by Audra Cole
He smiles when he sees me walk in. “Wow! You look great! Give me ten minutes to change and then we can leave,” he says before pressing a kiss to my lips.
I’m wearing the black dress that Ashley helped me pick out when we went shopping. I even went to a fancy hair salon and had my first blowout. My hair is actually straight with just the perfect amount of style and body, but absolutely no frizz. I haven’t been able to stop myself from running my fingers through it most of the afternoon.
“I’m sorry it’s so late. I already called the restaurant. They’re holding our table.” Brandon explains as he starts to strip off his shirt, heading towards the stairs.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. I’ve been waiting at the house, all glammed up, for the better part of four hours. Our initial reservations were set for seven. I was ten minutes away from changing into pajamas and calling it a night, when he texted that he was on his way back. Finally.
A few minutes later, Brandon rejoins me downstairs and we head outside. Tonight is the first night we are really going out somewhere public. Since I got here, we’ve spent the few nights we’ve had together at the house, keeping things low-key. Most nights Brandon has been working late or making appearances at different events, so I don’t see him till I’m already tucked in bed, half asleep. When Brandon originally told me about the reservations for tonight, I was beyond excited at the thought of having a normal date night. By now, four hours of sitting around, suffocating in my Spanx, has killed that excitement for me.
Less than ten minutes later, Brandon runs down the stairs in fresh clothes and I feel a surge of jealousy along with a rush of attraction. It really doesn’t seem fair that all he needs is ten minutes to look that good after I spent hours at the salon getting all done up.
Sigh.
Brandon normally drives everywhere himself, but tonight he has hired his driver, Keith, to come pick us up in some sort of fancy car that I don’t know the name of.
“Ms. McAdams,” he greets me with a slight nod, as he pulls the car door open.
“Hello,” I answer before ducking into the back seat of the car.
Brandon slides in next to me and the door shuts. He places his hand on my bare leg, inching his way up. “Did I mention that I really like this dress?” he asks with a grin.
I laugh softly. “I can tell.”
Damn him for being so sexy. It makes it so much more difficult to stay mad at him.
“So, listen. I want to apologize,” he says, moving his hand from my leg to grab my hand and lock our fingers together. “This isn’t the way I wanted your first week here to go. I know I’ve hardly seen you, and I hate that. I really didn’t think it would be this crazy. I thought we would have more time together. I feel like maybe I’m disappointing you.” He pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Like, maybe you think you made a mistake coming here in the first place.”
I’m slightly taken aback by his apology. I was only angry about him being so late. Granted, life in LA has been quite a bit different than I expected, but I don’t want him to read that as disappointment.
“Why would you say that?” I ask. I place my free hand on the side of his face. He turns his face in and kisses my palm. “I knew you wouldn’t be at the house with me twenty-four, seven. I never expected that. Sure, I miss Ashley and my other friends, and God help me, sometimes I even miss my family. But I don’t want you to think that I wish I hadn’t come.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes are focused, as if trying to read my mind.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m happy here…with you.”
Brandon looks visibly relieved, like he’s been carrying a burden that just got lifted from his shoulders. He leans close and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I lay my head against him and close my eyes, breathing him in. The small moments like this are what make this whole transition worth it, moments where it is just the two of us soaking it all in together.
The moment passes all too quickly when we arrive in front of the restaurant. Keith pulls up right out front, and there are small clusters of people scattered all over the place. Some appear to be waiting for reservations, and others look like they are saying good-bye, their meal already over.
Then in a flash, the energy shifts and it feels like a wave of complete chaos. There are cameras going off from every angle, and it almost seems light outside with the constant flashing.
Brandon swears under his breath. I glance at his face and see the frustration furrowed between his brows.
“What’s happening?” I question, my eyes shifting between the scene unfolding outside and the growing concern on Brandon’s face.
“Vultures,” he says.
A moment later there is a couple leaving the restaurant and the people with cameras start chasing after them. I don’t recognize them, but I haven’t really been checked into the whole Hollywood thing the past few years, because I was terrified of opening a tabloid and seeing Brandon’s face on the inside.
“Sir?” Keith says, turning in his seat to face us. “Do you want to leave?”
Brandon shakes his head. “No. I’m not going to let them ruin our night.” He pops open the door and reaches for my hand once he exits. “Come on, Cherry. Let’s go in now, while they’re distracted.”
I nod, feeling completely out of my element. I grab his hand and let him help me from the car. Brandon escorts me in front of him, resting one hand on the small of my back as he starts to guide me towards the front doors.
We weave through the crowd and almost reach the front walkway when someone spots Brandon and the wave comes back in our direction.
“It’s Brandon Hart!” someone in the crowd yells.
There are cameras flashing and people are pushing closer. It’s hard to see but it seems that some people are just fans with camera phones, while other people, the vultures, as Brandon calls them, have photography equipment and appear to be bona fide paparazzi.
