by N. K. Smith
“Yes. I was in rehab for the missing weeks you spoke of earlier.”
“And it helped?”
“I’m off drugs.”
“Will it stick?”
Cole laughs a humorless laugh. “Until it doesn’t.” She pauses. “Look, I’m an addict. I can’t fight the fact that I’ll always be in recovery. It’s a part of me, but it’s better than having heroin be a part of me, right?”
“Absolutely. I think I speak for the rest of the world; we want you healthy.” With one finger, Ronnie draws her bangs back over to the side before pinning her gaze on Cole again. “So now that’s explained. Do you want to talk about your actual love life? The one that’s not with a chemical substance?”
“Not really.”
“Thinking back over all our interviews together, that’s always been difficult for you. Why is speaking about love harder than speaking about addiction?”
There is a moment where Cole opens her mouth a bit as she thinks of a response. “Because I think I’m more disappointed in myself for hoping that love can exist for me. I’ve already made my peace with the addiction thing, but I’m really just disgusted with myself for continuing the struggle to find someone to share my life with. It’s ridiculous.”
“Why do you think that? Why is it—”
“I’m not going into it any deeper than that. I’ve got therapists for this—”
Another bleep sounds.
“Do you think it has to do with Rodney’s—”
“I’m sure a lot of what I do or don’t do stems from the attack, but I’m not interested in talking about that either. It happened. I have to deal. If people want the details, look up the police report. It’s all out there for everyone’s sick fascination.”
“Obviously the public’s interest in it upsets you.”
“Of course it upsets me. I mean, Jesus, can’t I ever get away from it? Can’t I ever put it in the past?”
“But you have to understand, you were America’s little sweetheart. I first interviewed you at seven years old as a rising musical phenom. Then you transitioned into acting, winning quite a few prestigious awards at such a tender age.”
“So that makes it okay for my personal life and privacy to be aggressively intruded upon?” The way Cole says it is harsh, but it’s softened by an audible exhalation and a slightly embarrassed look away from the camera.
“No, it doesn’t make it okay, but it does explain why people care so much about it. We’ve watched you grow up. It’s like you’re everyone’s daughter. America cares what happens to you.” Ronnie pauses. “People care about you, Cole. They want to understand who you are.”
“Doesn’t make it fair. A regular girl gets . . . gets . . . attacked and people from all over the world don’t ask crazy questions about the specifics of what happened. It’s sick. The fascination with it is sick, and it makes me sick.”
“Okay—” Ronnie begins.
“Are all these people who supposedly care about me so naïve to think their intrusion didn’t have anything to do with me developing addictions? I mean, when someone can’t go grab something to eat without being asked what it was like to endure those hours with Rodney Douglas, it’s not too far of a stretch they’d do what they can to numb it all, to make it so they can’t even hear the questions.”
“No. You’re right. I can see the connection, but what do you do now? You’re off drugs, hopefully for good, and people are still interested in the past. What do you do now?”
“I have no idea, so I’m just going pick another project, jump in feet first, and get swept away.”
“I’ve thought for a long time that you use your professional life as a way to manage your personal life. Let’s go back to that personal life you try so hard to keep private just once more before discussing your professional life. You’ve been linked with a few men over the course of the past decade. Was there—is there—one of those men who really captured your heart? Was there one who was able to sneak past your defenses and get under your skin in a good way?”
At this, Cole actually smiles. A real smile; a moment of vulnerability and acknowledgment of reality. “Yeah. A few men I’ve shared time with have gotten past some of my defenses, but I’ve tried to rebuild the fortifications, any my only real regret is that it kept someone out who I really hoped would climb over the top, you know? Lay siege to the fortress.”
“Who was that?”
The smile shifts into a smirk. “Now, Ronnie—”
“Had to try. But there was someone recently who you wanted closer?”
“Absolutely. He was someone I actually felt a true and honest connection with. He’s very dynamic. It’s a discreet force he wields, but it’s completely encapsulating. I felt good with him. We could just sit together, reading separate books, and just be at peace with the quiet of each other’s company.”
“Did you think you could keep him around for a while?”
“No. I knew it wouldn’t last because good things like that aren’t supposed to last in my life for long.”
“That’s bleak. But you wanted him around for a while?”
“Oh, yes. I could’ve sat with him in quiet confidence for the rest of my life and been a happy woman.”
“So what happened?”
“The same thing that always happens.” Collette shrugs. “He left.”
“Devon! Come see what I bought!” Lili’s voice is harsh as it echoes through the house. As much as I want to watch the rest of the interview, I shut it off. I’ll watch it later.
I stand up, then go to the foyer to find Liliana standing there with about fifteen bags.
“Help?”
I move to take a few from her arms.
She nods behind her. “There’s more in the car.”
Lili doesn’t even say hello. She doesn’t even ask how my day has been. But then, I don’t ask her either. I’m not sure what’s happening with us, but I feel alone.
I force myself outside to grab the shopping bags, and when I’m back inside, I find Lili sorting through her new things. I hug her. Our relationship may be far from perfect, but at least I’m not alone.
