Falling for Grace

by Kate O'Keeffe

  “That sounds great.” I smile at him.

  He gives Jimmy, the driver, the name of the place. A matter of minutes later we arrive at a nondescript building in a run-down area of Wellington.

  I peer out of the window, feeling dubious. “Can you actually get coffee here?”

  “The best in the city. Well, in this Scot’s humble opinion, anyway.” He slips on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses.

  “Is that your disguise?” I ask, amused.

  He shrugs. “No false moustache, but I can get one if you think it’s necessary.” He winks at me. “Here.” He hands me a cap.

  I recognise it as a New York Yankees cap, the sort my brother Dylan wears. “You want me to wear this?”

  “Did you not notice that mob at the airport? They know what you look like, Grace.”

  I put the cap on, pulling my long hair through the back.

  Sam grins at me. “Cute.”

  I blush.

  We get out of the car. “We won’t be long,” he says to Jimmy.

  “Take your time, Mr Montgomery.” He smiles at us both.

  Sam takes my hand and we walk into the ramshackle café, both of us grinning like a couple of loons, simply ecstatic to be in one another’s company—without the feeling we’re doing something wrong.

  Lounge music is playing, the walls adorned with those black velvet pictures of women that were the height of fashion in the sixties. There are orange Formica tables dotted around the room with beaten up, mismatched old chairs.

  We stand at the counter and order our coffees.

  “And how about some chocolate fudge brownie?” Sam asks.

  I grin at him, nodding. Chocolate fudge brownie? I think I just fell a little bit in love with this man.

  I look around the shabby tables. “Where do you want to sit?”

  “Come with me.”

  He takes my hand and leads me out into the most gorgeous courtyard I think I’ve ever seen. It has a few tables and chairs nestled between shrubs, a large tree with a swing in the rear and vines hanging from overhead beams. It smells of roses and coriander. A water fountain trickles as people murmur in conversation around us.

  “This is incredible,” I exclaim.

  Sam smiles. “Take a seat.”

  He holds my chair for me and I sit down, taking in the surrounds. “How could I have lived my entire life in Wellington and never known this place exists? And you’re from the other side of the world?”

  He laughs his liquid honey laugh. It’s a deep, soft sound, sending shivers through me.

  A moment later the waiter delivers our coffee and brownies.

  “Dig in,” Sam says, taking a bite. “My god. This is delicious.”

  I follow suit. It’s rich and gooey and oh-so scrumptious.

  “If the coffee is as good as this brownie, I’m moving in. Permanently.” I take a sip of my latte. “Yep, I’m going home to pack.”

  He laughs. “You’re funny, you know that?”

  “Ah, what every girl wants to hear.”

  He laughs again. Easy audience.

  I play with my coffee cup. “So, what are you doing here in New Zealand? I thought you’d be hobnobbing with the best of the best in Hollywood, not slumming it here in Wellywood.”

  “Wellywood?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, a smile teasing the edges of his mouth.

  I shrug. “You haven’t heard it?”

  He shakes his head.

  “People coined the phrase years ago when the film industry took off here. ‘Wellington’ and ‘Hollywood’ kind of melded together.”

  “I think I worked that bit out for myself.” His eyes twinkle. “I’m here filming. I’ve got a small role in Malcolm Svenson’s current production.”

  “Really?” I ask, impressed. “I love the way you drop his name into conversation. He’s just about New Zealand’s most famous person. Even I know who he is, and I’m a total nerd.”

  He chuckles. “A pretty bloody hot nerd.” He raises his eyebrows at me suggestively.

  My tummy does a flip.

  “Malcolm has a well-deserved reputation. The guy’s a genius.”

  I’m not sure I want to hear the answer but I ask, “So how long are you here for?”

  “Not much longer. My scenes are almost done.”

  “Oh.”

  Sam looks at me across the table. His smile is kind. “I’ll be back soon, though. Malcolm and I are in talks about another movie.”

