“Rainer?”
No answer, but his car is in the driveway. He must be home.
“Rainer?”
I hear his voice coming from the bedroom—unexpectedly animated, and angry. He’s standing by the window holding his phone to his ear, and before I can announce myself, he barks into it.
“You’re not listening to me, so let me be very clear: I know I once did your bidding, but not now. That’s not what this is about anymore.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Through the crackling silence, I hear a voice on the other end of the line. His father. I’m not sure if I should walk away; our privacy is such a precious commodity these days… even Rainer is entitled to it. But I’m glued to the door. My breath is trapped in my lungs.
“I swear, if you even come within a mile of her, so help me God, I’ll kill you.”
He hangs up the phone, slamming it against the desk so hard it makes me jump out of my flip-flops. My gasp gives me away, and Rainer looks up, his face immediately retreating from rage to surprise.
“Sorry,” I blurt out, shifting my weight in the doorway. “I couldn’t find you, and by the time I got here—”
He freezes for a moment. Even his hand doesn’t move. But his eyes quickly dart away from me. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
I want to go to him, to hug him, but he seems closed off somehow. This stuff with his family is bigger than I thought, and for the first time I consider that maybe it is powerful enough to come between us. “That’s okay,” I say. “Is he threatening your mom?” I ask.
“What?”
“You said if you come within a mile of her…” My voice trails off.
Rainer is looking at the floor. “Oh, yeah.”
I pause for a moment, deciding whether to press the issue. “I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad.” I didn’t realize we were keeping things from each other, is what I want to say, but I hold back.
He doesn’t answer, and when he slumps into his chair, I instinctively thrust my bags at him. “I went shopping,” I say, trying a different tactic. Maybe distracting him will help. “With Alexis. Want to check out my loot?”
He glances at me absentmindedly. “Maybe in a bit.”
I look down at the desk and realize there are papers strewn all over it. “What are you doing?”
He exhales then, long. “I was trying to read through my mom’s divorce papers.”
“Oh, Rainer.” I go over to him. I rub his neck.
He shakes his head. “People are coming out of the woodwork now. His old assistant, one studio exec.” He runs a hand over his eyes. “It’s too much. I can’t blame her.”
“When did she decide?”
He shrugs. “The last few days? I don’t know, Paige. I’ve been distracted.” I feel him flinch away from my fingertips. Rainer never gets short with me.
I think about tour, my birthday last night. “We’ve been working,” I say, unsure of the words, whether they’re true. Have I been distracting him?
“Yeah, but this is my family.”
I can feel the skin under my eyes burning, and I turn to leave when I feel his hands reach for me. In the next breath he’s pulling me down into his lap.
“I’m sorry,” he says, the side of his face pressed to mine. “I just…”
“It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I love you,” he says, suddenly.
I know he does. I’ve known it since the premiere, maybe longer, but hearing it now, like this, is new. We’ve never said it. Not directly. Not with nothing standing in between the words.
He runs a hand up and down my back. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just… I just needed you to know.”
“I love you, too,” I say. Automatically, without thought.
“You do?”
I nod my head. I place my hands on either side of his face. “Rainer, of course I do.”
He kisses me then, parting my lips with his own.
I think back to his reaction on the phone just now. “What does your father want you to do?” I ask.
Rainer’s arms tighten around me. “Nothing I’m willing to,” he says.
I thread my fingers though his hair. He closes his eyes, pulling me tighter. “I can’t lose you,” he says suddenly.
I turn his face back to mine. “Why would you even say that?” I ask. “Of course you’re not going to lose me. Rainer, I’m right here.”
He buries his head in my neck. I wrap my arms around him and kiss everywhere I can reach with my lips. “I love you,” I repeat.
I think about that moment on the cliffs of Ho’okipa all those months ago. We made promises to each other. We said we’d be there. I don’t know why he doesn’t understand, after all this time, that it works both ways.
The next morning we have a rehearsal for the MTV Movie Awards. Rainer and I arrive at six AM and are shuffled through stage directions. Jordan is there, too, and the two of them are cordial bordering, maybe, on friendly. At one point Rainer even brings Jordan a cup of coffee, and Jordan comments on how Rainer still remembers how he likes it—black (of course).
I hang with Alexis, who spends the morning coaching Georgina through some drama with Blake. At least she’s not loving up Jordan.
As soon as they stop moving us around the stage like little chess pieces, Rainer has to go.
“I thought we were having lunch?” I ask him.
“Mom needs me,” he says, pulling me in for a quick kiss. “Are you ready? I’ll drop you off first.”
One of the producers shakes her head. “We need Paige for another twenty. Sorry, guys.”
Rainer looks at his watch. “Damn. I guess I could leave the car with you?”
I wave him off. “No need, I’ll call a taxi.”
Rainer looks unconvinced. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I say, planting a kiss on his lips. “Go.”
Actually, they only need me for another five once they realize Alexis is gone. I could have told them that. She left an hour ago with Georgina. I got a text from her that said: Sry. Burning Blake’s things. Plans tonight?
Alexis and I were supposed to present together, but they trade us out for two others. Fine by me. It’s one less thing I have to think about on Awards night.
