you have any authentic relationships? Any? A friend? Your brother? No? He’s a player in your game as well? Your daughter? Oh, no, another player. She’s a little young to be your legal counsel, don’t you think?"

  He sighs. "This is giving me a chance?" He stares at me. Like I’m the one who’s disappointing him right now, instead of the other way around.

  My drink arrives and I take a sip. A long sip. My head is fuzzy and I am good and buzzed, but I’ve got some time before I’m drunk. And if ever there was a day that required a spin before bed, it’s this one.

  I plan on being good and spun before I black out tonight.

  Vaughn grasps his water glass with both hands and twirls it slowly, like he needs to be doing something. He clears his throat. "Um, well to answer your question, no. I don’t."

  I look up from my menu and find his eyes. He looks lost.

  "I don’t have any friends. So everyone you see me with on TV, they are a negotiated business deal. I mean, I guess my agent, Larry, he’s probably my best friend, but we don’t do things together. Like hike or boat or—"

  "Surf," I say with a smi
le.

  Vaughn laughs and that smile he’s famous for warms up my stone-cold heart for a moment. He does have an incredible smile when it’s genuine. "Larry actually does surf, but he doesn’t invite me."

  "Why not?"

  He shrugs. "I always say no, so why bother asking when he already knows the answer."

  "I can’t imagine a life without my best friend. I haven’t seen her very much these days. We’re going in different directions, it seems. But Bebe and I have been besties since I was fifteen."

  Vaughn is silent for several seconds, like he’s thinking about that. It makes me a little bit uncomfortable, so much so that I feel compelled to divert the topic to something else. The problem is, I’m not sure anything is safe right now.

  "What are you thinking?" he asks softly. "Tell me."

  I shake my head no. "You are the one who has to talk, not me. I’m here to listen, remember?"

  He nods. "OK, you’re right," he says as he studies my face.

  What does he see? God, that bugs me when people look at me like that. Like they know all my secrets. It makes me so uncomfortable. I forgo the straw in my margarita and lift the wide glass to gulp, the salt sticking to my lips.

  "If you were serious, the movie premiere went really well. I’m happy with my performance. Do you think you’ll go see it?"

  "A few weeks ago I was dying to see it. The man of my dreams was the star."

  "And now? I’m your worst nightmare and you’ve lost interest?"

  "Not exactly."

  "I’ve disappointed you and you’re hurt?" I nod and he nods with me. "I’m sorry. I… I don’t know how to be me, Grace. The real me, I mean. I’m so used to being him, I might’ve lost me along the way. What exactly did you like about the fairy tale me? And I’m not fishing for compliments, OK? I’m seriously interested. What did you see? If this is the guy I am”—he gestures to himself—“then how did you get beyond it when everything out there in the public eye is fake?"

  I turn my head and concentrate on a point off in the distance. Another couple having dinner. They are comfortable with each other. Talking easily. Smiling easily. "There was this picture of you. It was taken about four years ago, I guess. And you were at a charity function for foster kids." I stop for a moment to choose my words carefully. "And you were sitting on a couch somewhere, surrounded by kids—"