It’s not a question that I can answer for him. Not now. Not when he attacks Damien every time we come together. But I hope there is an answer, because I don’t want to lose him. And I know that if I am forced to make a choice, I will go with my heart. I will go with Damien.
I realize that Edward’s probably halfway through The Count of Monte Cristo by now, and so I hurry to my bedroom and get my laptop and the files I need. I pause at the door, then return to my closet for my old Nikon, since the fabulous digital Leica Damien gave me is still in Malibu. And as much as I love the Leica, the Nikon was a gift from Ashley, and I refuse to give up using it entirely.
“Back to the apartment?” Edward asks as he opens the limo door for me.
I close my hand tight around the camera. “Actually,” I say, “there’s one more place I want to go.”
“How you holding up, Texas?”
“Okay, I guess.” We’re on Evelyn’s balcony, looking out over the beach. Blaine is out with friends, and Evelyn had been enthusiastic when I’d called from the limo to invite myself over.
I’ve only been here once—the night that Damien and I met in Malibu—but it feels like home. I attribute that more to the woman than the location. “When I’m inside and away from it all, I do great. But when I see a paper or am accosted by a reporter, I feel like I’m going to crumble. Honestly, I don’t know how celebrities do it.”
“They have the fame gene,” she says. “You don’t.”
“There’s no such thing as bad PR?” I say dryly.
“For some people, it’s a truism. Have you watched reality television?”
I have to laugh. I don’t watch it regularly, but I’ve caught enough episodes with Jamie to understand what she’s saying. Some people don’t mind being the train wreck that other folks watch. Me, I mind.
“Pretty soon you’ll be last week’s news. Until then, hold your head up and smile.”
I flash a brilliant pageant smile. “That’s one thing I know how to do.”
In front of us, the sun is beginning its descent toward the horizon. I take out the Nikon and snap shot after shot, hoping that when the prints are developed, I’ll have managed to capture even a fraction of that beauty.
“You’re going to show me the shots you took at the party, I hope,” Evelyn says. “The more snapshots there are of me, the better my odds of finding a picture that’s actually flattering.”
“Do not even try fishing for compliments with me,” I say, laughing. “You’re gorgeous and amazing and you know it.”
“It’s true,” she says, then taps out a cigarette and lights it. “I just hope Blaine keeps remembering it.”
“I think you’ve got him hooked.” Despite their age difference, they really do seem like the perfect couple. After the drama with Ollie, it’s nice to know that some of my friends have relationships that are actually stable.
I’d been spurred to come here after the bullshit with Ollie, but now that I’m here, I find I don’t want to talk about it. Instead, I’m enjoying just hanging and chatting. We’ve already covered the scintillating topics of male models, Botox, and the current summer blockbusters. The conversation was so scattered in fact, that I’d been surprised when she raised the specter of my personal tabloid hell.
“Blaine’s still mortified, of course,” she adds. “Thinks it’s his fault.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I’m the one who accepted money to pose nude, and then I consented to be tied up. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”
“We didn’t have any idea how much Damien paid you,” Evelyn said, “but now that we do, I have to confess that I agree with Blaine. You sold yourself cheap.”
I laugh, remembering that Sylvia said the same thing. At times like this, when I’m with friends and people who don’t have shark’s blood running through their veins, I feel almost proud of what I did. I negotiated a deal. I got my start-up money. And what the hell is wrong with that?
“Aw, hell, Texas. I see it on your face. Now I’ve gone and got you thinking about it. We can’t have that. You want some wine?”
“Love some,” I say.
She disappears inside, then returns a moment later with a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses.
She sits at the wrought-iron table then indicates the chair opposite with the tip of her cigarette. “So tell me the rest of it,” she demands.
“The rest of it? The rest of what?”
“What’s going on in your life, Texas. Fired twice—excuse me, once was a layoff. Dating one heck of a fine catch if I do say so myself. Your roommate’s got a commercial in the works. Lot of life crammed into not very much time. You’ve certainly made quite the landing in our fair city.”