The crowd presses in, and I can’t see because of all the flashes from the cameras. There is yelling and screaming. Someone makes a rude comment about Brandon’s movie.
My heart is racing, and I feel sweaty and panicked. My instincts are telling me to turn and bolt back to the car, but I feel Brandon’s arm wrap tightly around my waist. He pushes us forward, seeming to ignore the mob swirling around us. I keep my head down, letting my hair fall in front of my face to shield myself from the cameras and people.
It feels like slow motion, yet somehow, we finally reach the front doors of the restaurant and are greeted by a hostess who holds the doors open for us and ushers us inside. She shoots a scowl at the paparazzi before turning away and letting the door swing shut again.
“Are you okay?” Brandon whispers into my ear.
I nod, blinking rapidly to try and clear the little speckles and spots floating in my vision from the camera flashes. When I can see clearly, I look around the foyer of the restaurant. It is dimly lit and very quiet, compared to the madness that lies just outside the front doors.
Brandon leaves my side long enough to talk to the hostess. There is a flicker of recognition on her face, but she keeps things professional and does not acknowledge him other than to call him Mr. Hart when she offers to lead us to our table. Brandon nods and reaches back for my hand. I take it and hold on tightly as we follow the hostess.
Our table is towards the back of the main dining room. Some people would complain at the location because they cannot see or be seen as easily from this vantage point, yet I know that is probably exactly why Brandon requested a table in the back—to stay away from all of that.
It’s interesting to watch how he handles his sudden fame. The fact that he hasn’t let it change who he is and that he refuses to get tripped up by the highly coveted celebrity lifestyle is testimony to his character.
I study him as we settle into our seats opposite one another and again realize how incredibly thankful I am for second chances.
“That was insane!” I say quietly, once the hostess has walked away from our table.
“Yes, a real treat,” he replies, sarcastically. “Not exactly how I wanted our first night out together to go down. I was really hoping to avoid the circus.”
“Is it always like that?” I ask, slightly afraid to hear the answer.
“No, not always. But more often than I would like,” he answers. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Although I am still a bit shaky inside from the whole mess, I don’t want Brandon to feel worse than he already appears to. “I’m okay. It just caught me off guard a little.”
He stares at me for a moment. “Really? You just got mauled by paparazzi. It’s normal to be pissed off about it.”
I shrug. “It’s all right, really, I’m fine. Let’s just enjoy the night.”
“Okay,” he says, continuing to watch me for a moment longer, before he flips open the menu and starts to look over his options.
I take the cue and start perusing my own menu, trying not to gasp at the prices that seem to get higher and higher as I keep scanning down the list. There are appetizers that cost more than the shoes I’m wearing! Granted, they were purchased on clearance a few years back at an outlet store. But still…this is insane!
We enjoy our incredibly overpriced dinner, and linger over a shared dessert before we decide to try and brave the storm waiting just outside the front doors. The crowd seems to have dispersed slightly since our arrival, but there are still pictures taken and a few fans even ask for autographs. Brandon is silent as he guides me to the car. Once I am safely tucked inside he does stop to sign a few things and thanks his fans before getting in next to me.
In the backseat I slip off my shoes, pull my legs up on the seat, and snuggle into Brandon, releasing a slow exhale.
“Thanks for being so great tonight. That was not an easy situation.” He presses a kiss to my temple.
“Part of the life, right?” I offer him a smile, hoping I look more confident than I feel about the whole thing.
***
“You’re famous!” Ashley squeals into my ear.
“Correction. Brandon is famous. I was just standing next to him,” I say, switching the call to speakerphone, and laying the phone down on the end table next to the couch.
Ashley had called to tell me that one of the entertainment news shows had a story about Brandon and his ’mystery brunette,’ with pictures of us leaving the restaurant last night.
I locate the remote and flip on the TV, but by the time I find the right channel, it’s too late. The spot is already over, the hosts have moved on to the next bit of juicy Hollywood gossip. I flick the TV off again and settle onto the couch. In some ways, I’m glad to have missed it. I’m not sure I’m fully ready to face the reality of seeing my picture splashed all over the screen.
“But you’re with him! You’re part of this world now—all the glitz and glamour!” Her voice is still high-pitched with excitement.
“Ash, they don’t even know my name. I’m not a part of this life; I’m just caught in the crossfire,” I say with a sigh.
Sometimes I think it should have been flip-flopped. Ashley should be the one dating a celebrity and living in LA. She would thrive in a situation like this. She loves fashion and would revel in all the drama and excitement the Hollywood life has to offer. She’s also scrappy and tough enough to deal with the pressure and attention.
“Well I could call and offer an anonymous tip if you’d prefer! I could be the inside source that feeds them all the details. At least you know I’d tell it right,” she jokes.
“Yeah,” I reply, half listening, half still caught up in my own thoughts as I stare at the blank TV screen.
“Sheesh, I was only kidding,” she says. “What’s the matter with you today?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s partially true—it took me much longer than normal to fall asleep, and even then, it was a restless sleep, filled with anxiety-riddled dreams.