I’m about to call a car when I see Jordan still standing there, talking to one of the show’s hosts. He catches my eye and excuses himself. I fiddle with my phone in my hands as my nervous system starts to scramble.
“Rainer take off?” he asks.
“Yeah, he had to…” I let my voice trail off. “Family stuff.”
Jordan nods. “I can drop you off, if you want.” It’s a question, but the intonation in his voice doesn’t change.
I slip my phone back into my bag. “That would be great.”
Jordan shoves his hands into his pockets. “Cool. Any interest in food?”
As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. It’s noon, I’ve been up since five, and all I’ve had was a stale croissant from the craft services they put out.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m starving.”
Jordan cocks his head for me to follow him. We sneak up the aisle and then around to the back of the theater where his truck is parked. I get in, and he immediately starts speeding away.
“Where should we go?” I ask, pretending like we have unlimited options, like we could just stroll into Nobu and eat at the window.
“I’ve got it covered,” Jordan says. He glances at me, and then away, back at the traffic ahead. I roll down the window and let my hand trail out beside me. I’m remembering our morning climbing up Haleakala in his car, the air growing colder, me curled up in his sweatshirt. It feels like decades ago, and yet it’s here, right now. Sitting in the center console between us.
We arrive at a Mexican restaurant called El Cholo, situated between a gas station and a convenience store. Jordan parks in the lot and then motions for me to follow him through the heavy metal doors. Inside, the res
taurant is expansive, but no one pays us any mind. A man comes up and claps Jordan on the back.
“Santiago,” Jordan says. “How are you?”
“It has been a long time,” Santiago says.
“Hey,” I cut in.
“This is Paige,” Jordan says, gesturing to me.
Santiago smiles warmly and pulls me in for a kiss on the cheek. “Beautiful,” he says. Jordan raises his eyebrows.
“She’s taken,” he says. There’s no irony in his tone.
“Too bad,” Santiago says. “But I have a perfect table for you. This way.” Santiago takes us through the main room to a booth in the back. “Guacamole on the way.”
“Thanks, man,” Jordan says.
“I take it you come here often?” I ask when Santiago dashes off.
“Once in a while,” Jordan says, his eyes on mine.
“So what’s good?” I ask, fumbling with the menu. I can feel my heartbeat under my T-shirt. The cotton is doing little to hide what’s going on inside me from being this close, this alone, with Jordan.
“The green tamales,” Jordan says. “Just trust me on this one.”
Santiago returns with the promised guacamole, and I dive into the chip basket. Jordan gives me a smile. “Careful,” he says. “You’re going to choke. I’m not really in the mood to perform CPR.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I shake my head, remembering the day on Maui he rescued me from drowning in the ocean. I swam out too far, and he pulled me up, practically brought me back to life.
Jordan takes a sip of water. Why did I have to say that? Stupid.
“So how are you?” he asks. In the light I see his scar below his ear—a reminder of so many things. It seems to wink at me, like we’re in on some secret.
“Pretty good,” I say. “I mean, it’s weird, all of this.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I’ll get used to it.”
He shrugs. “Maybe.” He unclips his sunglasses from where they hang off his shirt and sets them on the table.
I thread my napkin through my fingers. It feels like when I first met Jordan. How it was like pulling teeth, getting him to have a conversation. “How are you?” I ask.
“Good,” he says. “I’ve been seeing my sister a lot.”
“Oh yeah? How is she?”
Jordan laughs. It makes my body relax. “Starting high school,” he says.
“Yikes.”
“She knows if she dates before she’s thirty, I’ll ground her for life, though, so we’re all good.”
“Seems reasonable.”
“What about your sister? Deep in wedding planning?”
He remembers. “Oh yeah,” I say. “She’s been sending me all kinds of crazy requests lately.”
“Pitfalls of stardom,” Jordan says.
“I think just pitfalls of sisterhood, actually.”
Jordan laughs. “You’re not looking forward to it at all?”
“No, I am.” I’m hesitant to go home. What will it be like? Last time I was home was before the movie came out. I’m just not entirely sure I belong there anymore, or what it will be like once I’m back. “It’s just weird. Balancing this life with that one.”
Jordan runs a hand over his chin. He’s quiet for a moment, then he looks at me, like, really looks at me. “So how are you doing being back? Besides getting stalked on Robertson, I mean.”
I think about my planned paparazzi shoot with Alexis. He saw that?
“I don’t know,” I say. “Good, I guess.”
I know he’s asking about Rainer and me, but I’m not sure I can talk about it with him. What would I say? Great, Jordan. Rainer told me he loved me last night. Thanks for asking!
“I hung out with Georgina and Alexis yesterday,” I offer instead. I silently pray he won’t elaborate on her. I don’t think I can bear hearing about their chemistry from him.
But he doesn’t react, or offer information. Instead he leans forward, snagging a tortilla chip, and asks what he wants to know, so there’s no way out. “How is Rainer?”
I think about my options. Telling him he’s great. And part of that would be true. But Jordan cares about Rainer. I know he asks because he really wants to know. And more than anything, after so many lies, I want to be honest with him. If we’re going to be friends, maybe we could start here.
