The Dating Series

by L. P. Dover

  “Bren, you ready?” Allen, the sound board tech asks. I nod, but truth is, I’m not. I don’t want to be here right now. I slip my headphones back on and wait for the music to play. I’m trying to get into it. I’m tapping my foot, bobbing my head, and my fingers are keeping in time with the beat, but the music sucks, as do the lyrics. As soon as I open my mouth, I close it and pull my headphones off.

  “Let me know when you’re ready,” Allen says into the intercom. He gets it. He knows.

  “Listen Brennan, the record company is paying a lot of money for this. You’ve been at it for two days, what’s the issue?” Saldi Ashington asks. He’s worked for the record label for eons, and according to my manager, knows his stuff. He’s won Grammy’s, been nominated for an Oscar, and has produced some of the country’s biggest albums, but this time, he’s lost his mind.

  “It’s the lyrics . . . ‘I’m tied up in bubble gum, sticky and sweet’ do you really expect me to sing this?”

  “It’s a song,” he says.

  “It’s a stupid song. Never in my life have I sung about bubble gum, let alone sticky and sweet. This screams fourteen-year-old pop star, which in case you haven’t noticed, isn’t me.

  “It’s what the label wants.”

  “Then find someone else. I’m not doing it. I have an album to make and this song isn’t going on it.”

  “You’re under contract,” he reminds me.

  “I am, guess I’m in breach.” I stand and set the headphones down and exit the room, walking right past Saldi. I hear Allen tell him he agrees with me, which I suspected. The song’s a joke and would ruin my career.

  When I’m out of the studio, I walk toward the parking garage. Now would be a good time to call Natalie, but the paparazzi are lurking, and I don’t want anyone to eavesdrop on my conversation with her. Yet, when my phone rings and I see it’s my manager, I have no choice but to answer it.

  “Yeah,” I answer, already frustrated with what is about to happen. Vance Davis has been my manager / agent since I came into the industry. He’s also been a pain in my ass and best friend and has never steered me in the wrong direction.

  “Tough session?”

  “Ridiculous. Did you know about this song?”

  “Only that the label had one for you to record. What’s wrong with it?”

  I tell him everything, reciting the lyrics I have memorized. As a musician, I pride myself on remembering the song before I have to preform it, even if it’s something I don’t plan to sing. It’s part of having a photographic memory, everything stays whether I like it or not.

  “I can’t do it, Vance. It’s going to ruin my career.”

  “I’ll take care of it. What are you doing now?”

  “Nothing, gonna go home and chill for a bit, make a few phone calls and then hit up the Laker’s game. Why, what’s up?”

  “There’s this newcomer, Halle Fulton. She’s twenty-five and has a movie coming out in a few months. She’s with the agency and we’re looking to build her status. You interested in taking her tonight, courtside seats?”

  I groan. “Why me? Isn’t Zac Efron available?”

  “We don’t want her linked with a co-star. Plus, she likes your music. Super sweet girl, college educated. Talent scout found her at a coffee shop or something equally random. She’s shy, nervous about Los Angeles. You’d be helping the agency out a lot if you show her the ropes.”

  As much as I don’t want too, I agree anyway because if it’s not this woman, it’s Rayna and I want to steer clear of Rayna. “Do I have to pick her up?”

  “Nah, we’ll send a car for the both of you. Have fun at the game. Tell Jack I said hi.”

  Right, Jack Nicholson. Perfect. Love sitting by him.

  I finally enter the garage where my car is parked and hand the attendant my slip and am told it’ll be a few minutes. The sun is shining, it’s warm and a far cry from the weather I experienced in Boston. Warm weather brings out the paps, which is annoying. As one approaches, I look down at the ground, completely fascinated by a piece of gum on the ground.

  “How’s it going, Brennan?”

  Answer or not? Turn back into the garage and seek some shelter or stay? I stay because it’s unlikely the garage is going to save me, chances are, the attendant called this guy and told him I was standing outside.

  “Things are great, man.”

  “Good to hear. Enjoy your holidays?”

