While We Were Dating

by Jasmine Guillory

  She pointed at him.

  “You kid, but I want you to keep that energy for tomorrow. I want oohing and aahing over avocados and the most beautiful stone fruits of the season, you hear me?”

  He saluted her.

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Just tell me what a stone fruit is, and we’re good.”

  So the next day, they got out of Anna’s car near the Silver Lake Farmers Market. Ben had to laugh—though only internally, since he didn’t want Anna to think, like Simon did, that he was making light of all of this—at how far they’d driven to get there, and how very long it had taken to find parking. What if all of the stone fruit was gone by the time they got there?

  They got out of the car, and Anna looked him up and down.

  “Thank Maddie for me, will you?” she asked. He felt a ridiculous glow of pride.

  “Will do,” he said. He slid his hand into hers. “Shall we?”

  They walked toward the farmers market, hand in hand. Ben turned to Anna to ask her something, but before he could say anything, she jumped in.

  “Remember, you’re supposed to look besotted with me,” she said, gazing up at him adoringly. It was wild how much her bossy, commanding tone didn’t match the glowing smile on her face.

  Ben didn’t know why she felt the need to say that to him—besotted was the only possible way to look at Anna right now. She had on this light, flowing sundress that clung to her breasts, her hair was in soft curls past her shoulders, and he didn’t know if it was just because he was here in L.A. or if she’d gotten more sun in the past week or what, but there was this . . . glow about her. He couldn’t believe everyone around them didn’t stop to stare.

  “What if I just think about the way you woke me up this morning when I look at you?” he asked.

  She lowered her lashes and then fluttered them—actually fluttered them!—at him, and he had to laugh.

  “Excellent idea,” she said. “Aren’t you glad you’re staying until tomorrow, when there can be a repeat performance of that?”

  He rubbed his thumb back and forth inside her palm.

  “Mmm, tomorrow might be my turn to do that for you,” he said. “It’s only fair, you know.”

  By that time, they’d made their way into the market. Ben didn’t know if any photographers had been around yet—he probably should have been looking out for them, but he’d been focused on Anna. He supposed it was probably better that he didn’t know, if the goal was for him to seem like he had no idea anyone was taking his picture. He obediently squeezed avocados and exclaimed over nectarines and examined herbs, as Anna beamed at him. By that time, he’d seen a few photographers around, trying to hide. Just to put his own spin on this thing, he stopped at the flower vendor and presented Anna with a bouquet of peonies.

  “Oh, you’re very good,” she said, looking up at him from under her lashes.

  He thought so, too.

  After about twenty minutes, Anna turned around.

  “I think we’re all set to cook dinner tonight—is there anything else we need?”

  He knew that was the signal that they’d gotten what they’d come here for. He wondered what would happen if he said, “Oh no, I want to stay longer—maybe check out those stands way down at the other end to see if they have any french fries.” He let himself grin at the thought, and then took her hand and walked back with her to the car.

  They stopped at a cupcake store nearby and got a few for later—spicy chocolate, lemon meringue, and s’more. Once they were on their way back to Anna’s house, Ben turned to her.

  “So that went well, I imagine, from that smug look on your face?”

  Anna grinned over at him.

  “Very. Especially that moment with the flowers—that was perfect.” It had been, hadn’t it? “Granted, you never know what photos turn out like; some people definitely try for unflattering angles where I’m in the middle of saying something and my eyes are closed and my face looks all smushed up. But we did as well as—honestly, even better than—I’d hoped.”

  He asked the question he’d been wondering all day.

  “How did you know that photographers would be there? Are they always at that farmers market, or . . . ?”

  Anna laughed and shook her head.

  “Oh, you sweet summer child, no. We made sure they’d be there.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Made sure— What do you mean?”

  Anna’s smile grew wider.

  “Well, usually it means that someone on our side calls them, but we’ve already done that once, and we don’t want to push our luck here—that can get messy. So this time Simon convinced one of his other clients—much more of a fame whore than me, no offense to him, we all have to do what we have to do in this business—to go there today, too. So they called them. We just reaped the benefit.”

  His mind was blown.

  “You call them. Wow. I’d always just assumed . . .”

  Anna patted his arm.

  “That all of this was organic? Yeah, no.”

  He couldn’t believe how naive he’d been.

  “I had no idea. Is it always like that?”

  He felt like he was in a play within a play. They were pretending to be dating in front of people who pretended they’d just happened to come upon them when every part of it was a lie. What a weird, fucked up, fascinating world this was.

  “It’s not always like that—sometimes it really is organic: they happen to be in just the right place, or the wrong place, from my point of view, in situations like that.” Oh God, he felt like an ass now, given what she’d told him before. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she kept talking. “There are some places they just hang out, but after a while you grow to know where those places are, so you can avoid or flock to them, as your attention needs take you. And sometimes people get caught in the attention to someone else—if they’re following someone super famous, or if someone else has called them and they see you, they’ll get you, too. But a lot of the stuff you see in tabloids or whatever, they look like candids, but they’re not, trust me.”

