Fame (Not Like The Movies #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  Neither of us speak, and then he gestures behind him, inviting me in, and I walk through into the space I used to think of as home. It looks deceptively similar to how it used to. Same couch. Same rug. Same photos of us smiling on the mantle.

  But even though the photos are the same, something’s different.

  It’s not until Mike slumps on the brown suede lounge that I realise the something different is me.

  “How are you doing?” I break the silence, my voice cracking as I speak.

  He looks up at me, big brown eyes I used to adore getting lost in.

  Now they’re dull.

  Listless.

  “I’m … I miss her, Maddie.” He presses his lips together, and a glassy sheen covers his eyes.

  I race forward and place an arm around his shoulder, sinking down next to him on the couch. He collapses into my embrace, his head on my chest, and soon his whole body shakes. The pain is contagious, and I join him, crying for the woman we both love deeply who no longer gets to enjoy this world.

  After what could be minutes, it could be hours, Mike pulls back. He swipes under his eyes with a clenched fist, and a new fierceness burns where sadness lived before. “She shouldn't have died.”

  “I know, Mike.” I shake my head.

  “She was a good person—”

  “The best,” I agree.

  “And it’s not fair. She was alone, Maddie. I was down here, in hospital after a stupid car accident, and this happened.” Tears run fresh down his cheeks, and I press my lips together, but tears come running forth anyway.

  It aches, that burn in my chest, and I can’t stop the words that spew forward. “I hate that this happened. I hate that she died, and that she was alone, and that—”

  Mike silences me with a kiss. His lips are warm and safe and comforting, and so desperately in need of being comforted. It’s a contradiction, and when he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, I want to to give in so much. I want so badly to become Madison, who organises everything. Madison, Mike’s fiancée. The old Madison, who does what’s “right”.

  Instead, even though I know I could be happy with this man—even though I know I would be happy with this man, I push him away.

  Not because he pushed me away a month prior.

  Not because I love another man, even though my feelings for Tate run deep.

  But because I’m not that Madison anymore.

  And I know Betty wouldn’t want me to be.

  ***

  Two hours later, I stare at my computer screen for the tenth time since I sat down in the public library, the most reliable place to get WiFi in Mum and Dad’s backwards town. I know I need to rewrite my article for Live Well magazine if I’d ever like to get paid again. That’s the thing, though. I don't know if I ever will. My first two attempts at this article have been shot down, and now that I’m back here in Australia, my heart raw and my emotions broken, I don't know that I have what it takes to write anymore. I just want to do as the Hemingway quote says—sit at the typewriter and bleed.

  The words come slowly at first, then faster with each minute, each second. I pick up speed as I type, letting loose all the emotion stored inside me—all the things I know I shouldn't say, but have to.

  When I hit send on the email, a small smile wraps over my lips. It may not be the article they want, but it’s the most honest piece I’ve ever written in my life. And I’m kind of proud of that.

  I grab my bag from the desk in the small-town library and prepare to head home, back to Mum and Dad’s where I’ve temporarily set-up camp. It’s time for afternoon tea.

  Healing My Heart

  I arrived at Deep Springs Wellness Resort with all the essentials one packs for a wellness retreat on a tropical island—a healthy dose of cynicism and a broken heart. After all, what more would you expect from a woman who’s just swapped Miu Miu for meditation and Dior for the downward dog?

  My fiancé broke up with me, and I was passed over for a major promotion at work. I’d even lost my favourite pair of Louboutins. Not only did I need enlightenment for my soul, I also needed a pair of new soles for my shoes. And at the time, I wasn't sure which situation was more dire.

  What I discovered on the island, however, was something different. Meditation was hard—voices and thoughts kept popping into my head. After twenty-three years of them doing so at their own free will, it didn't surprise me that I couldn't stop them. It was hard to separate myself from the failure I’d become.

  The failure I felt I’d become.

