by M. E. Carter
“The VIP lounges are airline specific.” Sliding my boarding pass across the counter, her friendly demeanor practically evaporates. “And unfortunately, the discount airline you’re flying doesn’t have one in this airport. Or anywhere.”
She says the word “discount” like it’s offensive to her. I guess she’s never had to decide between upgrading to an airline that provides a drink and peanuts and paying the electric bill. Lucky her.
“So then why can’t I use this one? I’m willing to pay like everyone else.”
“That’s not the way it works. Only our customers can use our lounges.”
This can’t be happening. I need in that lounge. I need to get my interview with Hunter while I’m… err, it’s still fresh in his mind. Once he hits the next convention or press junket or wherever he’s going next, I’ll be a forgotten memory.
I know this poor woman’s hands are tied, but maybe I can appeal to her success as a professional.
Leaning forward, a huge smile on my face I say, “I understand what you’re saying.” Her shoulders relax at my non-threatening tone. “But Hunter Stone just walked in there.”
Her spine straightens once again, and I realize too late I’ve made a mistake dropping his name.
“No! No, I’m not a fan,” I try to backtrack. “I mean I am, because who isn’t? I actually know him from years ago when he was working well off-Broadway.”
Stop babbling, Celeste. Get to the point.
Chuckling lightly, I wave my hand. “You don’t care about that. My point is, I’m a blogger.”
Wrong again. Now she looks like she’s about to call that giant “stare me down without a word” guy back. He can’t have gotten far so I better fix this.
“Hunter and I are both leaving a convention where we spoke multiple times.” I begin digging around my bag for evidence. “He offered to let me interview him before he left and gave me this card, see?”
I hand her the business card as proof. She looks down at it and frowns. “This says Eddie Addison on it.”
“Right. That’s his manager. I emailed him but haven’t heard back and this would be a great time to knock out the interview so we can both go on our way.”
“Ms. Pumpernickle…”
“Pumperkin…”
“Are you suggesting I ignore the fact that you aren’t a member here, aren’t even a customer of our airline, so you, as a member of the press, can harass one of our celebrity clients?”
“No! Oh gosh no! We’re actually sort of friends—ish. He’s friends with Matthew Roberts, who is marrying my best friend, Carrie Myers. You can look it up online. There was a small magazine spread about it. Oh! I know!” The dig in my purse begins once again. Why can’t I find anything in here? I know why… receipts. I have all of them from this weekend for tax purposes, making my usually organized purse a mess. Figures.
Finally I find what I’m looking for. “Here, see?” I hand her yet another business card. “This is our blog and website. We cover books and movies and… anyway, you can see my name right there and Carrie’s is right above mine. You know to cross reference that I know Matthew and therefore Hunter…”
Even as the words come out of my mouth, I know how weak my argument is. I might as well say I know Kevin Bacon because there’s only six degrees of separation.
“This card says the website is owned by Celestial Starr and Carrie Mibooks.”
“Those are our blog names… for… privacy reasons.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, not even having to look at her to know this conversation is over. My face is flaming with the humiliation I’m feeling. Quietly, I begin repacking all my belongings, careful to get everything in the correct places so I don’t have to re-organize again later.
When I’m finally situated, I take my boarding pass off the counter.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
Turning toward the door, she stops me.
“Ms. Pumpernickle…”
I don’t bother correcting her, feeling a tiny bit of hope that she’s changed her mind and will have pity on me.
“I don’t need these business cards.”
She reaches her arm out, holding the cards with two fingers like they’ll infect her with whatever has me acting a fool.
Sheepishly, I take them from her and exit the reception area as quickly as I can, relieved the windows are frosted and no one in the concord was able to witness my humiliation.
Chapter Nine
Hunter
Two months later
It may not be a flight home to my bed and much missed pillow but I’m not complaining. A long weekend in Turks and Caicos may be exactly what I need. To say I was surprised when I received an invitation to Matthew Roberts’s wedding would be an understatement. Sure, we’ve gotten to know each other better over the last few months, having hung out a few times when our paths have crossed for work. But I always assumed destination weddings were for close family and friends.
Yet, here I am, raising my seat to its upright position as we make our descent over the pristine azure water. This weekend will hopefully be a far cry from the last vacation I took. That weekend of camping with my family left me with a body covered in mosquito bites and a kink in my neck that took days to work out. Of course, I was seventeen and shared a tent with my brother, but that’s neither here nor there.
Come to think of it, it’s been more than a decade since I have had any sort of vacation. While attending a wedding doesn’t exactly scream “vacation,” an opportunity to spend a few days at a tropical resort was the selling point.
Settling in, the flight attendant catches my eye as she peers from her seat in the galley. She’s pretty with dark brown hair pulled back in a tight bun, blunt bangs framing her big brown eyes. I have no doubt if I flashed a megawatt smile, she would be putty in my hands. The same hands that would be filled with her body. But, that’s not my style. I don’t hook up with random women even if it’s been longer than I’m willing to admit to myself since I’ve been with anyone. The potential consequences aren’t worth it at this stage of my career. One picture of my naked ass in the tabloids and my burgeoning career could be over before it has really started.
