Relatively Famous

by Heather Leigh

  Having time to kill until Leah will be here, I decide to Google St. Bart’s, where Drew’s friend has a home. I’ve never been there, and it’s always good to know a little about other countries before you go. I note that they speak mostly French, which I barely speak. But they also speak English, so I won’t be totally lost. There’s an airport, so I assume that’s how we’ll get there.

  Drew won’t let me worry about any of the arrangements, and said everything is taken care of, so I’m not one-hundred percent sure that we’ll fly directly to the island or if we’ll take a ferry. It also says that the island is only eight square miles and is super exclusive.

  Hmmmm, Drew has friends in high places.

  But then, his brownstone alone puts him in the “exclusive” category as well. I’m not a real estate expert, but that home is worth somewhere around the mid eight figures.

  I don’t know why it makes me uneasy that Drew has money. I’ve grown up with money. I’ve never had to want for anything in my life. I’m proud to say I work hard and earn a living, but I know my life has been infinitely easier with my parents’ wealth behind me. I mean, my mom put me through design school and bought this loft for me.

  I just can’t rationalize his money because I have no earthly clue how he earns it. I know he works; he’s mentioned it several times. In fact, this morning he referred to a ‘project’ he has coming up. Dear God please let him earn a living legally. He hasn’t offered to tell me what he does either, like he knows I have an aversion to conversations like that. Well, I’ll have four straight days to find out what kind of job Drew has, so I decide I can’t worry about it for now.

  Closing down the page for St. Bart’s I bring Google up again, and swiftly type before I chicken out …

  Reid Tannen

  Most of the same links from last time pop up again. I swallow and feel sweat beading up on my brow. Spinning the chair around I press my forehead to the glass and look out onto the cold, gray afternoon. No, my life is going really well right now, I can’t do this today.

  One hurdle at a time, Sydney.

  I whip the chair back to the desk and close the browser, flipping the lid down to prove some sort of point, I guess. What point? As with most everything else in my life, I have absolutely no clue.

  Chapter 12

  After getting stuck late at the café, I agree to meet Leah for Italian in the Flatiron district. It’s a good thing she knows people in the restaurant business; otherwise we’d never get a table without reservations. My cab pulls up in front of Cevasco’s just in time to watch Leah duck through the front door. I hand the cabbie money and hurry in to get out of the frigid cold that is biting right through my clothes.

  It feels good just to get out with my best friend and have an uninterrupted meal. So much better than meeting up at the café while she darts around chatting up customers and serving pastries. The restaurant smells unbelievable, basil, parmesan and seafood cling to the air and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.

  Leah orders a bottle of wine for us to share and goes right for the kill. “So, what’s going on? Did you watch that Barbara Walters interview or something?”

  My spine stiffens automatically. “Shit, Leah. No I didn’t watch that!” I force my posture to look more relaxed and sip my wine. “Let me hear about your date with Carter first, I need to let the alcohol work through my system or I can’t even think about my issues.” I hope I sound casual enough for her to go first.

  It works, because she starts gushing about her night out and doesn’t come up for air. I find out that Carter works for his father, who owns one of the largest communication companies in the country. I’m not super happy to find out that includes over 700 radio stations, including a huge one here in New York City, but it’s not like paparazzi are chasing radio station owners around or that I’m the one dating him so I guess I’ll deal with it.

  He’s taking her out again Friday night to some sort of charity gala. Better her than me; those functions are always attended by Manhattan’s elite. They set up a red carpet and bring the press there to snap pictures for the New York Post and various tabloid magazines. Hell no! I’d rather just write an anonymous check to the charity and call it a day. Leah is excited though, and wants me to go with her again, to look for a dress.

  “I’m not going to be in the city this weekend, so you’ll have to tackle Bergdorf’s alone this time,” I choke out somewhere between bites of my seafood stuffed paccheri.

  Leah’s fork stops halfway to her mouth. She places it on her plate and wipes her mouth delicately. “Where will you be this weekend? I know you’re not going to Belize to see your mom. You’re not are you?” She narrows her eyes in suspicion, waiting on my answer.