  Ben thought about that for a while. It all made perfect sense, now that she’d explained it. Except . . .

  “Can I ask you something? Something personal?”

  The smile faded from Anna’s face, but she nodded.

  “Sure.”

  He tried to think of the best way to ask this.

  “It’s just about . . . what you told me on the way back from Palm Springs. You said the photographers made you anxious and panicked, which I totally understand. But today, you seemed fine—unless maybe you weren’t fine and you were just acting? In that case . . .”

  She shook her head.

  “No, I was fine. I actually thought that was kind of fun, didn’t you?”

  She glanced over at him with a grin on her face.

  “I thought it was hilarious, actually. I was cracking up inside the whole time.”

  She laughed.

  “I thought so—me, too. And you’re wondering why I was okay now, and not before? I guess the difference is that for things like today, I’m in control. Obviously not over what they say about me, or what the final pictures look like, no. But the where, when, how, who—all of that I do intentionally. It’s not something I have to do because I can’t escape from them. I mean, yes, it’s also because now I’m in therapy and on meds and doing so much better, but that’s another big part of it.” She made a face. “My therapist thinks I shouldn’t feel the need to control everything quite so much. I’m . . . working on that.”

  Weren’t they all working on something? Or supposed to be, anyway.

  “Okay,” he said. “Thanks. For answering me, I mean.”

  She dropped her hand on his knee. That was usually his move. Now he understood why it so often worked.

  “You�
�re welcome,” she said. “And thanks for today. For doing all of this, I mean. Dealing with Simon—I’m really sorry about that, by the way, he insisted on meeting you, I should have warned you—and the flight down here and making adoring faces—”

  “Besotted, I believe the word was,” he said.

  “Oh right, sorry, making besotted faces at me. Thank you for all of it.”

  He put his hand over hers.

  “You’re welcome. But really, don’t thank me too much—this is fun for me. And now the whole world thinks I’m dating Anna Gardiner? Win-win.”

  She laughed, but tightened her hand on his knee.

  “Okay, but just let me say this. I have no idea if any of this will work, but I guess . . . going back to what I just said, I guess I feel better about it all now, because I’ve tried to snatch some of the control back. I’m not just sitting around hoping for my career to happen to me; I’m taking charge of it. And I like taking charge.”

  Ben looked at her sideways.

  “You do, do you?”

  She smiled without looking at him.

  “Well. Sometimes. Other times . . .”

  He had an excellent idea for what they could do when they got back to her house.

  Sixteen

  “People? We made it to People? The magazine, not just the website?”

  Anna had tried not to get her hopes up too high about what could happen from the farmers market photos—she’d thought the day had gone well, but you never knew how pictures could turn out, or what terrible angle some photographer who had a grudge against her could find to make her look sad or angry or sullen. But apparently, all of that worry had been for naught.

  “We made it to People,” Simon said. “The magazine, not just the website. Or, rather, you and your little friend made it to People. I have to give it to you, that buying-flowers bit was a fantastic idea, congratulations for thinking of it.”

  Anna scrolled through the photos Simon had sent over—one with them strolling, hand in hand, into the farmers market, and one with Ben presenting her with that bouquet of flowers. She could feel how smug her smile was.

  “The flowers thing was all him. He didn’t even tell me about it, he just stopped and bought them, so that look of surprise on my face is genuine.”

  She looked over at the flowers, in a vase on her bookshelf, and smiled wider.

  “Hmm, interesting,” Simon said. “Well, now I’m glad that I leaked all of that stuff about what a great dancer he was and how everyone on set loved him and how respectful he is to women.”

  Anna laughed. Simon didn’t fool her.

  “You did that for me—or rather, for your interests—not for him. Speaking of our interests—any updates from the studio? Or on when that meeting with Varon is going to happen?”

  Because that’s what this was really for. Not fun farmers market jaunts and beautiful bouquets from Ben, or weekends full of great sex and a lot of laughter. All of that was well and good, but they weren’t going to get her what she wanted, which was the Varon movie.

  “Varon still isn’t back in L.A., but apparently she’ll be back soon. Nothing from the studio yet, but the buzz around you is getting bigger, between all the press you’re getting for Vigilantes and this Ben thing. He’s coming back down this weekend, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said to Simon, even though he already knew this. He apparently thought Ben was going to bail on her at every moment. “He’s back on Friday—we’re still on for the Lakers playoff game Saturday night.”

  “Ah yes, the Lakers game you insisted on.”

  Simon’s original plan for Saturday night had been for a super public double date for her and Ben with one of Anna’s very A-list friends and her former football-player husband. But when Anna found out there was a Lakers playoff game that night, she had forced Simon to get them tickets instead. She didn’t care about basketball, but she knew Ben did.