As the wheels touch down and my fellow passengers and I bounce in our seat, I can feel the tension of the past six months lessen. My muscles are pulled tight, but I have no doubt by the end of the weekend, I’ll at least be able to breathe easier.
I half expected Eddie to convince me to cancel this trip. While our U.S. promotional tour for the blockbuster was relatively standard, the European portion was nothing but delays and rescheduling. Add in a nasty flu bug that made its way through the circuit and the reshoots for Prince of Darkness and I’m wiped. Of course, there’s no rest for the weary and one day in the future I’ll look back at this time as some of the best in my life.
At least that’s what I’m told. I think those people are high or delusional.
When the captain signals we can unfasten our seatbelts and prepare to deplane, I pull my phone from where it’s been nestled in the pocket of the seat in front of me and switch it off airplane mode. I immediately have regrets as notification upon notification come through. Without another thought, I shoot a quick message to my mom letting her know I arrived and then quickly power it down. It’s unlike me to go off the grid, to allow myself time to relax. But I promised myself I would take this weekend to reset my internal battery.
Rising from my seat, I stretch my back and gather my things before sliding on my sunglasses and filing out of the plane. A quick thank you to the crew and I step onto the jetway, the smell of saltwater fills my senses. I’ve always liked the beach, but it’s been years since I’ve had the downtime to really enjoy it. Maybe that’s been part of my problem. I’ve sacrificed the things I’ve enjoyed in life, forgotten why I started this career in the first place, to get where I am but at what cost? I’m closing in on thirty years old and have the success I’ve dreamed of, but my sense of balance is non-existent. There’s no
one to share all of this with.
Moving around baggage claim is seamless. Unlike airports in the states, nobody seems to care that I’m standing among them. It helps that I haven’t shaved in a week, let my hair grow longer, and am wearing sunglasses indoors. Makes me harder to recognize. Not that anyone is paying attention. Couples cuddle and children dance around, pure joy expressed in their smiles and laughs. Here I stand, a lone man with a backpack. That’s depressing.
A woman next to me struggles with her suitcase so I step up and help her, grabbing the handle and lugging it off the conveyor belt. Dang, what does she have in here? A body?
“Thank you,” she says with a smile.
“You’re welcome.”
“Have a nice trip.” With that statement she shuffles away, pulling her luggage beside her. Huh. No recognition. Looks like my vacation persona is working. I’m not sure if I should be relieved or slightly offended.
Once I’ve secured my own suitcase, I scan the space for the exit and spot a man holding a sign with “Stone” printed on it. Nodding in recognition, I approach the gentleman.
“Mr. Stone?”
“That’s me.”
“Right this way, sir. I’ll take your luggage.”
Passing off the suitcase, I follow him out into the bright sunlight. The upside to an overnight flight is arriving midday when the sun is high in the sky. The ocean breeze is welcome as we make our way to the waiting town car. Sliding into the back seat, I instinctively reach for my phone but remember it is powered off. I’m leaving it that way. I will enjoy the down time and my first real vacation.
Instead, I open the window and take in the scenery before me, willing my mind and body to calm and embrace the next few days of relaxation. Celebration of a friend and his future. It isn’t a long drive to the resort and when we arrive I’m pleasantly surprised to see the hotel resembles a large southern estate more than a traditional hotel.
Again, nobody seems to give me a second look as I check in. The staff is polite but also unfazed by my presence and for the first time in a long time, I feel like my old self not the actor Hunter Stone. Following the bell captain to my room, I realize I am still wearing my sunglasses. Well if that doesn’t scream “douchebag” I don’t know what does. Sunglasses indoors. Way to be a stereotype, Hunter.
Stepping into the room, I’m taken aback by its opulence. Two rooms separated by a pair of French doors, the bright white furniture and blue walls feel like the space is actually an extension of the outdoors more than anything.
“Your private veranda is just there, sir. I believe the wedding party has provided an itinerary with your welcome basket.”
Turning my attention to the kind man, I smile and reach for my wallet pulling a twenty out and placing it in his palm. Nodding, he thanks me and exits the room. With a deep inhale and exhale, exhaustion takes over once again.
Moving to the large basket of snacks and champagne, I lift the card clearly setting out the itinerary of the weekend. I’ve already missed the welcome brunch and water sports are in full effect according to this schedule. Tonight is a cocktail hour and dinner for all guests before an “early to bed” note since tomorrow is the wedding day. Looking at the time, I note I have just about three hours until the cocktail portion of the evening begins.
Just enough time for a nap and a shower. I walk over to the French doors leading to the private veranda the man pointed out. The view is breathtaking. White sandy beaches as far as the eye can see with that pristine water I saw from the plane stretched out in front of me.
The energy I’ve held onto slowly dissipates and I turn toward the bedroom, stripping off my clothes as I go. Once I’m in only my boxer briefs, I slip between the covers and realize I should set an alarm. That would involve turning my phone on. Instead, I reach for the phone on the side table and call the front desk for a wakeup call.
It isn’t long before the crashing waves lull me to a much needed sleep.