  Hope springs. “So, you’ll be back here in Wellington?”

  “With any luck.”

  “What’s the movie?”

  He leans in, glancing around the room conspiratorially. “If I told you I’d have to shoot you.”

  I arch my eyebrows. “Well we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

  We chat happily for the next half an hour. He’s so easy to talk to, laughs at all my jokes, and looks incredible, even in his cap and glasses—which I’ve been wanting to rip off all afternoon so I can kiss him stupid.

  A second cup of coffee each later he says, “I really don’t want to go, Grace, but I have to. I’ve got to get on set.”

  My heart drops with disappointment. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Can I see you tonight?”

  I perk up immediately. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

  He pays and we head back to the car. Jimmy jumps out and opens the door for us.

  “I told you, Jimmy. You don’t have to do that. I’m perfectly capable of opening a door.”

  “I know, Mr Montgomery. It’s my job.”

  “Where can I drop you?” Sam asks, turning to me.

  “My apartment, please.” I give Jimmy my address then settle back into the comfy leather seat.

  Sam sits next to me, our thighs touching, and takes my hand. “I’m so glad we’ve had the chance to get to know each other a little better.”

  I smile at him. “Me too. You’re nice.”

  He laughs. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

  “I guess. I don’t know, maybe because you’re a famous actor? I suppose I assumed you’d be a bit of an ass.”

  He grins. “You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, you know.”

  Far too soon Jimmy rounds the corner onto my street.

  “What the—?” I peer out of the window at a group of journalists, standing on the sidewalk outside the door to my apartment block.

  “Jimmy, drive on,” Sam says, an urgent note in his voice.

  As we cruise past I notice Tiffany in the middle of the throng, lit up, being interviewed by a handful of journalists. I stare at her, agog.

  “What is Tiffany doing?” I say.

  “You know her?” Sam asks, nodding at Tiffany.

  “She’s my roommate,” I reply breathlessly, not believing my eyes.

  “No points guessing who tipped the media off today, then.”

  “She wouldn’t do that.” Would she?

  I think I might black out. Tiffany tipped the media off? Tiffany’s being interviewed by a bunch of journalists? About me?

  Sam puts his hand on my knee. “This is all a wee bit much, isn’t it?”

  White-hot anger flashes through me. “A wee bit? That’s like saying Everest is only a hill.”

  Anger clouds his eyes. “I hate this part of my job. I hate it for me, but most of all I hate it for you. You’ve done nothing to deserve this.”

  “I know!”

  I’m outraged for… myself. Also for Sam. Just because he’s an actor shouldn’t make his life an open book for others.

  “Where can I take you? I’m not going to feed you to the wolves.”

  I search my mind. “My parent’s place. They’re in Northland. Tiffany doesn’t know where they live, so I think I’ll be safe there.”

  I give the address to Jimmy. I lean back in my seat, thinking dark thoughts about my soon-to-be ex-roommate.

  “You’ll need to ride this out, lay low for a while.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I guess. It
totally sucks.”

  “I know. It sucks the big one.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder.

  I smile weakly at him. I notice he looks suddenly weary.

  Jimmy pulls the car up outside my parents’ house. There’s no sign of any media or stalkers, thank god.

  I turn to face Sam, my heart racing once again as I look into those electric eyes of his.

  Seriously, keep this up and I’ll need to start to worry about my cardiac health.

  “Thanks, Sam. It’s been really nice. Well, other than being chased through the airport, my roommate betraying me, and the mob of scandal-hungry paparazzi outside my apartment.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, apart from that.” He takes my hand in his. “Do you still want to see me tonight?”

  For a famous actor used to getting his way, he looks so uncertain. It takes me by surprise.

  I break into a grin. “Yes.”

  He grins back at me. “Great. See you at eight? Shall I pick you up here?”

  I nod. “I’ll be ready and waiting.”

  “Oh, and dress for dinner.”

  “Do you mean dress fancy?”

  “Fancy,” he confirms, smiling.