  “No complaints.”

  I’ll answer, but I’m not asking him any questions.

  “Rumor around town is you missed Rayna’s big party.”

  “Didn’t know she had one.” I can see this guy is getting frustrated, but whatever. He’s lucky I’m even talking to him right now. I could laugh everything off. Tell him I have no comment. But I’m not. I’m being nice, giving him some information to do whatever the hell he wants with it.

  “I think we were all waiting for some big news to come from the two of you. You seem to be heading toward the alter.”

  Really? Is that what people around us see? Because I don’t. I’m hardly nice to her when we’re out in public. Sure, I may hold the door open for her, but that’s because my father raised me well. Every time she touches me I cringe, and I hate posing for red carpet photos with her. Of course, any ballad I release, the media has a field day with and automatically thinks it’s about her, when it’s not. Hell, maybe I should do the bubble gum song and find a way to slip her name into the lyrics. My luck, the media would spin it, and I’d be screwed.

  I say nothing and look over my shoulder, hoping the approaching car is mine. It is and I leave the guy standing there as he continues to ask about Rayna. On my drive home, I finally call Natalie, but her phone goes to voicemail and before I can leave her a message, a call comes in from the record label. I stare at my dashboard, wondering if I should answer it or not, when the speaker beeps. Great, I left Nat a voicemail of nothing but silence. She’s going to think I’m a fucking idiot. I am, I’m just giving her more and more proof with each passing day. I decline the current call and head home. I need aspirin, a nap, and a long shower before I have to smile for the cameras and play nice. The Lakers are playing the Celtics, and while I live in Los Angeles, there ain’t no way I’m rooting for anyone but the green tonight.

  By the time the car pulls up, I’ve had my nap, taken three aspirin and spent about thirty minutes in the shower, letting the hot water pound on my back and torso. A luxury of living in a sweet complex is the deluxe shower. Jets coming from every direction and when I’m feeling tense, it’s the place I want to be. Although, too much pressure and I’m marring my skin with red marks.

  When I get into the car, Halle Fulton is already in the back seat. She smiles brightly, yet I can tell she’s nervous as hell and is twirling her long red hair around her finger. “It’s great to meet you,” she says before I even introduce myself.

  “Brennan McLean.”

  “Oh, I know. My agent told me we were doing this and I had to pinch myself a dozen times before I accepted that this is my reality. I can’t believe I’m going to a basketball game with you.”

  “I’m just a normal guy,” I tell her, but I’m not sure she believes me. Sometimes, I don’t even believe myself. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “I’m twenty-five and from Nebraska. One day, I’m sitting in a coffee shop on my lunch break and this woman comes up to me, asks if I’ve ever done any acting. I asked her if school plays count and she said of course. She gives me her card and tells me about a movie they’re filming not far from where we are and they’re looking for paid extras and I fit the mold—whatever that means—so I go and bam, next thing I know I have a speaking role and I’m getting paid. I’m being pampered in a trailer, and now I’m out here. I just filmed my first starring role, they call—mid budget—and it comes out this summer.”

  “Wow, you’re like lady luck.”

  “I feel lucky, but I also know to keep my expectations low.”

  “Probably
wise,” I tell her. We continue to chat, and I find talking to her easy. When we pull up to the Staples Center, the driver opens the car door. I get out first and help Halle out of the car. As soon as I see the flashbulbs go off, I know I’ve made a mistake. Rayna’s publicist is going to be pissed because she likes to keep up the façade that we’re together, even though I can barely stand her.

  Of course, Halle stays close to me and our arms brush against each other as we make our way inside. Once one fan sees me, it’s like a game of telephone. They whisper to the next person, and they say something to their friend and before I know it, everyone is yelling my name.

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Most of the time. You’ll be a household name in a few days.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  We’re escorted to the front and she clutches my arm when she sees Jack, sitting in his seat with a bowl of popcorn on his lap. “Do you know who that is?”