Put that way, I have to agree. “Despite the firings and the tabloid stuff that we’re just going to ignore, things are great. I’m going to take some time to get a couple more apps on the market.”
She points at me. “An art app for Blaine. I haven’t forgotten.”
I grin, not sure if she means it or not. “I’m ready when you are. But that’s my short-term plan. Long term is still in the development stages.”
“And Damien? You said he’s in London? On business?”
“Yeah, but I think he took some time to visit a friend. Sofia. I guess she’s in some sort of trouble.”
“That’s too bad,” Evelyn says. She props her hand on her fist and looks at me seriously. “He say what kind of trouble?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” she says. “What about Jamie? What’s she up to?”
I hesitate before answering, wondering about the shift in conversation. Does Evelyn know Sofia? Does she know what kind of trouble she’s in? It’s possible, I realize. Sofia is from his tennis past, and Evelyn was Damien’s agent when he was a young sports icon endorsing tennis shoes and God knows what else.
I think about asking, but hold my tongue. Evelyn has become a solid friend, and I don’t want to muddy the waters by using her as a conduit between me and Damien’s past.
“Jamie’s in heaven,” I say, focusing on the original question. “She’s really hit it off with the guy she’s doing this commercial with. Bryan Raine. You know him?”
“I do,” Evelyn says, and she doesn’t sound pleased. “I like your friend. Nice girl. A little green, but she’ll get there. Bryan Raine, though … That one’s a climber, and I’m not sure your friend is tough enough to deal with the shit he’ll eventually throw her way.”
My heart is sinking. “You’re serious?”
“Afraid so. He won’t be happy until he’s banging the next big thing. And while he’d prefer a female, I think he’ll fuck anything that moves if he thinks it’ll ease his climb to the top. Male, female, or small farm animal.” She looks at me hard. “Your friend got the skin to make it when he ditches her?”
I open my mouth to say that Jamie’s as tough as they come, but I can’t speak the words. They aren’t true. She’s got a tough veneer, but inside she’s soft and vulnerable.
I realize that Edward’s probably halfway through The Count of Monte Cristo by now, and so I hurry to my bedroom and get my laptop and the files I need. I pause at the door, then return to my closet for my old Nikon, since the fabulous digital Leica Damien gave me is still in Malibu. And as much as I love the Leica, the Nikon was a gift from Ashley, and I refuse to give up using it entirely.
“Back to the apartment?” Edward asks as he opens the limo door for me.
I close my hand tight around the camera. “Actually,” I say, “there’s one more place I want to go.”
“How you holding up, Texas?”
“Okay, I guess.” We’re on Evelyn’s balcony, looking out over the beach. Blaine is out with friends, and Evelyn had been enthusiastic when I’d called from the limo to invite myself over.
I’ve only been here once—the night that Damien and I met in Malibu—but it feels like home. I attribute that more to the woman than the location. “When I’m inside and away from it all, I do great. But when I see a paper or am accosted by a reporter, I feel like I’m going to crumble. Honestly, I don’t know how celebrities do it.”
“They have the fame gene,” she says. “You don’t.”
“There’s no such thing as bad PR?” I say dryly.
“For some people, it’s a truism. Have you watched reality television?”
I have to laugh. I don’t watch it regularly, but I’ve caught enough episodes with Jamie to understand what she’s saying. Some people don’t mind being the train wreck that other folks watch. Me, I mind.
“Pretty soon you’ll be last week’s news. Until then, hold your head up and smile.”
I flash a brilliant pageant smile. “That’s one thing I know how to do.”
In front of us, the sun is beginning its descent toward the horizon. I take out the Nikon and snap shot after shot, hoping that when the prints are developed, I’ll have managed to capture even a fraction of that beauty.
“You’re going to show me the shots you took at the party, I hope,” Evelyn says. “The more snapshots there are of me, the better my odds of finding a picture that’s actually flattering.”