  But something changed. I stretched and I meditated, I breathed deep, but more than that, I laughed. I met new friends in two of the resort inhabitants, and discovered that you can practise inner peace and healthy living, but still enjoy a drink or two to unwind. I sweated out my inner demons, and in doing so, I lost a sense of myself. I wasn’t Madison, the girl with the dream career, or Madison, someone’s fiancée any more. I was just—me. A woman without direction. Or a job. Or a great pair of shoes.

  The natural conclusion to this article would be to tell you that attending the Deep Springs Wellness Resort fixed all that, right? That I found myself somewhere between sweat pants and scented candles.

  The thing is, I didn't. Instead, I’m living day by day—I’m taking it as it comes. I still don't know who I really am, and I’m still hurting over things that have happened in my personal life—but I’m not pushing to find a new identity. Instead of being Madison in control, I’m Madison, just making it up—and I’m a whole lot happier for it.

  I met someone on that island, someone who told me that I’m allowed to just wing it, to take some time to work on me. It’s a message that the resort absolutely stood for, but one I needed to hear from a sexy stranger with a penchant for riding the waves.

  You might see me wondering around, looking lost, but don't worry—I’m allowed to. I’ve given myself permission to fail, but I’m breathing deeply and trying to be calmer while I do it.

  And when the time comes and my feet are steadier on the board, I’m going to have faith in myself and ride my own wave all the way to the shore. After all, when you know, you know—someone special taught me that.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Tate

  Everyone always jokes about things in Australia being able to kill you. I’ve seen the memes—spiders, snakes, beautiful brunettes with stunning smiles and witty remarks.

  No one mentioned the blowflies though. I slap at my cheek, missing the one that just landed.

  God, these things drive me nuts.

  “Are you right there?” Courtney, Madison’s friend, laughs from where she sits behind the wheel of a Mini Coupe.

  “Fine.” I grit my teeth and offer up what I hope is a polite smile. Courtney might have signed an NDA and promised Janie she wouldn't share any details of my visit, but she’s still media. Still, only a small handful of paps had followed us from the airport, and now that we’re on the open road in the middle of what seriously looks like nowhere, I feel the chances of her having sold a scoop on my visit are slim to none.

  “So did you grow up out here, too?” I ask.

  “No. I’m a city girl, through and through.” Courtney nods. “So, I’ve been polite long enough. You seem like a good guy. There’s something I’m gonna tell you straight—something that you kind of need to know about Madison.”

  “Yeah?” Thoughts race through my brain. Madison likes guys who bring her flowers. Madison prefers G-strings over boy-leg panties. Madison enjoys doing it doggy-style.

  “Madison’s ex’s grandmother died three days ago.”

  Oh.

  I did not see that one coming.

  “Is she … okay?”

  Courtney shoots me a look. “Seriously?”

  “Madison! Not the grandmother.”

  Courtney shrugs and veers off the freeway onto another long stretch of dusty road. “She’s doing better than I thought she would. She loves Betty, Tate. But it doesn't mean she’s still in love with he
r ex.”

  I wince. As much as it kills me to say the words, I open my mouth to speak. “I don't expect her to be totally over him, either.”

  Courtney shakes her head. “No. She still hurts, but it’s as if …” She twists her lips. “It’s as if she’s a stronger person. I don't think she’s so tied up in him any more.”

  “She’s learning to be her own self.” My voice is quiet, but Courtney hears.

  She shoots me a wink. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  This changes everything, though. I’d expected to come here and fight for Madison’s affections again. Now, I’m coming to a woman who’s just lost the grandmother of the man she thought she’d marry, a woman she cared for deeply. And that’s a whole other thing entirely.

  How do you start something new with someone who’s lost so much?

  Courtney indicates and turns up a long drive. Gardens line either side of it with a heap of desert-dwelling plants, and some rather pretty florals. The only ones I recognise are the kind tequila is made from, agave, I think it’s called.

  The car comes to a smooth stop in the driveway and I open the door, stepping out and breathing in air that tastes so—so fresh. Almost as if the dirt of the city has never contaminated it.