  “Jack,” I tell her as if him and I are best buds. We’re not, but we’re cordial. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  After I do, we take our seats and I let Halle sit next to Jack, thinking she’ll engage him in conversation all night. Except she doesn’t and she leans toward me. It seems Halle is somewhat of a basketball aficionado and really knows the sport, and I end up finding myself entertained by her.

  Eight

  Natalie

  “Leaving already?” I look over at Emerson who is grabbing her purse out of her locker. “I’m jealous,” I say, sitting down to catch my breath. I reach in my pocket for my phone and see that I’ve missed a call from Brennan. That seems to be my luck these days. I didn’t realize how much I was going to miss him. Luckily, I have work to keep my mind occupied, but there are days it doesn’t help.

  The ER has been hopping all day, mostly people coming in with the flu. January is the worst month for us. Unfortunately, I can’t leave just yet because I took an extra shift. I still feel guilty from calling in sick those two days at New Year’s.

  Slamming her locker shut, Emerson turns to me and giggles. “Oh, you’ll be leaving soon.” She looks down at her smartwatch. “In six more hours.”

  Groaning, I stretch my legs and stand. “This is the last night shift I’m taking for a while. I’m exhausted.”

  Emerson follows me to the door. “You’ve been a little preoccupied the past two weeks. How are things with …” There are other nurses around, so she lowers her voice. “How are things with Brennan?”

  I shrug and open the door. “Okay, I guess. I miss him.” We walk out and I head toward the break room so I can eat my leftover spaghetti before I start my next shift. Emerson walks with me since it’s on the way to the elevators.

  She clutches my arm. “I know you miss him, Nat. You two have history.”

  My heart hurts just thinking about it. “Guess I didn’t think it’d be this hard. He’s busy, I’m busy. Not to mention the time difference.”

  We make it to the break room, and I stop right outside the door. Expression serious, she stares at me. “Are you in love with him?”

  As much as I want to deny it, I can’t. Maybe there was a part of me that never stopped loving him all those years ago. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and all I can see is Brennan’s face. I know what I feel and it scares me.

  “Am I stupid if I am?” I ask, opening my eyes.

  Emerson sighs. “No, but I want you to be careful. He’s a superstar, Nat. If you two get involved, just think of the paparazzi. They’ll be all over you, especially if they see Brennan with a normal girl, and not a celebrity. People will want to know who you are.”

  Hearing that just seems preposterous. I’m a nobody. The paparazzi’s not going to want to waste their time on me. “I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” I say, shaking my head. “Brennan has to come back for the paparazzi to see us together. And the way we’re going, I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

  It’s what I tell myself to help me through the whole situation. If I get my hopes up, it’ll only hurt worse. Emerson hugs me and whispers in my ear. “I’m here for you, Nat.” She lets me go and her smile is sad. The one thing about having a best friend is that they always know the truth. Emerson can tell I’m torn over Brennan. “After your shift, why don’t you stop by my place for breakfast before you go home to sleep. I’ll make you pancakes.”

  She always has a way of making things better. I plaster on a smile and sigh. “Fine. You know I can’t pass up pancakes.”

  She winks. “Exactly. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Once she’s gone, I open the door to the break room. It’s a moderately sized room with three round tables and a large, flat screen TV on the wall. There are a couple of nurses I’ve seen around, sitting at one table with their almost eaten dinners. Their names are Jeannie and Marie, I think. There are so many of us, it’s hard to keep track. On the other side of the room are two of our ER doctors, watching the basketball game. I’ve worked closely with them for years. Dr. Eli Graham is in his late fifties with a full head of white hair. He always says he’ll work until he dies, but he’s started moving a lot slower here the past year or so.

  The other doctor is Caleb Perkins. He’s thirty-two years old and we have a lot in common, like our taste in food, music, and art. I ran into him at one of the local art museums and ever since then, we just clicked. Not to mention, he’s very good looking with his blonde hair and bright blue eyes. All the nurses love him, but he likes to work with me. Our relationship has always stayed professional, at least for the most part. There have been times we’ve flirted with each other, but after those two days with Brennan, things between me and Caleb haven’t gone anywhere beyond friendship.

