by Audra Cole
Brandon and I are sitting on the same side of the table, and I’ve leaned up against his shoulder as he picks at the leftovers on my plate. It all feels refreshingly normal, and for the first time since getting to California, I am starting to let my guard down a little. Maybe we can make this all work out after all.
“Do you want to go to the beach tonight?” he asks, wrapping his free arm around my waist.
“Really?” I ask, my eyes lighting up. “That would be amazing!”
He smiles. “Yeah, one of my buddies, Denny, has a pretty sweet beach house, and he’s having a dinner thing tonight. He invited me, well us, to stop by.”
The name doesn’t register as someone he has talked about before. Back home I knew all of Brandon’s friends, but I haven’t met anyone since being in LA.
I start picturing some fancy dinner party on the beach and wish Ashley was here to help me decide on my outfit for the night. I try to push missing Ashley out of my head and offer Brandon a smile. “It sounds fun.”
***
A few hours later we are back at the house, and I find myself in the walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear. On the way home I asked Brandon what the dress code would be for the night, but he was less than helpful, telling me to wear whatever I want.
I flip through a few outfits and finally grab a long pink sundress and gold, strappy sandals. After getting dressed and fixing my makeup and hair, I go back into the bedroom, expecting to see Brandon waiting for me, but he’s not there. I grab my gold clutch bag and a black shrug, in case I get cold later tonight, and head down the hall.
The door is open to Brandon’s office. I hear his voice as I get closer and realize he must be on the phone. I stand in the doorway and watch him for a moment. He has his back turned and is staring out the window. He must be making some sort of business call because he looks a little tense and his voice seems unsettled. He’s talking numbers and contracts and I don’t really understand whatever is going on. He keeps his business and finances pretty separated from his day-to-day life, so I haven’t been exposed to a lot of it at this point.
He spins around, making some gesture with his hands. He looks surprised to see me. He presses the phone into his chest. “I’ll be right down,” he says.
I get the feeling that he doesn’t want me standing in the doorway while he finishes his call. It seems odd, but I nod and give him a small smile before turning and going downstairs.
Ten minutes pass, and he still hasn’t come downstairs. I start to get more worried with each passing moment. Questions flood my mind about why he didn’t want me listening in on the call.
My thoughts—or paranoia, depending on how you look at it—are interrupted when he finally comes downstairs.
“Sorry about that,” he says as he pulls his jacket from the closet and slips it on.
“Was it something about the movie?” I ask, fishing for information.
“No, it was just another deal I’m working on. Don’t worry about it. Everything is fine,” he says, giving me a smile. “You look great, by the way.”
“Not too dressy?” I ask. Brandon is dressed casually but always manages to look incredibly put together.
“Nope, just right,” he answers. He leans in for a kiss, and as his lips meet mine I decide to drop the questions about the phone call for now but make a mental note to bring it up again after the party.
***
We arrive at the party and the hosts, Brandon’s friend Denny and his wife Maggie, greet us at the door. They are probably in their late thirties, and are very cute together as they usher us through the main living space and out to the back deck.
Outside, we are introduced to another couple, Jim and Brit, and two other guys, Reed and Justin, who seem to be flying solo.
“How do you all know each other?” I ask after Brandon introduces me, seemingly familiar with everyone gathered around the outdoor kitchen space.
“Well, Brandon and I worked together on his last film,” Jim offers.
“Are you an actor?” I ask.
“No, actually I’m a lighting specialist,” he says. “Brit here is trying to get in the game though,” he adds, nudging the gorgeous brunette at his side.
“I’ve done a couple of commercials,” she says with a shrug.
“Not everyone goes off like a bomb like our pal Brandon,” Jim teases.
Brandon laughs the attention off, and there doesn’t seem to be any animosity between the men. But I catch Brit give a slight eye roll.
“Justin and Reed also work in the business. Justin is a stunt coordinator and Reed is a writer. And then, Denney, he handles all my financial stuff. Once I started pulling in more than just a commercial here and there, he hunted me down and taught me how to manage my money. He works with all the big players in town. His motto is turning a million into a billion.” Brandon explains.
“And you, my friend, are one of my top success stories,” Denney adds. The two of them laugh together like it was some kind of inside joke.
I have to admit, wrapping my brain around Brandon’s wealth has been difficult. I don’t know exactly how much he has, but I know it’s probably close to a billion between his assets and investments. He has multiple properties in the LA area, a condo in New York, and investments with some of the hottest restaurants in town.
The majority of his money isn’t even from acting, it’s from endorsement deals he is offered because of his star power. He has commercials and print ads for shampoo, razors, a couple different clothing lines, and my personal favorite, an underwear campaign.
The conversation shifts to sports, and soon Maggie pulls me aside and asks if I want to join her and Brit inside for a cocktail. I nod and let her lead me away, giving Brandon one last look before going inside. He winks at me before diving back into his conversation.
Maggie, Brit, and I go into the living room. There is a fire going and the flicker of the flames bounces off the glass and granite surround, making the room feel warm and relaxing.