  Shit, this is harder than I thought.

  “Well, remember the hottie from your café?” I know that I’m a lovely shade of scarlet, I can feel it on my neck. Why is this so embarrassing? Leah does stuff like this all the time. “My ‘white knight’ as you call him?”

  “Drew, yes. He of the hideous hat. Your white knight. Of course I remember him.” Her mouth drops open and she’s momentarily speechless.

  Leah is speechless. Ha!

  “You’re going away with Drew.”

  I notice that it’s not a question.

  “Yes. His friend has a home on Saint Barthélemy, he asked me to go for the weekend, and I said yes.” She looks like she’s going to puke, or faint. “Leah, I know it’s totally unlike me but …”

  “But … you’re going away with a guy for the first time, and it’s Drew from the café?” Her voice has risen an octave and she’s getting kind of freaked out.

  “Leah, are you drunk or something? I thought you wanted me to be more open to dating? Remember, the whole speech about Adam? I really thought you’d be, I don’t know, happier that I’m taking a chance!” Now my voice is rising and it’s because I’m getting angry.

  Leah quickly calms herself down and pastes on a fake smile. “No, Sydney, I am glad you’re being more open. I’m happy for you, really. It’s just a huge step from going on a date to spending a weekend out of the country with a man you barely know, a man who’s going to want to know more about you. Are you ready for that?” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand gently.

  “I’m not necessarily ready to talk about myself, but honestly, I’m dying to know more about him. I guess I’m going to see what happens. He already said he won’t push me to talk about anything that I’m not ready for.”

  Her eyes open wide with shock. “You’re going to ask him about his life? Do you like him enough to accept the answers he gives you, no matter what they are?”

  What is with this cryptic questioning?

  “I haven’t thought about it, but yes, I think so.” And that scares me.

  “Well, then all we can do about it is order dessert,” Leah says with that forced smile still on her face, as she clinks her wine glass against mine.

  Somehow, Leah’s bizarre reaction has me more confused than I was earlier. And that says a lot.

  Chapter 13

  After spending Monday apart so we can each get some things done, Drew comes over Tuesday so we can run together. He says he runs a lot and can keep up with the miles I like to do. Not everyone wants to run eight miles at a time. I bristle at first when he says he’ll need to be there to save me from rogue ice patches, then I laugh, realizing he’s kidding. I think.

  It’s freezing cold out again, so I wear my thermals under my regular cute winter running clothes and add a pink fleece ear warmer.

  Drew, however, shows up looking like a homeless person that raided the floor at a college frat house. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, so the scruffy beard is back, and he has a navy New England Patriots skull cap pulled down over his forehead and his ears.

  Ugly gray sweatpants at least two sizes too big hang off of his hips; hopefully they don’t fall down while we run. But the kicker is his sweatshirt. It’s a tattered maroon hoodie with fraying cuffs. The Bost
on College logo on the front is faded and difficult to read and the bottom hem is full of holes. He’s topped his outfit off with shiny black and red Prada sunglasses.

  Okay, not totally homeless.

  “Interesting choice of clothing,” I joke as I let him into my loft.

  He smiles, extremely amused by my kidding. “What? I think I look like a guy who wants to work out.”

  I bump him with my hip. “You look like you crawled out of a sewer and stole from the lost and found at a college student center,” I tease, grinning at him.

  He grabs my waist and swings me around, rubbing his prickly stubble all over my face and neck. “You love it!”

  His beard is rough but it still tickles. I laugh uncontrollably and try to squirm away from him. “Stop! It tickles! Stop it!” Drew laughs even harder and releases me from his torture.

  “Well, we can’t all be as sexy as you when we exercise.” He stands a few feet from me and blatantly checks me out. “Even when you wipe out and need to be rescued.”

  “Trust me, you are sexy. It’s just hidden under all of that hideous clothing. You know this is New York don’t you. Some might take offense at all of that Boston paraphernalia.” I wink at him and he smiles.