  I grab my Tupperware of spaghetti out of the refrigerator and pop it into the microwave. Caleb sees me and waves me over. Once my dinner’s done, I carry it over to his table. Dr. Graham shakes Caleb’s hand and smiles at me. “Have a good night, you two. I’m headed home.”

  “Take care, Dr. Graham,” I say, smiling back at him.

  Caleb grins up at me and pulls the seat out next to him. “Have a seat.” I set my spaghetti down and he breathes it in. “Did you make that? It smells amazing.”

  I brush off my shoulders. “What can I say? I’m a good cook.” Looking over at his plate, I can’t help but be impressed. “Kind of fancy, don’t you think?” On his plate was a half-eaten steak, a baked potato, and asparagus.

  Caleb shrugged and smirked at me. “What can I say? I’m a good cook too. Maybe one day it’ll make someone happy.”

  “I’m sure it will,” I reply. Usually, I’d come back with a quip, but my heart’s not into it, it’s somewhere else.

  “So,” Caleb says, nudging me in the arm, “you rooting for the Celtics tonight? It’s already a good game.”

  Out of all the televised sports, basketball is one of my favorites. I glance up at the TV and the Celtics are ten points ahead of the Lakers. “Heck yeah. You know I love my Celtics.”

  The sound of chairs screeching across the floor caught my attention and I look back to see Jeannie and Marie cleaning up their table. They wave at us and leave the break room.

  “We should go to a game one night,” Caleb suggests. “That is, if we’re ever not working.”

  “Exactly,” I laugh. “Tonight’s my last double for a while. I think I made up for calling in sick those two days.”

  Caleb nods. “I’d say you made up for that and then some.”

  We only have thirty minutes for lunch, but it was nice being able to eat and watch the game. When we were finished, I grabbed both of our Tupperware containers and rinsed them out in the sink.

  “So, what do you think about Brennan McLean?” he calls out.

  The air whooshes out of my lungs and I jerk around. “What do you mean?”

  Chuckling, he points to the TV. “Brennan McLean. What do you think of his music?”

  My eyes drift to the TV and there he is at the game, sitting wit
h a beautiful red-haired woman who is awfully close to him. On her other side is Jack Nicholson, but she pays no attention to him. It’s obvious she’s there with Brennan.

  “Natalie?” Swallowing hard, I turn to Caleb who stares at me curiously. “You okay? You’re acting like you saw a ghost.”

  Much worse than that, I think to myself. I just saw the man I’m falling for with another woman. I shake my head and smile. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He nods at the TV again. “I listened to one of McLean’s songs the other day and I really liked it.”

  “He’s very talented,” I say, wishing my heart wasn’t breaking. I look up at the TV and it shows Brennan again with his date, talking and laughing. “I thought Brennan McLean was dating Rayna Reynolds?” I know he’s not, but it’s the only thing I could think of to say.

  Caleb shrugs. “Rayna’s beautiful, but from what I’ve seen of her, she’s a bitch.” He points up at the TV. “I watched an interview with Halle Fulton the other day on the news. She’s new to Hollywood. Her first movie comes out this summer.”

  The more he says, the more I don’t want to listen. It just goes to show that there’s no way in hell a relationship with Brennan will work. We live in different worlds.

  Caleb stands and stretches. “Looks like our dinner break’s over. You ready to get back to work? I’m taking the night shift with you.”

  Forcing a smile, I take one last look at the game. “Yep. I’m ready.” Anything to get my mind off Brennan. Unfortunately, nothing helps.

  The night dragged on, but I made it, no thanks to the internet. When I typed in Brennan’s name, there were a gazillion pictures that came up of him and Halle at the game. Caleb asked if I wanted to go to the coffee shop for breakfast, but I told him I already had plans. I change clothes at the hospital before making my way to Emerson’s apartment. Stomach growling, I can really use those pancakes about now.

  I’m only three blocks away from her apartment when my phone rings. I figure its Emerson, wondering what’s taking me so long, but it’s not her. Brennan’s name flashes on my screen and my heart stops.