“Do not even try fishing for compliments with me,” I say, laughing. “You’re gorgeous and amazing and you know it.”
“It’s true,” she says, then taps out a cigarette and lights it. “I just hope Blaine keeps remembering it.”
“I think you’ve got him hooked.” Despite their age difference, they really do seem like the perfect couple. After the drama with Ollie, it’s nice to know that some of my friends have relationships that are actually stable.
I’d been spurred to come here after the bullshit with Ollie, but now that I’m here, I find I don’t want to talk about it. Instead, I’m enjoying just hanging and chatting. We’ve already covered the scintillating topics of male models, Botox, and the current summer blockbusters. The conversation was so scattered in fact, that I’d been surprised when she raised the specter of my personal tabloid hell.
“Blaine’s still mortified, of course,” she adds. “Thinks it’s his fault.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I’m the one who accepted money to pose nude, and then I consented to be tied up. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”
“We didn’t have any idea how much Damien paid you,” Evelyn said, “but now that we do, I have to confess that I agree with Blaine. You sold yourself cheap.”
I laugh, remembering that Sylvia said the same thing. At times like this, when I’m with friends and people who don’t have shark’s blood running through their veins, I feel almost proud of what I did. I negotiated a deal. I got my start-up money. And what the hell is wrong with that?
“Aw, hell, Texas. I see it on your face. Now I’ve gone and got you thinking about it. We can’t have that. You want some wine?”
“Love some,” I say.
She disappears inside, then returns a moment later with a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses.
She sits at the wrought-iron table then indicates the chair opposite with the tip of her cigarette. “So tell me the rest of it,” she demands.
“The rest of it? The rest of what?”
“What’s going on in your life, Texas. Fired twice—excuse me, once was a layoff. Dating one heck of a fine catch if I do say so myself. Your roommate’s got a commercial in the works. Lot of life crammed into not very much time. You’ve certainly made quite the landing in our fair city.”
Put that way, I have to agree. “Despite the firings and the tabloid stuff that we’re just going to ignore, things are great. I’m going to take some time to get a couple more apps on the market.”
She points at me. “An art app for Blaine. I haven’t forgotten.”
I grin, not sure if she means it or not. “I’m ready when you are. But that’s my short-term plan. Long term is still in the development stages.”
“And Damien? You said he’s in London? On business?”
“Yeah, but I think he took some time to visit a friend. Sofia. I guess she’s in some sort of trouble.”
“That’s too bad,” Evelyn says. She props her hand on her fist and looks at me seriously. “He say what kind of trouble?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” she says. “What about Jamie? What’s she up to?”
I hesitate before answering, wondering about the shift in conversation. Does Evelyn know Sofia? Does she know what kind of trouble she’s in? It’s possible, I realize. Sofia is from his tennis past, and Evelyn was Damien’s agent when he was a young sports icon endorsing tennis shoes and God knows what else.
I think about asking, but hold my tongue. Evelyn has become a solid friend, and I don’t want to muddy the waters by using her as a conduit between me and Damien’s past.
“Jamie’s in heaven,” I say, focusing on the original question. “She’s really hit it off with the guy she’s doing this commercial with. Bryan Raine. You know him?”
“I do,” Evelyn says, and she doesn’t sound pleased. “I like your friend. Nice girl. A little green, but she’ll get there. Bryan Raine, though … That one’s a climber, and I’m not sure your friend is tough enough to deal with the shit he’ll eventually throw her way.”
My heart is sinking. “You’re serious?”
“Afraid so. He won’t be happy until he’s banging the next big thing. And while he’d prefer a female, I think he’ll fuck anything that moves if he thinks it’ll ease his climb to the top. Male, female, or small farm animal.” She looks at me hard. “Your friend got the skin to make it when he ditches her?”
I open my mouth to say that Jamie’s as tough as they come, but I can’t speak the words. They aren’t true. She’s got a tough veneer, but inside she’s soft and vulnerable.