  He kisses me goodbye. It’s a gentle, sensual kiss, full of erotic promise. My girl parts thrum.

  On wobbly legs, I barely trust I carry my bag up the steps to my parents’ front door. I watch as Sam’s car rounds the corner, slipping out of view, not quite believing how much my world has been turned upside down. And it’s all because of Sam.

  Chapter 13

  “OH, AM I GLAD to see you!” Mum collects me into one of her huge bear hugs on the doorstep.

  “You are?” I ask, my voice muffled in her firm embrace.

  Her eyes dart up and down the street, a frantic look on her usually serene face. She bundles me into the house.

  “Of course! I’ve been so worried. After I saw that footage of you at the airport, I rang and rang. Did you get any of my messages?”

  “The footage?” I ask in alarm, dropping my suitcase in the hall.

  “Yes, yes. Of you running through the airport. Janet from up the street called and told me about it. I saw it all online. It looked awful. You poor thing.” She collects me in another hug.

  “I’m okay, Mum,” I protest, grappling with this alarming new information. “Can you show me what you saw?”

  “Of course. Let’s sit down and have a cup of tea.”

  I peel off my jacket, drop it on top of my suitcase and follow my mum into the kitchen. “No, thanks. I just had coffee.”

  “You did?” she asks.

  “Mm-hmm,” I reply without meeting her eyes, hoping she won’t notice the blush beginning to glow on my cheeks.

  She shoots me a curious look.

  She picks up her laptop from the kitchen bench and places it on the table, sitting down opposite me. “Here.”

  Sam’s girl makes a dash for it

  I look at the screen, barely believing my eyes. There’s an image of me, straggly blonde hair flying, panic in my eyes, as I make my way through the terminal.

  “Holy Mary,” I mutter as I scroll down the page, skimming the article. I stop when I come across a photo of Tiffany on the steps of our apartment building. The caption reads, ‘Sam’s girl’s best friend, Tiffany Wrexham.’

  Best friend? Is she freaking kidding me?

  I scroll down further, reading at a frantic pace. Once I reach the bottom of the page I look up at Mum with tears in my eyes.

  “They said we’re having an affair?” I whisper. “We’re not. You have to believe me.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

  “But they’ve made me sound like a… a…”

  “I know,” Mum says gently, taking my hand in hers. “Anyone who knows you knows you wouldn’t do that.”

  Small consolation when the world has labelled me a slut. Check that: a home-wrecking, gold-digging slut.

  I look down, snivelling.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” Mum’s voice is gentle and caring.

  “Sure,” I reply, sniffing.

  She passes me a box of tissues and I take her through what happened, leaving out some crucial details—such as the fact Vanessa and Sam are no longer seeing each other. Oh, and the kissing. I leave out the kissing—other than the one we got caught having last night, that is. The cat is most certainly out of the bag on that one.

  “And you like him, don’t you?”

  I nod, feel a lump in my throat.

  “Oh, Grace.” She sighs, shaking her head. “You can’t help who you fall for in this life. Chalk it up to experience and move on. The media storm will blow over when they realise there’s no story and you can get your life back to normal.”

  I see the kindness and love in her eyes. A prickle of guilt makes my chest ache as I think about the date I’m going on tonight with Sam—and the fact I haven’t mentioned it to Mum.

  “I hope so,” I reply.

  “I know so. Now, if you want to lay low you’re more than welcome to stay here for a while.”

  “Thanks, Mum. That would be great.” I eye her laptop. “Do you think I could hold onto that?”

  “Sure, sweetheart. The password’s the usual.”

  “Still ‘password’?”

  She nods.

  “You really need to change that. It’s got to be the easiest password on the planet.”

  “Sure,” Mum replies noncommittally. She gets up from the kitchen table. “I’ve got some housework to get on with. Just make yourself at home.”

  I open her laptop and enter the world’s most un-guessable password. I type my name into Google search with tentative fingers. I pause before hitting ‘return’.