  “Am I wearing my human-repelling costume again, Miss Allen?” His eyes sparkle with mischief.

  “Why I believe you are, Mr. Forrester. But once again, it’s not going to keep me away. Now, let’s hit the pavement.”

  We leave my building and head west over to the Hudson River Greenway and follow it south all the way to the Battery Park Esplanade. Circling Battery Park, which is depressing in the wintertime, we run back the same way we came. It’s a good route to avoid car traffic, and since it’s January, today it’s chilly enough out to keep away a lot of the regular pedestrians.

  We do a good seven and a half miles, and I’m impressed that Drew didn’t seem to have any problems with the distance. His body is unbelievable, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he can keep up with me. He’s in better shape than I am, that’s evident when he takes his clothes off and I can see his sculpted muscles and lean physique. He can lift me like I weigh nothing and hold me up against a wall as he pounds into me over and over and never get tired.

  Maybe I’m the one that needs to exercise more?

  “Shower?” Drew asks after we get back to my place and each drink an entire liter of water. He’s not going to have to ask me twice, especially since I can’t wait to get him out of his ugly outfit. I grab his hand and lead the way.

  ****

  Sitting in front of the big TV in the media room, I pray that mom doesn’t come home anytime soon. I left school, faking a stomach ache so I could have our apartment to myself. Well, without my mom home anyway. We downsized from the twenty-thousand square foot mansion in L.A. to a ten-thousand square foot apartment on Gramercy Park in New York City two years ago, and there are always cooks and bodyguards and housekeepers around. I’m never physically ‘alone’, even though I pretty much always feel lonely.

  My best friend Leah gave me a disc to watch. She didn’t want to get if for me, but I begged her. I told her I needed to move forward and get some answers. Afraid of getting caught, I quickly pop open the slot and drop the DVD in. Pushing it closed I wait for the video to appear on the screen.

  The opening sequence of a national tabloid television show blasts from the surround sound speakers as I scramble for the remote to turn it down. “Next, on Backstage Pass!!! A scandal involving Hollywood’s most loved couple! The exclusive video you will only see here!” The host is dramatically shouting over the intense music as a photo of my parents at a movie premiere flashes across the TV. I fast forward past the annoying set up, fumbling the remote in my sweaty palms.

  I find the spot I’m looking for and stop to watch. A grainy video shot through a handheld camera fills the screen. “Caught cheating on America’s Sweetheart, Reid Tannen has a romantic rendezvous with an unknown woman.” The reporter’s irritating voice-over starts as the video plays. I tune him out to focus on what I see. I’m only fourteen, and don’t know much about cinematography, but this video was obviously taken from pretty far away, so it’s hard to see much. It shows the backyard of a huge home, with a pool and an outdoor kitchen. I don’t recognize it.

  Two people are lounging on chairs near the pool, and the camera zooms in on the man. “If you look at the man’s face, you can clearly make out Hollywood hunk Reid Tannen, and the tell-tale tattoo on his left wrist.”

  My heart drops into my stomach, that’s my dad. Even with the poor quality you can tell that it’s him, I don’t even need to see the tattoo of his nickname for me to know who it is. He thought it was so funny that when he put “Heartbreaker” on his wrist, the world thought it was a reference to himself. I used to love that it was our little secret that it was actually his endearing pet name for me. Right now though, I’m nauseous to see it on the TV. Was he even thinking of me when he did this to our family?

  Swallowing nervously, I keep watching, like a train wreck you can’t look away from. I need to see this. I have to know why we left everything behind. The footage continues as the shot pans out to show the woman on the lounger next to my dad.

  “Who is this mystery woman with the very married Reid Tannen? Our sources say that the home belongs to Gray Sibley, the director of Tannen’s latest movie, but this isn’t Sibley’s wife Leanne, and it clearly isn’t Evangeline Allen, A-list actress and Tannen’s wife of 13 years.” My world stops as the man on the screen leans in and kisses the woman passionately. They kiss several more times, then stand up and retreat into the house.