  My fingers ball into fists, and it takes all my energy to unclench them. Thoughts race through my mind. She’s gonna take you back. She likes you, too. She only flew here because of her ex-fiancé’s grandmother.

  Ugh.

  I’m screwed.

  “So this is where she’s renting, huh?” I ask Courtney, more to delay the inevitable—going in and confronting the woman who very well may yell at me and tell me to get lost and go back to America.

  “Nope.” Courtney gives a truly wicked grin. “This is her parents’ place.”

  ***

  Madison

  There are some moments in life that you will remember for the rest of all time. One such moment for me was walking in the house that afternoon to the sight of Mum, Dad and Tate Masters taking tea in the living room.

  Tate sits stiff in the chair, his back ramrod straight. His big hands look out of place next to Mum’s fine china with the English rose pattern, and his rolled up white shirt that exposes his tanned, sexy arms is a strict contrast to the Victoria Bitters T-shirt my father sports.

  “You’re home,” Mum states, rather obviously.

  I don't reply. I’m too busy trying not to faint.

  “Madison’s a very hard worker. Always has been, ever since she’d beg her father and me to let her skip dinner so she could get her homework done.”

  Cringe.

  Thanks, Mum. I can only hope she hasn't brought up nudie photos of me as a kid yet.

  Or worse.

  Nudie photos of Mike.

  “Now, now, love. Madison’s grown up a lot lately.” Dad looks over at me with a wink and takes a sip of his tea, which looks as out of place in his hand as Tate’s does. “She’s not your little girl anymore.”

  “Of course. I know that, Henry.” Mum scolds.

  “Well you didn't think Mike was the only bloke she’d sleep with, did you?” Dad asks.

  My cheeks heat. Oh God. Make it stop. “Maybe we should change the topic.”

  “It’s a natural part of any relationship, love.” Dad pats Mum on the back. “Why, just last week we tried—”

  “Tate, why don't you and I grab a beer and step outside?”

  Tate looks up, and for the first time in four days I get lost in those blinding blues again. There doesn't seem to be the anger I last saw lurking there—they’re deceptively neutral.

  Actors. So frustratingly hard to read.

  “Yeah. That’d be nice.” He puts the cup down and stretches his legs. He’s so big in this small space, and I want to run into his arms and just let him solve all my problems so badly.

  But I don't.

  Because even though he’s here, and even though I’m hoping like hell it’s for a good reason, I’m not ready yet.

  “Thank the lord. I’m gettin’ a beer too.” Dad shakes his head, and his teacup lands in his saucer with a slosh. Brown liquid slaps over the side and onto the saucer below.

  “Henry, your heart.” Mum scolds.

  “What? So some flamin’ movie star can ’ave a drink in my house but I can’t? Screw that.” He jumps from his seat and walks toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll meet you out there,” I say to Tate, then follow Dad into the kitchen.

  “What’s he doing here?” I whisper, just in case Tate’s still in the house.

  “I don't know, love. He’s your movie star.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s not my anything.”

  Dad opens the fridge, pulls out three cans of VB, and hands one to me, placing one on the counter and cracking the top of the last. “Love, he flew all the way over here to see you. Looks like he’s your movie star to me.”

  I shake my head. “We were kind of seeing each other on the island.” I brace myself, waiting for the scolding I’m sure is about to follow.

  “That’s nice.”

  I blink. “Pardon?”

  Dad shrugs. “You know your mother and I love Mike. You two’ve been together since high school—it’s only natural. But you broke up. You’re allowed to find someone new.”

  I take a sip of the beer and grimace. It’s a far cry from the boutique beers I’ve drunk of late. “I guess … I guess it just feels so sudden. Even before Mike … before Betty … you know.” Tears well in my eyes again and I will them back, staring at the ceiling as if they’ll roll back into my head if I try hard enough.

  “That’s because it is too soon, love.”