  Do I really want to read what people are saying about me?

  Do I want to know what Tiffany has been telling the world?

  I take a deep breath and press ‘return’. All I can say is wow. Three hundred and twenty-seven results. I’m clearly big news right now.

  I click the first link on the list. It’s another version of the story Mum showed me. I scroll down and notice the article includes photos of me. They’re my own personal photos of Tiffany and me together.

  My blood boils.

  I return to my search and click on the next article, thinking it can’t possibly get any worse. It does. There’s an image of Vanessa and Sam together, looking very much in love, all glammed up at a black tie ‘do’. Somehow, they’ve got hold of an image of me modelling underwear, a pair of scarlet red panties with matching bra, as I strut my stuff down the runway. That photo was taken when I was seventeen! It makes me look like a sex worker, especially juxtaposed as it is against a shot of Vanessa looking like a beautiful, serene Virgin Mary.

  The article labels me as a local girl who fell for rising star Sam Montgomery. So far so not-so-bad. Not for long. It goes on to say I’m a regular seducer of men, notching them up on my considerable bedpost.

  Two men. Two! That’s all I’ve ever slept with.

  Outraged I slam the laptop shut, angry tears welling in my eyes.

  A shower. That will help me feel better.

  I run the water, strip off, and get in. I put my face under the flowing water and let the water run over me as I contemplate my life.

  What a freaking mess.

  The world now thinks I’m a sex worker with a string of men behind her who’s having an affair with the much-loved Vanessa Hudson’s soon-to-be husband.

  Holy guacamole.

  And to complicate things even more not only do I have feelings for a man the world thinks is in a relationship with someone else, I’m now lying to my mother. Lying. I’ve never done that in my life.

  Well, not since high school when I pretended to go to the movies with a girlfriend and in fact met my boyfriend to drink beer. Biggest hangover of my life. And he dumped me.

  So, you see, lying hasn’t worked out so well for me in the past.

  I pour shampoo into my hair, rubbing my scalp with v
igour.

  I’ve always been good, I never rebelled, never did anything other than the ‘right’ thing. And what do I get for falling for the wrong guy? Humiliated on national television and labelled the worst things imaginable.

  If I’m honest with myself though, the thought of having an illicit, secretive relationship with Sam is kind of thrilling.

  And very, very hot.

  Huh. Maybe, at the age of twenty-four, I’m finally rebelling. And doing it with Sam Montgomery nonetheless.

  I can’t help but smile. Not too shabby, Grace Elizabeth Mortimer, not too shabby.

  I exfoliate my whole body, shave my legs, paint my toenails, and cover myself head-to-toe with my favourite body lotion—all for no other reason than it’s important to look after yourself. The fact I’m seeing Sam tonight has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with it.

  Wrapped in a towel, feeling soft, fragrant and smooth, I call Taylor.

  “You’ve certainly been up to a thing or two, missy. What’s the story?” she asks.

  “I promise to tell you if you can do me a big favour.”

  “Anything. Just name it.”

  Half an hour later Taylor arrives at my parents’ house holding a bag filled with my stuff.

  “Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.”

  She follows me into my old bedroom. “I get that you need panties and the like, but why do you need this?” She pulls a black satin, strappy cocktail dress out of the bag.

  My cheeks colour. Of course, it’s for my date tonight with Sam, although I can’t tell Taylor that.

  I think quickly. “I’ve got a work thing. For Estil. Need to look the part.”

  “Right.”

  I expel a breath of air. She bought it.

  She pats the bed next to her. “Now sit. Tell me everything.”

  I give her the abridged and not-entirely-honest version I gave my mother, adding in how amazing it felt to kiss Sam.

  “And the paparazzi really chased you through the airport?” she asks incredulously.

  I nod. “That they did.”

  “Holy heck. That must have been something.”

  “It’s something I could well have done without. Can you believe Tiffany would sell me down the river like that? Telling the media when my flight landed, where I live?”