Four days later, I sit at the kitchen island, listening to Liliana tell me about some clothing designer who is making a dress for some Hollywood function and about the necklace some jeweler is going to loan her for the evening when I realize I’ll have to go to this thing, too.
“What are we talking about?” I ask.
She looks at me like I’m the most annoying thing she has ever experienced and says, “My dress.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “But for what again?”
“The charity gala we agreed to go to.”
“I agreed?” I don’t remember.
Lili rolls her eyes and hops off the stool. With her plate in hand, she goes to the sink and sets it down. She leans back against the counter, and gives me a smile that doesn’t sit easy with me. “You don’t have to go. We were planning on making a big show of dancing together, but leaving separate to make it seem like—”
“I don’t have to go?” I can’t help the relief that sounds in my voice. I let out a long deep breath.
Lili doesn’t share my relief; her brow is knitted together and her lips are pursed.
“What?”
“Devon, I don’t get what’s going on with you. Why don’t you want to go? I mean, I’m going to look so hot in my dress and we’ll get play around and make the media all hot and bothered with our flirting and—”
“I don’t want that anymore,” I say before I even know I’m going to say it. “I don’t want—”
“Maybe we should take some time off.”
I lay my hands flat on the top of the island as my heart starts beating fast against my chest. This could be the beginning of a panic attack, but I don’t know. “Time off? Off what? Pretending we’re not together or pretending we are? This whole thing is—”
Lili pushes off the counter, walks to me, then places a hand on my back. “I mean take a bre
ak from each other. I don’t—”
“You want to break up?” Now breathing is hard, and it feels like the walls of this house are closing in. “You don’t want to—”
“Shhhh.” Lili wraps her arms around me. “I just think if we take a break, you might start to feel better about—”
I sit up straight, and it forces her to let go. “No!” I twist around in my seat and take her by the shoulders and bring her into a crushing hug. I don’t want to let her go. I can’t handle all this celebrity crap without her. “Don’t leave. I need you. We can . . . we can do this together, but I can’t do it alone.”
“Do what?”
Even if I had just thought it, I can’t find the words to say it now, so I tighten my arms on her and bury my face in her neck. I’m awash with anxiety. “Lili, please. I’ll go to the gala with you.” Then I remember we’re not actually supposed to be together. “Or without you, whatever the deal is. Just . . . I don’t want to take a break. Stay with me, okay?”
I’ve freaked her out now because she gently pushes away and holds her hands up like she’s reasoning with a lunatic. “Okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just thought maybe—”
“Well, you were wrong. We’re great together.” I don’t feel great with her, but it is the closest thing to the truth right now.
Liliana looks at me with genuine concern. “I think we should schedule an appointment for you to see a doctor.”
“Because Locker needs to get a photo of me going into a shrink’s office? Oh, my God, do you know what that will—”
“Maybe one will make a house call. I think having some medication could be good for you.”
I take her hands and pull her back to me and say, “I don’t need a doctor or medication. Just you.” I wish I was strong enough to believe my own words.
What I don’t say is that I’m not sure if I need her specifically. I don’t say that I need someone who understands because if I say it, I’ll have to admit deep in my heart that I know she isn’t the one who understands what I’m going through. I will have to admit that it’s Cole who would be able to handle it.
Chapter 14
Cole
Since getting clean again in rehab, I’ve been banging out some really good music as Highland. It’s been therapeutic to go into my little home studio and forget the rest of the world even exists beyond beats and vocals. I’ve gotten a few calls on doing a performance as her, but I’m not ready to invite that kind of exposure. Jesse thinks I should do it, and even agreed to pick up his violin again if I did, but I declined his offer. It’s nice to just be able to make music and see the response without the fact that I’m Collette Stroud getting in the way. Just my name would influence people and water down the music.
Jesse’s boyfriend, Terell, has taken on the role of my assistant until I find someone else I might be able to trust. It’s nice to have them in my life like this, and Terell is a master at organizing lives. I don’t have to worry about anything, which is good because my sobriety is back to being a tentative thing. I want to be sober, but I’m back to square one in recovery and too much stress could cause me to slip up again.
I’ve also been banging out some good times with Quin Houston again. We both know the sexual relationship won’t last, and neither one of us really want it to. We’re together for comfort and companionship. There isn’t any stress or pressure now that we’re just friends, and both of us know it’s better this way. Rolling off Quin, I let my fingers run through the tangle of whiskers on his cheek. Since he has grown a long beard for some reason, I take any opportunity I get to touch it as much as possible. It’s like a reminder of something private. He still gets recognized, but it’s a lot less.
We were spotted at a little outdoor café yesterday, and it took Jeremy Locker hours to figure out it was Quin.
Intentionally being seen together has become a little game we’ve developed. Sometimes we pretend to fight, other times he’ll do something a little secretive, like kissing my hand, and then we wait to see who breaks the news that we’re over, or together first.
While it’s all in good fun, it still demonstrates how trapped we are.
“Damn, woman. You’re gonna kill me,” Quin huffs.