“Okay,” she says, and I feel a twinge of guilt at the disappointment in her voice.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say.
We say good-bye and hang up. I toss my phone onto the couch next to me and exhale slowly. I rub my temples, instantly regretting the conversation with Ashley. The last thing I want to do is argue with her, especially when I know she is just excited for me and doing her best to help me see the bright side of a difficult situation.
Truth be told, it just makes me want to hop on the next plane back to Seattle and go back to the way things were. It feels like my life is a human game of tug-o-war, and I am being pulled between Ashley and Brandon. I miss my life in Washington, and with Brandon gone so much of the time, it’s getting harder to remember why I am even here.
Chapter Six
I let myself wallow for a few more minutes before I force myself up off the couch and go try to find something to do. I wander into the kitchen and refill LeeLee’s bowl, and then lean against the counter, wondering when Brandon will be back.
At the sound of her food dish, she comes running into the room and skids into the back of my legs when she comes to a stop. I topple forward and grab the edge of the counter to keep from falling to the floor. I can’t help but laugh when I look down at her guilty-looking face.
A few minutes later, I hear the click as the door between the garage and the house is opened and closed. Brandon rounds the corner, enters the kitchen, and sets his keys down on the kitchen island, even though there is a peg near the garage specifically there for keys.
“Hey, beautiful girl, how’s it going?” he asks as he crosses the room and pulls me into his arms.
I hesitate to answer, as I debate whether or not to mention the story on TV or my unease after the conversation with Ashley.
“Cherry? Are you okay?” He pulls back just enough so he can look at my face.
I nod, but don’t say anything, afraid that if I do, all my anxiety and fears will come out in a tangled mess. I also know I can’t fake my way through it and pretend everything is fine, because Brandon will see right through my act.
He cups my face in his hands and his eyes grow wide with concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I say breaking our eye contact, dropping my eyes to his chest.
“It’s obviously something. Is this about the pictures?”
“Ashley called. She said they are all over the internet, and there was a thing on TV too,” I answer, meeting his eyes again. “I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much. It’s not like it’s unexpected. I guess I just didn’t think it would all be so…public…so quickly.
“Ashley made it sound as if I should be happy about all the attention. Maybe she’s right. Most girls would probably love it, all the fancy dresses, posh dinners, having their picture taken for everyone to see that they’re dating a movie star. Maybe that would be better for you—someone who can deal with all of this. It just makes me feel like I’m being hunted or something.”
Well, there it is—the tangled mess.
“Baby,” he says, his voice low. “Please believe me when I say that there is no way I would rather be with anyone else. Ever. The fact that you’re different, and not all about the flashy stuff and attention is just one of the many things I love about you.”
He pauses to consider my face, as if trying to decide whether or not I believe him or if I need more convincing before continuing. “I’m sorry about last night. Had I known it was going to be like that, I would have picked another restaurant or we could’ve stayed in.”
“But that’s the thing. We can’t stay in forever! At some point we have to leave this house and go out into the chaos, and I’m not sure I can deal with that. I’m struggling to find my place here, and I need to be able to go out and have a life, not feel terrified of people hiding in bushes with cameras.”
He sighs. “I know. I understand, trust me. I fel
t the same way when I first started getting exposure. I lived in this city for a year before things blew up, and I started getting all this attention. It’s a hard pill to swallow. For me it was different though, because it meant my dreams were coming true, and it’s kind of a rite of passage into the future I wanted for myself.” He pauses. “For you, it’s different. You didn’t ask for any of this; it’s being forced on you…because of me.”
We are quiet for a moment. I can feel the tension and wish there was something I could say to make him feel better, but I can’t think of anything, because he’s right. It is his fault that I’m in this position.
There is not a doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my life with Brandon, but if that comes with all these other complications and baggage, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make that compromise.
***
The next few days are better. Brandon’s promotional obligations end, which allows us to actually spend time together and come to an agreement: we will take things slow in regards to going public with our relationship.
The story doesn’t die down as much as we had anticipated. A variety of different media outlets come out of the woodwork to try and get the scoop on me and on my relationship with Brandon. Brandon’s agent keeps calling with offers for us to do a joint appearance on multiple entertainment shows, and several magazines are offering us the cover to tell our story.
Brandon is able to hold them at bay, and I’ve overheard a few of his more heated conversations with his agent, during which he tries to get the point across that we are not willing to exploit ourselves in exchange for more publicity.
Despite all of the hoopla, we actually spend more time out in public. I’m still not used to the exposure, but I don’t freeze up the way I did that night outside the restaurant. It seems like there are more photographers at each turn. In some ways, keeping our relationship such a secret is triggering more attention and pressure.
Today is relatively normal. We went grocery shopping for a few odds and ends, and then went to get lunch at a cute, outdoor café before heading home again. Sitting on the patio, I feel a little more relaxed, because there is a fence and landscaping to keep prying eyes away.