  “Does he have any idea how high-profile this is? Have you talked to him about this? Please make sure he knows how to behave with the cameras on him constantly like they will be at the game. And also, you should . . .”

  “Yes, he knows. Don’t worry, Simon. He won’t swear at a player with the cameras rolling, or yell at anyone around us, or any of the other nightmare scenarios you’re making up in your head. But I’ll remind him, just in case.”

  She wouldn’t, but if it made Simon feel better that she said so, fine.

  Anna hung up and kept working for the next few hours—a call with her stylist to discuss her outfits for the game that weekend and for the premiere in a few weeks, a call with her financial planner, prep for her Vigilantes-related interview the next day, emails to Florence about her schedule, reviewing charity requests.

  Her phone rang just as she got off the phone with Florence. Her brother.

  Oh no.

  “Hi, what’s wrong?” she said into the phone, her heart beating fast.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Anna!” Chris said. “I can’t just call my big sister without a crisis?”

  She flopped back against her cozy office chair.

  “Okay, but you don’t ever call your big sister without a crisis, so . . .”

  Chris laughed out loud.

  “That’s not . . . completely true. But obviously now I have to call you more so you don’t sound panicked every time I do. Anyway, it’s not a crisis; everyone is fine. I just had a quick question, and I figured calling was faster than texting.”

  That sounded like bullshit, but okay.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, two questions, actually. The first I emailed you already, but I know things can get lost in that inbox of yours, so look out for it and let me know if you have any questions.” This must be a request for money for one of his pet projects; she would give some, of course, they both knew that. Chris was involved in a bunch of charities, which she kept hoping would get her dad off her back, but it hadn’t. “But as for the second . . . Okay, full disclosure, Mom asked me about this and wants me to get info from you, but I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.”

  He was taking awhile to work up to this, which was rare for Chris.

  “What is it?”

  “Well. Mom saw those pictures from last week, and then again in People today, and she showed them to me, and . . . what’s going on with you and this guy?”

  Anna had to laugh.

  “Chris, I told you guys what was going on when we had lunch at Mom and Dad’s, you know this is all fake.”

  “Yes, you told us that, but . . .”

  “But what? Didn’t I tell all of you, a long time ago, that I’d tell you anything that mattered in my personal life before it hit the press?”

  The few actual relationships she’d had in Hollywood, she’d told her family about well before they were public, for this exact reason—she didn’t want them to read gossip about her and think they were finding out along with the rest of the world.

  “I know, I know, but . . . what Mom said to me—and I agreed, after I looked at those pictures—was that you looked different in them. Happier, I guess. And she liked the way that guy looked at you. So she thought maybe there was something else happening.”

  Hoped, Anna was pretty sure he meant. She loved her mom very much, but she desperately wanted Anna to be partnered and settled down, a thing that was not in Anna’s plans for at least a few more years.

  “I am happier, happier than I have been in a while, but it’s not because of Ben—it’s because I’m feeling better and taking care of myself and working, but not too hard, all of those things Mom and Dad want me to do.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe she called you and made you look at pictures of me in People magazine.”

  Her mom didn’t even used to read People magazine.

  “It wasn’t that bad—I stopped by the house to drop off some books for h
er school. And then she made me look at pictures of you in People magazine.”

  They both laughed.

  After she got off the phone, Anna thought about what she’d said to Chris. It wasn’t exactly true, that her happiness had nothing to do with Ben, but not in the way her family thought. It had nothing to do with Ben himself. Ben was great, absolutely, she always had fun with him; the sex was truly excellent. But this “relationship” with Ben was the first time since her crisis where she felt like she was taking control of her life, that she was in charge of her career, that she wasn’t sitting back and letting things happen to her because she was too anxious or exhausted or overwhelmed to make decisions. It felt fantastic.

  * * *

  —

  Thursday, Ben texted Anna on the way to work.

  I’m sitting on muni and this woman is looking from her phone to me and then back to her phone and then back to me—is this always what happens when someone with you ends up in People magazine?

  Anna had texted the day before to tell him about the pictures in People, but not before one of his aunts had texted them to the family group text. The group text had been out of control ever since the first pictures had come out, with his older cousins all making fun of him, but also privately trying to get him to spill some dirt, his younger cousins all making memes out of the pictures of him and Anna, and his aunts and uncles all saying that they couldn’t wait to meet her, and reprimanding their offspring for teasing him. Ben loved it. He only wished they’d all actually get to meet Anna.

  Not because he wanted her to be his girlfriend for real, obviously not. That seemed like a lot of work—all that travel, all of the performing for the cameras, having to interact with everyone on “Team Anna” from her eager assistant to her ass of a manager and everyone in between. Nah, it was just because he knew his family would all get a kick out of her, that’s all.

  He still felt bad that he hadn’t told Theo the truth. Theo would be so disappointed when it all ended. He’d tell him everything then, though he had a feeling Theo would just be even more disappointed.