I like the feel of his breath blowing over my sweat-dampened skin. “You always say that.” I prop myself up and drape an arm over his naked chest.
“That’s because you always make my heart feel like it’s gonna explode. You move so fast.”
“You just need a few extra workouts to create some endurance.”
He pulls me back down. “I’ll show you some endurance, woman.” Neither of us initiate anything sexual again. He’s always lethargic after sex. We lie there for a few minutes before he sits up straight and pulls me up. “Come on, let’s go grab something to eat. You can smack me in public just to give ’em a show.”
I allow myself a chuckle, but shake my head. “Not today.”
“Not feeling it?”
“No.”
He narrows his eyes as he looks at me, so I get out of bed and move toward the bathroom. Any leftover sensation from the orgasms are now gone, and I’m left with a nervous energy prickling at my skin.
“Anxiety?”
“I just don’t want to go out.” Inside the bathroom, I stare in the mirror. Even with Quin here, I feel alone. Loneliness makes me want to use, and going out when I feel like this won’t help. I know Quin will understand completely. He has his own struggles with alcohol, but I don’t want to tell him.
I don’t want to do anything; I just want to be alone.
I fight the urge to shrug off the kiss Quin presses into my shoulder from behind. It’s meaningless affection, but I not only let it happen, I savor it for a moment. My mind turns to Devon and how I wish this soft kiss is from him, something full of meaning and purpose.
I still haven’t sorted out all my feelings about Devon. I think about our age difference and on one hand, I realize he deserves someone younger and fun who can go out into the world with him, but on the other hand, we had a solid connection. There was never a moment when we had nothing to talk about, even though there were plenty of moments when we chose silent companionship over anything else.
That is how I know we had something special. Almost everyone else wants to talk and do all the time, but we could just stay quiet and be. Silence and stillness are two things I value, so finding someone else who shared that with me was amazing. But it was forcing him to stay in that drove him away. Devon wanted fun, and all I could offer him was inside of hotels, apartments, and houses. He wasn’t able to understand the isolation such overwhelming celebrity can bring. I wonder if things have changed for him now, or if he still feels the same.
“We’re still on for—”
“I don’t know.” We decided to attend the People’s Choice Awards together, but now I’m not so sure. I suddenly don’t want to have a public thing—real or not—going with Quin. “Maybe we should go separately. I don’t want—”
He cuts me off with a sigh. “Whatever you want. Just let me know when you truly make up your mind.” Quin steps into the shower. “But we’re presenting together, so no matter what, you’re stuck with me for at least part of the night.”
I spend the next few days alone, but successfully do not use anything. No heroin, no painkillers, no antianxiety meds. Well, I was as alone as I can be when surrounded by a security team. I don’t want to go to the awards show, but I know I can’t back out of it. When I’m in my emerald green dress, jewelry adorning my ears, neck, and wrists, and my makeup applied to perfection, I start to go into acting mode. I push all thoughts of everything to the back of my mind and focus on the job at hand.
Be beautiful. Be charming. Don’t let them in.
The limo ride is quiet. As we wait in the queue, I close my eyes and savor it.
Zara clears her throat. “You’ll be great.”
It’s my turn to get out. I place my hand over my stomach as if that will calm my anxious body.
I give her a smile and nod even though I feel like I could cry. The door opens from the outside, and I step out. The flashbulbs are going off like lightning. The sound is deafening compared to the silence I so love, and the air is hot with the wants and desires the people around me.
It’s just acting. It’s just the part of my life I have to do if I want to continue to work. Wave, smile, stop, talk about my dress, wave, smile, stop, talk about Reflections, wave, smile, stop, talk about Devon and Liliana’s nominations for the first movie, Tortured Desires.
Do not let the pain show.
Smile, wave, stop, talk about my dress.
When I’m finally inside, I let out a long breath, before engaging in conversation with other Hollywood stars. Ronda Taggart, John McPherson, and I talk about the next Janet Malin movie casting right now. I have no interest in it since I’m not dying to play the lead in a mainstream thriller, but I contribute to the discussion by repeating snippets of conversations Zara has had.
Quin works his way over to me and places a light hand on the small of my back. “High?” he whispers into my ear.
“I wish.”
“Let’s go get a drink.”
I give him a look.
“Kidding, kidding. I love these things. Free alcohol everywhere. I think there’s even some free blow in the greenroom.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m good at not helping. Let’s go grab some water and pretend like we belong.”
We mingle and drink our gourmet waters. He makes me laugh as he guesses how the gossip sites and shows will critique everyone’s look. “You are going to make the best dressed list, but I guarantee they’re going to mention how you could’ve done something a little classier with your hair.”
“Classy hair is for the Oscars. The People’s Choice just gets relaxed hair.” I turn my eyes to him and look at his suit. “You, however, are going to get slammed for the beard and the suit. Can’t afford a tux?”
Quin’s laugh lightens my heart. “Tuxes are for proms and in case you haven’t noticed, my prom’s long gone.” He sips his water. “But I will have you know, I rocked that rented tux with Tracy Williams on my arm. She wore this little pink dress that barely covered anything.”