  I turn off the TV. I can’t listen to these jerks discuss my family as if they know us. No one knows! Nobody could know what it was like to have millions of people watching your life unravel for entertainment. I hate them! I hate the reporters who sneak around and film people behind their back! I hate that they follow people to the store and their children to school and call it “news”! I hate my parents for being actors and bringing all this crap into my life! And most of all, I hate my dad for destroying everything I ever loved.

  ****

  Shit! Another nightmare. I lie back down on the bed and close my eyes, focusing to control my racing pulse. Maybe Drew is right; maybe he is the cure for my sleep issues. I shouldn’t have let him go home last night. I look at the clock

  6:55am

  Sighing, I decide to go ahead and start my day. There’s no way I’m falling back asleep and I have a ton of stuff to get done today. Throwing back the covers, I wrap up in my robe and head over to the big windows. Peeking behind the drapes, I see the crimson glow of the sun rising over the city. It’s so beautiful that for twenty minutes, I just stand there and wait for dawn to begin. When the deep orange hues fade to bright streaks of yellow, and then turn a crisp, cloudless blue, I head into my closet to start packing for my trip.

  Damn, how can a girl with so many clothes have nothing appropriate for a Caribbean vacation?

  Probably because you never go on vacation, dummy.

  I rummage around and find two bathing suits, a maxi dress and a few pairs of shorts. Sitting on the floor of my closet surrounded by piles of clothing, I realize that’s all I have that I can bring with me. Great, I’ll have to go shopping, and Leah’s working today so she can’t go with me.

  After a quick run and an even quicker shower, I walk down to the Village Coffee Bar. I’m not one-hundred percent sure that this is a good idea after Leah’s downright odd behavior the other night at dinner, but I need her advice as to what type of clothes to pack. She’s been to the Caribbean tons of times with guys, including with her ex, a douche who was actually named Crash, so she’ll know what I need to buy.

  I could have called Mom, she lives in Belize for God’s sake, but I don’t want her to know about Drew yet. I want this trip to be perfect, so hopefully Leah’s not still in a weird mood about the whole thing. I shove aside the awkward feeling and step up to the counter.

  �
��Hey girl!” Leah smiles as she spots me. “Usual?”

  “Not today.” God this is so uncomfortable! “Just a coffee in a to-go cup, and some help making a shopping list. If you’re not too busy that is.” I give her my pleading sad-eyes to beg my case.

  “Shopping list? Are you cooking or something? Because I have to say, after the spaghetti incident, I don’t think cooking is such a great idea.”

  “No, not a list of food,” I pout. The ‘spaghetti incident’ refers to the time I attempted to make some spaghetti and then forgot about it on the stove. All of the water boiled off and the spaghetti burned to a giant black clump on the bottom of the pot. It took three days to get the charred smell out of my loft. She loves throwing that in my face.

  “I have no clothes to bring on my trip, I was hoping you could help me figure out what I need to get.”

  Her demeanor brightens at the thought of clothes and shopping. “Of course I can help you with that. Give me five minutes.”

  Four hours later I’m starving and exhausted. Leah was back to her normal self after tirelessly going through each possible scenario I could be faced with on St. Bart’s. So, armed with a list a mile long, I went to Bloomingdale’s, Barney’s, La Perla and everywhere else on the Upper East Side that Leah deemed necessary. I’m tired, but satisfied that I got everything I need to look fabulous for Drew this weekend.

  This is another first for me, worrying so much about what a man thinks. I know he’d like whatever I wore, but I want to please him. I want this weekend of firsts to be perfect.

  I’m singing along to my iPod and placing all of my new purchases in my suitcase when my phone chirps.

  Hey babe. Missing you. Is your day going well?

  Grinning so big my cheeks hurt, I respond.

  Better now. Miss u 2. Can’t wait for tomorrow

  It takes only a second for my phone to alert me of his text.