  I spin around to see Mum standing in the doorway. Her curly grey hair has lost its spring on one side, as if she’s leant it against a pillow.

  “Mother, please. Are you seriously—”

  “Hush, child,” she berates, then folds her arms under her bosom. Her pink paisley dress scrunches with the movement. “It takes time to get over these things. Relationships. Life. Death. That’s not to say you two haven’t found something special. I’ve no doubt you have.”

  I frown. “But?”

  Mum sighs and shakes her head. “But I don't want to see you rushing into things. Swapping the problems you had with Mike for new problems with Tate.”

  A bowling ball rolls around my stomach. I can see a sliver of truth in her words. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we do need more time.”

  “There’s just one major problem,” Mum says, and it hurts. It hurts that my parents think this is a bad idea. That they may never think he’s the right choice for me after all—that I’m not enough for him, or he’s not enough for me. Maybe Tate was rude to them before I got here. Maybe he told Dad he hadn’t heard of VB, or—

  She links her hand in Dad’s.

  “What is it?” I all but beg.

  “It’s not a problem for today, but how will you ever live with a name like Madison Masters?”

  ***

  Tate

  If you looked up “awkward” in the dictionary, you would find a photo of me sitting with Mr and Mrs Winters over a table full of tea. Firstly, it’s horrible shit. I’m a coffee man myself. Secondly, I don't know why, but as soon as I sat down, Mrs Winters became reminiscent of a police questioner. I felt like throwing my arms out for the cuffs and claiming I did it, I was wrong, I blew up your daughter’s heart.

  I lean against the post of the balcony swing and stare out over all the empty land. All the empty space. A cow—a real cow, for shit’s sake—bellows in the distance, and I shake my head. Could we be any more dissimilar? Could our lives be further apart?

  And yet somehow, we bridged that gap on the island. Somehow we found something bigger than space and change. Bigger than just sex.

  Although let’s be honest, the sex was pretty all-time, too.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I turn my head to see the hottest woman I know walking toward me, holding out some green can that
I presume is full of beer. For a moment I’m blindsided by the way she looks, all smouldering eyes and sexy smile. God, I’ve missed that, and it’s only been four days.

  “Sex.”

  Oh, shit.

  I did not just say that.

  Luckily, Madison laughs, a light sound that seems to dance over the fields before us.

  “Tate, we’re at my parents’ house. You can’t think about that.”

  I shrug. “It’s pretty hard not to when you’re around.” I raise my arm and tuck her hair behind her ear. Up close, she smells so damn sweet, like flowers and shit.

  “You didn't come all the way to Australia just to talk about sex, did you.” It isn’t a question. Madison steps closer to me, and I can see down the top of her dress at her black lacy bra, and her—

  “Quit staring at my boobs, jackarse. My face is up here.”

  I grin. There’s the woman I know and—love?

  When you know, you know.

  Oh, shit. I am so in trouble here.

  “Madison, I came to apologise. I was wrong. You didn't do anything, and I was such a dick to just blast you without—”

  “It’s okay. I did tell someone about the relationship. I told Courtney, and I shouldn’t have, but it was before I cared about you. Before we … before we did what we did.”

  I run one hand down her arm. She shivers at my touch. “I shouldn't have blown up. Shouldn't have lost it. I just …” I sigh. This ’fessing up my feelings shit is harder than I’d thought it’d be. “You know I was doing the movie to make things easier for Janie. She also has some dickwad from her past who’s been blackmailin’ me for money over some photos of her, which is another reason why keeping my nose clean was so important to me.”

  She takes it all in, those big brown eyes studying me closely. “Was?”

  I give a wry smile. “Some short, incredibly sexy lady told me a while ago that I should just worry about me. Or some shit like that.”

  She shakes her head. “I didn't mean at the risk of your sister.”

  “She’s the one who leaked the story.”

  “What?” Madison’s voice is so loud, I’m sure they hear it back in Sydney.