“Can I just ask why?” Carmen turned her stare from King to me. She was trying to remain professional, but I could see the look of disgust in her eyes.
The way King’s lips spread into an even wider smile sent a chill up my spine. Once again, his glance roved over me, from my feet to my face. He said, “I like her smile.”
That was it. Both Carmen and I stood there in amazement, and I did my best to wipe my smile off my face, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t.
The only woman in King’s entourage clicked off her phone, then motioned to King for his attention. When he turned away, Carmen grabbed my arm, dragged me into the hall, and closed the door behind us. She was so pissed that she didn’t even speak right away. She just paced back and forth, as if she was trying to keep her temper in check. I just stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, wishing I could just disappear. Being one of the stars of BME, Carmen was known for her temper. But in the year that I’d worked here, I’d never gotten on anyone’s bad side. In fact, I was the one that everyone wanted to work with.
I guessed that was all going to change.
I stayed silent until Carmen stopped moving. She took two steps toward me, stared me dead in my eyes, and snarled. My heart was pounding with fear. The last time I felt like this, I was in high school . . . facing my parents. I’d just missed curfew because I’d stayed at Johnny Fletcher’s house party an hour later than I should have.
I knew I was in major trouble then, and I knew I was in major trouble now.
“What did you do, Heiress?”
“Nothing!”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. I promise, Carmen. All I was doing was what you asked. I was making sure that the room was right, and then he came in and asked if I came with the room.”
Her eyes got thin, like she was trying to look through me or something. “I have no idea what you said or did to make this man throw me a curveball like this,” she hissed. Carmen held up her hand, stopping me from protesting again. She continued, “But if you mess this up, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to sell a newspaper on a street corner, let alone write another article.”
“I swear, Carmen,” I said, shaking my head, “I didn’t do anything.”
She remained silent for a moment, studying me as if she was trying to figure out whether or not I was telling the truth. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” She glared at me before she tossed a notepad into my hand. “Here’re the questions. Stick to only these questions. And when you’re done, escort him to his photo shoot.”
Really? She was going to let me do this? Really?
“And you better not mess this up!” she said again.
I was going to tell her that I wouldn’t, but she had already turned away, storming down the hall, mumbling underneath her breath. I could imagine the things that she was saying about me, but I didn’t want to think about that right now.
All I wanted to think about was that I was going to interview King Stevens!
As I stood alone in the hallway, a mixture of emotions swirled through me. There I was, ready to do what I’d always wanted to do. And it had all happened in five minutes. No matter what, I wasn’t going to pass this opportunity up. By the time this interview was over, everyone would know my name.
I scanned Carmen’s questions, took a deep breath, and then opened the door.
Chapter 3
My heart was beating so hard, I was sure that everyone in the room could hear it through my dress. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous. I mean, yeah, this was my first interview for BME, and King Stevens was just the biggest movie star right now. But it wasn’t like I was a total novice. Between my high school and college newspapers, I’d done hundreds of articles. Plus, I’d served as the editor of both.
Wait! Who was I kidding? There was no way that I could compare my high school and college experiences with writing the cover article for a major national magazine on one of Hollywood’s hottest new stars. King Stevens was entertainment royalty. His mother was Terez, the four-time Grammy Award–winning jazz singer, and his father was Mann Stevens, who was a top-billing actor and was once even considered for the role of the first African American James Bond. Now his father and his uncle were Emmy–winning television series creators.
King had hit the scene a few years ago with small roles, first on television commercials and then on a couple of sitcoms. But last year he landed his breakout role when he starred in the dramatic war movie Sons of Dawn. The New York Post had dubbed him the “2012 Denzel.”
I scooted my chair a bit closer to the round table where King sat across from me. “Okay, Mr. Stevens. Let’s get started.” I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded, as if I did this kind of thing all the time. I had pushed my nervousness aside and had pulled out my professionalism.
As I clicked on the recorder, King reached across the table for my hand and rubbed it gently. His touch was strong and soft at the same time. And it sent chills all through my body. For a moment, I held my breath.
“I thought I told you this already,” he said softly. “Call me King.” He held on to me for a second longer, before he finally sat back.
I tried to relax at the round table that had been set in the center of this interview room. It was small, cozy, intimate, and filled with the interviewee’s favorite things so that he or she would be comfortable and would feel more at ease.
Right now, though, I was the one who needed to be put at ease. I lifted the notepad once again and glanced at the questions. Hoping that my voice wasn’t shaking, I asked, “So . . . King . . . have you always wanted to be an actor? To follow in your father’s footsteps?”
He glanced slightly upward, as if he was thinking. Then he said, “Listen. Heiress, I’m sure you’re a great journalist and you have some thought-provoking questions for me, but”—he leaned forward—“I don’t want to talk about me right now. Let’s talk about you.”
I guess it was the surprised look on my face that was his cue to continue.
“Are you dating anyone?”
“Excuse me?” I made sure I threw him much attitude. Did he really just ask me that?