• • •
As I lift the tumbler of amber liquid to my lips, I scan the party. A few faces I recognize from work—mostly photographers and models. I met Matthew on a photo shoot, so it’s expected to see industry people here but what I notice most of all is that everyone appears to be well acquainted. Their body language is relaxed and intimate like they are all family and close friends. Here I stand, the lone wolf. An awkward lone wolf because I haven’t moved from this bar since I arrived.
The nap earlier was exactly what I needed but it was also only a drop in the bucket for the amount of rest I need. I’m burning the candle at more than one end if that’s even possible. A hand grips my shoulder, pulling my attention from people watching.
“Hey man, good to see you. Thanks for coming.”
My lips lift to a real smile as I turn to face the groom. Standing beside him is a beautiful woman in a floor length blue dress. Her smile is wide and her eyes full of happiness.
“You must be Carrie. It’s nice to finally meet you. Thank you for having me.”
“No, thank you for being here. I was beginning to wonder if this guy was full of it and making up your friendship.”
Her wink makes me laugh as she wraps me in a tight hug. When we separate, I extend my hand to Matthew who shakes it before pulling me into a man-hug with a smack on the back.
“How was your flight? Is your room okay?” Matthew asks, as he accepts a drink from his bride-to-be.
“Everything has been great. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here yesterday with everyone. My schedule is crazy right now.”
“No worries, man. We knew you were coming straight from Europe. We’re just happy to have you here.”
Before either of us can say anything, a little girl wearing a crown approaches us, skipping the entire way. At first glance, I’d assume she’s already dressed for tomorrow’s wedding by the sparkly pink dress she’s wearing. Then I recognize it as a dress-up outfit. One of my nieces has the same one, curtesy of her favorite uncle—me.
“Daddy, when is the dancing? I am so ready!”
Laughing, he looks down at her with love in his eyes and smiles. “Sprite, I told you the dancing is tomorrow after the wedding. This is just to spend time with our guests. Say hello to Mr. Stone.”
Calypso, lovingly referred to as Sprite by her family, groans and she throws her head back, hand to her forehead before turning her attention my way. Looks like Matthew may have a little actress on his hands.
“Hi,” the little one grumbles.
“Hello there. I like your dress. It’s very pretty.”
The compliment seems to do the trick and her face lights up as she spins in a circle. “Thanks. It’s not better than Elsa’s blue one. But I left that one at home because it’s Luke’s favorite.”
I recognize the name as characters from a movie my sister complains about watching on a constant loop. Before I can comment further, the blushing bride takes over.
“Okay little princess, let’s go mingle. It was nice to meet you, Hunter.” Carrie takes the little girl’s hand and they walk away, chattering the entire time.
It’s then that I see a mess of curls across the pool. It couldn’t be. Well, I mean it could be since we share mutual friends, but I’m surprised, nonetheless. It never occurred to me that I would see Celeste again after my botched attempt to spend some time with her. Yet, there she is. I watch her move around, laughing and talking as she makes her way through the crowd.
“I need to follow my future wife’s lead and work the crowd before the wedding planner gives me the side eye again,” Matthew interjects, completely unaware I forgot he was standing next to me. “I swear, she’s worse than Donna on a photo shoot. Who knew someone helping you with the happiest day of your life could be more of a task maker than a Type A romance author?”
Once again, I have no idea who he’s talking about. Maybe I need to leave my post and make some conversation with the other guests. “Don’t worry about me. Go do your groom thing.”
Nodding his head, he
walks away. For the next few hours, I sip on my whiskey and accept hors d’oeuvres from waiters as they pass by. Ignoring my own advice to socialize, I never move from this side of the pool. Actually, I’ve stayed close to this pillar and kept myself hidden from the rest of the group. Not that I’m hiding per se, I just like watching Celeste. The way she throws her head back in full belly laughs. Her hair bouncing around carefree with every movement.
Celeste is carefree and I envy that part of her.
“For God’s sake, would you just go talk to her?” Matthew’s voice startles me and I jump, turning to face him. I can feel the heat on my skin in embarrassment. Busted.
“Uh, who?”
“Celeste. You’ve been stalking her all night.”
“No I haven’t. And don’t you have other more pressing matters to attend to than what I’m doing?”
“Dude. It’s hard to ignore the fact that you haven’t moved all night. You look like a creeper. A lumberjack creeper with that beard you’ve got. By the way, my fiancé has asked me if I’ll grow one. So thanks for that.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “If you like her so much, go talk to her.”
“I… no… that would be awkward.” Especially since she rejected my offer the last time we spoke.
“Would it? I have listened to Celeste and my wife discuss this Prince of Darkness convention and all things Hunter Stone for a year. A year! Celeste has been crushing on you way longer than that.”
“On me?”
That makes no sense. If she was so interested, why didn’t she send Eddie an email? I know him well enough to know he didn’t get a request from her. Eddie’s always looking for ways to reach a new demographic. He would have jumped all over the chance to capture a hundred thousand potential fans.
“Hell yeah. It all has something to do with an off-off-Broadway show or something. I don’t even know.”
“Oh.” That makes sense. She was really excited about the playbill. Something we had in common. “So I should talk to her?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“What if she decides she doesn’t like me?”