“Thank you,” I say as I settle into the loveseat and take the drink that Maggie presses into my hand.
She smiles and gives me a slight nod. “So you and Brandon certainly make a cute couple,” she says as she takes a seat opposite me.
I feel myself blush slightly. “Thanks.”
“How long have you been together? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Before I can answer, Brit pipes up from her place by the fireplace, “You’re his ex-fiancée, right? Did he really dump you at the altar?”
I hear myself gasp and my hands fly to cover my mouth.
“What?” Maggie says, whipping around to face Brit.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
Brit shrugs. “I saw it online today,” she answers calmly.
The once cozy-feeling room now seems to be closing in on me. I consciously remind myself to breathe as I struggle to keep my face neutral, in spite of the panic suddenly welling up inside me.
“Here,” Brit says, before casually passing me her phone. “So, is it true?”
I ignore her pestering and quickly start to read the article posted underneath a picture of us leaving the restaurant the other night. I hold my breath as I continue to read all about the pathetic life I was supposedly leading up until a couple of months ago when Brandon showed up again.
Funny, I don’t remember chasing Brandon all over LA, showing up at his hotels unannounced, or making attempts to crash the set of his movies.
Sprinkled throughout the article are pictures—the majority of which are highly unflattering—which are credited to an “unnamed source” that is close to my family.
I reread that sentence over and over again, my mind reeling with the possibility that someone I know, a friend or acquaintance, or even worse, a family member, could have betrayed my trust and sold my most intimate secrets to the press. I can’t help but flash through faces as I try to digest the information. Could it have been James? I know he’s upset with me, but I can�
��t imagine him stooping this low. What about Valerie? Again, not my biggest fan right now, but she would never break my trust like this. Would she? Maybe an old classmate recognized me from the pictures that were splashed all over the place the past week.
“Well whatever you did, it seems to have worked,” Brit says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No, none of this is true!” I say before shoving the phone back at her. “I didn’t chase him here or force him into anything!”
“Charity, are you all right?” Maggie asks, ignoring Brit.
I shake my head and stand from the couch. “I just need a minute.”
“Of course. Here,” Maggie stands and without asking, leads me to the bathroom. “Let me know if you need anything,” she says before turning to leave me alone.
I sit on the edge of the tub and struggle to hold back the hot tears that have been building up as I pull up the article and read it again.
The second read through somehow settles me, and I start to shake out of my panic. I don’t know why it really matters. Why should I care that the general public is being led to believe that I am this desperate, clingy mess that pined away for Brandon for three years? If I know that it’s not the truth and Brandon knows it’s not the truth and we’re genuinely happy together now, then people should just leave it alone. Let the past be the past.
There is a soft knock on the door and I hurry to wipe off my tears. For a moment I’m frustrated with myself for the way I reacted, knowing that I’ve made a bigger scene than if I had just brushed it off when Brit brought it up in the first place.
I open the door and Brandon is standing to the left. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Sorry if I made it a big deal. It’s just a stupid tabloid thing.”
“Don’t worry about it. Maggie told me what happened after she asked Jim and Brit to leave.” He stops to pull me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against the side of my face.
“I know. It’s okay, really.”
We break apart and Brandon studies my face for a moment, as if determining whether or not I am telling the truth. He kisses my forehead and takes my hand to lead me back to the party. “We’re setting up a bonfire on the beach. You up for a s’more?”
The yucky pit in my stomach wishes I could say ’no’ and retreat back to the security of Brandon’s house again, but I suck it up, smile, and square my shoulders, trying to exude some confidence. “Sounds great.”
Chapter Seven
“Brandon? Are you awake?”
Nothing.
Dead to the world.
Meanwhile, my brain refuses to shut down, and the dark silence of our bedroom is not helping. I toss and turn for a few minutes, halfway hoping to wake him up, but eventually I fling back my side of the covers and head downstairs.
LeeLee follows at my heels as I shuffle around the kitchen, trying to decide if I want to bake something or if I should have a cup of tea and try to sleep again. I spot Brandon’s phone on the counter and flick it on to check the time.
Seventy-six voicemails. Holy crap. I casually scan through them but it’s all a blur, none of the names sound familiar to me.
Since the story of our past engagement was released, there has been an absolute tidal wave of publicity. The phone calls, emails, and texts have been relentless despite our best efforts to stay low and keep away from crazy town. The story has turned into quite the hot news item and bounces around the different entertainment talk shows and a surprising number of gossip magazines. Requests for appearances, comments, photo shoots, and book deals have been nonstop. The worst part, by far, has been the flock of paparazzi that somehow managed to get past the gates and started camping out on the sidewalk across the street from the house.
The term ’vultures’ becomes more and more appropriate by the day.
His publicist has been trying to wrangle everything and do damage control, but no matter how much he protests, every interview and appearance Brandon has had scheduled suddenly turns into a dissection of his personal life. Our personal life.