He shrugged, as if his question was no big deal. “I’m interested in finding out if a woman as fine as you is up for grabs.”
Up for grabs? Was he serious? I knew he was playing with me. King Stevens could have anyone in Hollywood that he wanted, so I didn’t understand this game. But whatever it was, I wasn’t with it. Right now all I wanted to do was this interview. This was serious, this was my chance, and I was going to get this interview done one way or another.
“Mr. Stevens, I don’t—”
“King,” he interrupted before I could even get my angry rant started.
“King . . . ” I said his name slowly, purposefully. “I appreciate the compliment, but I am not interested in being grabbed. What I’m interested in is doing your interview.”
He grinned as if I’d just told a joke, or as if he was impressed. “There’s a little feistiness under that pretty exterior. I like that in a woman.”
The smile that he flashed was no longer intriguing, inviting. Now it was just downright annoying. He was wasting my time, the magazine’s money, and was about to blow my opportunity. It was funny in a way. King Stevens was responsible for me sitting here at this moment. He was responsible for making my dream come true. But at the same time, he was standing in the way of it.
Dang! I should’ve known this man was going to be a problem when he requested that stupid humidifier. Well, I didn’t care what I had to do, but this wasn’t going to go down this way. Not on my watch. I was just going to have to figure out a way to get King Stevens focused back on this interview.
“You know the one thing I hate about my career, Heiress?”
“What’s that?” I asked, hoping that this was going to be the start of the interview, since this was the first time I’d heard any kind of sincerity in his voice.
“Talking to the
press. That’s what I hate the most.” He paused, as if he was waiting for me to say something. When I stayed quiet, he added, “I was hoping you could change my attitude on that.”
It was the way he grinned that made me think, There goes his sincerity! I was two seconds from getting up and saying “Forget it” to this whole interview. I would just go to Carmen, tell her I couldn’t handle it, and turn the whole thing over to her, because I was tired of this man and his passes. This was so unprofessional, and I wasn’t going to belittle myself just to get a shot. I’d heard lots of stories of women who did all kinds of things for their big break. That wasn’t going to be me.
I pushed my chair back just a little. “Maybe I should let Carmen do the interview.”
His smile went away. “Okay, okay, I apologize.” He held up his hand, as if he were surrendering. “I know this is important to you, so”—he waved his hand—“go and ask away. I’ll make sure this will be the best interview of your career.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, especially since this was the first article of my career. “You promise?” I asked, hoping that my tone would keep the mood light.
“I do. I promise.”
“Great,” I said, looking down at my notes, so ready to finally get started.
He said, “As long as you promise to go to dinner with me.”
I sighed.
“Look, Heiress, this is not just a come-on. I really am interested in getting to know you.”
I sat there for a moment, feeling like I was in the middle of some kind of standoff, or maybe sit-off was the better word for it. And I weighed my options. If he was going to give me a serious interview, I guess the least I could give him was dinner. Inside, I laughed to myself. Who was I kidding, acting like I was doing King Stevens a favor? It wasn’t like there was a long line of movie stars waiting to ask me out on a date. Heck, there wasn’t even a line of regular guys.
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “It’s a deal. But”—I held up my pencil—“only if I get the best interview of my career.”
He grinned. “Well, let’s get started.”
I asked, again, “So, King, did you always want to be an actor?”
And I began the first interview of my career.
Chapter 4
I must’ve been living in a dream, because things like this didn’t happen in real life, especially not in my life. I couldn’t remember another time when I’d been this happy.
In just a matter of two days, I’d gone from assistant to journalist. King had kept his promise; he’d given me the best interview. We’d talked for over an hour; he was open and, I felt, honest as he answered my questions. I even improvised on a few extra questions myself. By the time another assistant came to escort King to his photo shoot, I knew I had enough to write an article that was going to impress.
Of course, Carmen was still pissed, but she hid her anger because our boss was impressed when I turned in the article this morning. And when Carmen made it seem like my doing the interview was her idea, our boss was even more impressed with her.
“It takes a good leader to let others lead sometimes, Carmen. Good job.”
And with those words, all was forgiven.
Since I made Carmen look so good, she decided to give me a shot with another assignment. “Why don’t you take a shot at doing some of the interviews for the Hurricane Katrina victims?”
“Really?” I asked. Next month BME was doing a humanitarian issue that was going to look at the effects of Hurricane Katrina all these years later.
“Yeah,” Carmen said. “You can interview some of the people who moved here and never returned to New Orleans. Give me a list of your questions tomorrow. I’ll review them, and you can get started.”
To say that I was thrilled was an understatement. I couldn’t believe that I was finally starting to be where I wanted to be. I was beginning my career, and it had all begun with King Stevens.
I smiled at my image in the full-length mirror, looking at myself from all angles. Tonight was the night. I was going to dinner with King Stevens, just as I’d promised.
“Blair!” I yelled out.
“Why are you screaming like that? I’m right here.”