“It has been pretty hard on him,” I confess. I don’t tell him about the divorce, or last night, his heated words with his father.
“It’s tough,” Jordan says. “I feel for him.”
I see a vein in his neck flinch, and I know he means it. Jordan has his own family drama. He knows what it’s like to live out such a personal saga in such a public way.
I wish they could talk to each other. I’ve seen them be friendlier, but it’s clear Jordan is still maintaining his distance. And I feel responsible. It’s my fault they’re not friends now. And I don’t have any idea what to do to fix it.
“He doesn’t want anything to do with his father,” I say.
Jordan nods. “Greg used to have a pretty big hold on Rainer. He’s always done what his father asked, no matter what.” He looks right at me when he says it, and something about the intensity in his eyes makes me stop. It’s like he’s trying to communicate with them—to fill in something that his words cannot. “Just don’t be surprised if the tables turn again.”
“Turn on what?”
Jordan sighs, wraps his hands around his water glass. “If he goes back to being Greg’s son.”
“Jordan, Britney was his girlfriend. I don’t see how he could forgive that.”
Jordan clears his throat. He has the slightest evidence of a five o’clock shadow. It makes him look older. It’s strange: Rainer has three years on Jordan, but Jordan has always appeared older to me. Rainer still has a childlike innocence.
“It’s his father,” Jordan says.
I think about Jordan’s own father—the scar on his face, the public financial battles. Jordan would never forgive him. He would never let his father back in. And for a moment I don’t know which is better.
“Maybe,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to.
Our food arrives. Sizzling plates of tamales. They taste as good as they look.
“So what’s next?” he asks. I think for a second he’s talking about us, but then he quickly clarifies. “Have you signed on to any other projects?”
“There’s one I want,” I say between bites. “Closer to Heaven.”
For the first time all day, I see Jordan really smile. “Kick-ass script,” he says. “They want you for India?”
I nod. “Well, sorta. I want me for India.”
“You gotta do it.”
“Trust me, I know. Sandy doesn’t seem that psyched about it. And they’re not into me for the part.” I take another cheesy bite.
Jordan looks like he’s heard me wrong. He sits back and squints. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope,” I say. “I’m too blockbuster or something.” I shrug. “I asked to meet with the writers and director—we’ll see if it happens.”
“We’ll see?” Jordan shakes his head. “Paige, this is your career. Not Sandy’s, not your agent’s, not Tawny’s. If you want this, you need to go after it.”
I swallow. Rainer says the reason I have reps is so that they can make these decisions for me, but I don’t say that. It feels stupid to parrot Rainer, especially to Jordan.
He looks at me. Hard. “Do you want this?”
I study his jaw. The curve of his face. “More than anything,” I say.
“So fight,” Jordan says. “Show them you can do it. Don’t take no for an answer.” He leans forward, close, and instinctively I put my hands on the table, right by his elbows. I want to curl my fingers around his wrists, grab on to his arms. I feel the need to touch him—like it’s another limb all its own.
Jordan eyes my hands and then sits up. “We should head back,” he says.
The s
ubtle rejection stings. I want to protest—just ten more minutes—but I know it wouldn’t make a difference. There is so much I want to say to him, none of which he should hear.
“Alexis waiting for you?” I ask. It comes out accusatory, and I mentally kick myself.
“We’re going to a premiere tonight. The new Scorsese,” he says, sidestepping the question.
“Cool.”
We look at each other. We both know I’m lying.
He looks at me another beat—long enough for me to want to ask him how we ended up here. Barely scraping the surface. I remember once being closer to him than anyone. And now—
Jordan hardly talks on the way home, and when he drops me off, he doesn’t get out.
“Nice to see you,” he says.
“I’ll see you at the Awards, I guess?”
Jordan nods. It seems sad, slightly. “Best Kiss,” he says. “Right.” We glance at each other. “At least we won’t win,” he says. And then he’s gone.
CHAPTER 6
The MTV Movie Awards are upon us. We’re up for six: Best Female Performance, Best Male Performance for Rainer and Jordan, Movie of the Year, Best Kiss—twice, in case anyone has forgotten. And I haven’t. The idea of having to banter with Rainer on that stage in front of Jordan and the world is making me scan this limo for a possible exit strategy.
I’m sitting in the back, in a silver dress and leopard-print heels I have zero idea how I’m going to walk in. I tried to get the stylist to let me wear flats, but the conversation pretty much just went like: no.
Tawny is chattering on her cell, and Sandy is deep in conversation with Rainer. He’s sitting next to me, his hand in mine. I know I’m gripping a little too tightly. Half because of the nerves, and half because this is the most I’ve seen him all week.
He’s been sleeping at his mom’s a lot. It freaks me out how freaked out I am to be without him. It used to be that on the rare occasion I got the house to myself it was absolute heaven. In Portland, I would have spent all my savings for one night alone in the Townsen house. And now? Now I think about paparazzi finding me. I think about the millions of fans on the Internet whose happiness seem to be dependent on our staying together. Being alone makes me feel like I’m being pulled under by them.
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