I can’t even remember how many times I’ve asked Brandon why these people don’t have something better to do with their lives. He never seems to have an answer for me.
I drop the phone back on the counter and decide to stick with tea. I make a cup and, settling onto the couch with LeeLee draped across my legs, I grab the laptop and boot it up while I wait for the tea to cool down.
I don’t know what possesses me, but next thing I know I’m on a celebrity gossip website scanning headlines.
There is very clearly something wrong with me.
Surprisingly, most of the news outlets seem to put a positive spin on everything, gushing about how happy we are and turning the whole thing into some over-hyped, fairy-tale story. They don’t all get the details consistently right, but the gist is correct. Their biggest concern is when there will there be a second engagement.
Hmmm. Good question. I sit back and take a few careful sips. Things have been so chaotic, I haven’t really had too much time to think about it. I smile to myself, remembering how he proposed the first time, a memory I hadn’t let myself recall in what seems like forever.
I guess I get caught up in the drama of it and keep reading.
I see the headline “Frumpty Dumpty Snags Prince Charming”
With my picture next to it…
Suddenly, I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole into a deep, dark place—the seedy underbelly of the entertainment news world.
I jerk back in my seat, my pulse racing. Deep down, I know the best thing to do would be to slam the laptop closed and go back to bed. But for the life of me, I can’t bring my fingers to shut the computer down or even close the web page.
Link, after link, after link leads to foul, hateful articles and comments. There are entire posts dedicated to pointing out and analyzing my every flaw. Nothing is off limits to these people. The internet has judged me and I’ve been deemed a fat, loser, train wreck of a nobody, who is completely and utterly unworthy of Brandon’s love. As if having a small army of anonymous people dissect my every deficit, the other ’angle’ the so-called news has come up with, is that I am a gold digger who only came out of the woodwork to get at Brandon’s money now that he is rich and famous.
After what seems like an eternity of reading, I finally find the strength to shove the computer away. I stare into the darkness, a rush of emotion flooding over me. Eventually the dam breaks and I crumple into a ball on the couch.
“Charity?”
I stir slightly, brushing a hand over my face.
“Baby, wake up.”
I open my eyes and see Brandon hovering over me, his face etched with concern.
“What’s wrong? Why are you down here?”
“They all hate me.” I wave my hand at the computer screen.
Brandon glances over, his concern shifting to confusion. “Who hates you?” He runs his finger over the trackpad and the screen lights up, revealing the dozens of tabs I had pulled up. “Oh, fuck. Cherry,” he looks back over at me.
I don’t meet his gaze, keeping my eyes on the floor in front of me. He cups a finger under my chin. “Baby, look at me. These fuckers don’t know what they’re talking about. They trash everyone. You shouldn’t even be looking at this stuff.”
I nod. He’s right, but there is nothing I can do now, to erase the hateful words from my memory.
I wish there was.
“Oh, Cherry,” he whispers, pulling me into his chest. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I let him scoop me up off the couch and he gently carries me to our room and tucks me next to him in bed. I fall asleep on his shoulder, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears that slip down my face and land on the pillow.
***
The next few days pass slowly. I feel like I’m living a zombie life as I wander around the house, refusing to leave. But eventually, things shift. I start to let it go and after week goes by, some new pseudo-scandal hits and
everyone moves on with their lives and the spotlight shifts off of us.
Things seem to be dying down and going back to normal—or at least our strange version of normal—just in time for the big banquet.
“You ready for tonight?” Brandon asks, cuddling up to me in bed.
“I think so. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to walk down the red carpet. Ashley is insisting I document everything with my phone,” I answer with a laugh, remembering her excitement. We had talked about all the details at length the day before on video chat, while I contemplated what jewelry to wear with my dress.
Brandon smiles down at me, brushing my hair back. “It’s going to be great. I know it’s been a rough week with the press and all that.”
“I wasn’t expecting it, that’s for sure,” I say, scooting closer to Brandon’s side.
“Well I have some special surprises for you today that might help take your mind off all of that ugliness.”
“You do? What kind of surprises?” I ask, thinking that I’ve probably had enough surprises in the past couple of months to last a lifetime.
The doorbell rings before he can answer. “Ah ha! Part one, starts now.”
He kisses my forehead and gives me a broad smile before sliding out of bed. He throws on his gym shorts and a T-shirt. “Meet me outside in a few minutes. You don’t have to get dressed. Just put on a robe or something.”
I wrinkle my brows together, not sure exactly what is going on.
“Just trust me,” he says in response to my bewildered expression.
“All right,” I hold up my hands. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
He gives me another smile and leaves the bedroom. I hear him jogging down the stairs. As instructed, I get out of bed and pull on my robe.
When I get outside onto the back deck, there are two massage tables set up and a pair of massage therapists waiting. Brandon comes up behind me and leads me to the first table. He holds up the sheet to cover me, while I slip out of my robe and get situated on the table. He runs a hand along my bare back, slides it under the sheet along my lower back, and gives me a wink before going to his table.