I turned around, and there was my roommate, standing in the doorway to my bedroom. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to wish I was you.”
I laughed. “Can you help me with this?” I held up my necklace, and Blair nodded.
“I still cannot believe you are going out with the King Stevens!” Blair exclaimed as she fastened the silver chain around my neck.
As Blair stood behind me, I stared at myself in the mirror. I’d decided to go conservative with this classic black cocktail dress that hugged my five-foot-two, petite frame in all the right places. My hair lay on my shoulders in spiral curls, compliments of Blair. I wanted to look as natural as possible, so I had only powdered my face and put on a light berry lip gloss.
“I can’t believe it, either,” I finally said to Blair. “Who would’ve ever believed that my life could change so much in two days?” I fluffed out my hair. “But not so much has changed that I don’t recognize this for what it is. This is just a dinner.”
Blair rolled her eyes. “Girl, please. Just dinner. There is no such thing as just dinner when it comes to King Stevens.” She fanned her face as if she was really hot. “This man could be your future husband.”
I smirked at her.
Blair said, “Well, if you don’t like him, you can pass him to me, ’cause he’s definitely husband material and he could be mine.”
While Blair spent her time fantasizing about King Stevens, I slipped into my pumps. It had been over a year since I’d been out on a date, so for me this was really more than just dinner. But I wasn’t going to tell Blair that. And I certainly wasn’t going to let my own mind take me there. I had to stay cool, calm, and collected, realizing that this was just a little more than a fantasy. Because, after all, this date was with King Stevens. There were girls swooning all over him all the time. And I was sure that he could have his pick of anyone he wanted. Truly, he was just being nice to me.
So I was going to call this date exactly what it was: a one-night fairy tale that would end at midnight. I wasn’t about to act like or go out like a groupie, knowing that the carriage was going to turn back into a pumpkin.
“Have I told you how jealous I am of you right now?”
Before I could tell Blair to get over it, a knock at the door interrupted us, and right away the butterflies inside began to flutter. For a moment, Blair and I just stood there, staring at each other, until the knock came again. Then Blair dashed from my bedroom into the living room.
“Hey, I’m looking for Heiress,” I heard King say.
Checking myself out in the mirror one final time, I took a deep breath, then moved toward my bedroom door. But Blair stopped me in the hallway before I stepped into the living room.
“Girl, he is finer in person,” Blair whispered as she pushed me back into the bedroom. “If you’re having second thoughts, I would be more than happy to take him off your hands.”
I shook my head. My girl was taking this over the top. “I think I’m okay,” I said as I moved past her.
But when I got into the living room, I knew why my best friend was losing it. King was standing by the door, as if he hadn’t moved an inch. And he was wearing one of those expensive signature suits that he was known for: so tailored that it looked like it was sewn right onto him. For a couple of seconds, I just stood there, taking him in. And he did the same to me. I guess he was pleased, because his lips slowly began to spread into the cutest smile.
“Humph, humph, humph. I must say that you’re working that dress, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He reached for my hand, and goose bumps filled my arms before he even touched me. He pulled me into an embrace, and I closed my eyes, inhaling his scent. Dolce & Gabbana, I kne
w that cologne from the magazine. D&G was one of our biggest advertisers, and the company’s product managers were in our offices all the time with new samples.
“Uh . . .”
Blair’s voice made my eyes pop open, and I stepped back from King. I guess I’d forgotten where I was for a moment.
“Well,” my friend continued, “you kids have fun.”
“We will,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Blair squealed.
I gave her a look and a smile, trying to tell her to stop getting all worked up. This was just King Stevens. But as we walked down the steps, I had to tell myself the same thing over and over—this was just King Stevens.
He had parked right in front of my building, though I didn’t know how he’d done that. No one ever got a parking space that easily in this neighborhood. I guess it was just that way for King Stevens. He opened the passenger door of his candy-apple-red Porsche Cayman, which was like those that I often saw on the highways of Los Angeles being driven by rich soccer moms.
“So where are we going?” I asked as he pulled the car away from the curb.
“To dinner, remember?” He grinned.
“No, silly. I mean, where for dinner?”
“What’s with all the questions? Can I just surprise you?”
“You can,” I said, settling back into the glove-soft leather.
“So are you ready to take over the magazine yet?” he said.
I laughed. “Yeah, right. I’ve been there just a year. I started right after I graduated from college.”
“Where did you go?”
“USC.”
He nodded, as if he approved. “You’re an educated woman.”
“Is there any other way to be?”
He laughed.
“What about you?” I asked, though I was doing it only to continue the conversation. King Stevens didn’t need to tell me a thing about himself. Although the interview I’d done had been focused primarily on his career, I knew about his background. Really, the whole world knew. Though both of his parents were entertainers, they believed in education first. And even though King was acting in commercials and had a couple of TV walk-ons, his parents wouldn’t allow him to pursue acting full-time until he graduated from college. He was a Morehouse man, just like his father.
Strange Addiction Page 2
