Pizza My Heart 2

by Glenna Sinclair

  Devon laughed, short and sarcastic. “I’m happy to hear you’re a fan of hers.”

  “Listen, when we land in Dallas, you should just taxi back to the runway and go home,” I told him. “I’d save you the trouble of even landing if this damn plane came with parachutes. This isn’t going to work between you and me.”

  He squinted at me. “Because I dated Trina Henry?”

  I threw my hands up. “How can I ever compete with that? I can’t. It’s laughable that you’re interested in me. A joke.”

  “How can I convince you that you’re incomparable, June?” he asked me. “What is it going to take to make you understand that your self-worth shouldn’t be measured against other women? You’re amazing. You’re beautiful. You’re a good person. What’s it going to take for you to get it?”

  His vehemence made me shrink away from him. “Sorry,” I said, sheepish. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve never dated a famous Hollywood actor before. You’re going to have to give me some time to adjust.”

  Devon’s look softened, and he took my hand. “I know it might be a culture shock, at first, but you have to give yourself credit, June. Why can’t you see yourself the way I see you?”

  I shook my head, eager for this conversation to be over. Devon could try and be sweet all he wanted, but the truth would remain that I was the next girl he’d been with after Trina Henry. What did that even mean? To purge her perfection from his psyche, did Devon need someone slovenly, like me? I wore clothes with food stains on them, for pity’s sake. I still got pimples even though I was well beyond puberty. I’d been living with Nana, which was, God love her and keep her, the very opposite of sexy and interesting.

  I felt less certain now than ever that being with Devon was a good idea, let alone living with him in Malibu. Maybe there would be some way I could try to convince him to leave me in Dallas and get on with his glamorous life.

  But when the wheels touched down and we climbed in a sedan Devon commandeered from a chauffeur, everything came rushing back to me. I was grateful that someone was with me to face down this monumental task, and even more thankful that it was someone I knew cared about me.

  I had to face Nana’s death all over again when we pulled open the door of the house, her perfume still lingering on soft surfaces and blankets.

  “It feels like we were all just here, setting up the Blu-ray player,” Devon remarked, his voice hushed, as if we were in a tomb or something.

  “We can probably still return it—and the movies,” I said.

  “I really don’t care about the money, June,” he said, sounding offended. “Even if I knew what was going to happen ahead of time, I would’ve still bought it for Nana. You saw how happy it made her.”

  My shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I can’t—I’m really glad you’re here with me. I wouldn’t have been able to do this alone.”

  Devon pulled me into a rough hug and planted several kisses on the top of my head.

  “I’m just happy I can be here to try and help,” he said.

  And help he did—from coordinating with his lawyer to helping find a realtor to carrying boxes out to the car to donate to the nearest shelter. It pained me to part with Nana’s things, but I knew she would’ve wanted them to go toward helping someone who really needed it. It would’ve been selfish to keep all her things in storage, just so I could wallow in material comfort.

  The one thing I did keep was her perfume. If I couldn’t have those fragranced cardigans and blankets, I could, at least, have the fragrance. I put a dot of it behind each of my ears, having watched Nana do the exact same thing for years. I looked up to catch Devon watching me and smiling.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “You know that, right?”

  In Hawaii, on that beach where we poured out her ashes, I hadn’t been so sure. But with the last piece of furniture moved out and the for-sale sign hammered into the front lawn, I had a sense of hope that was quickly overpowering my sense of melancholy. Maybe it was a resigned hope, a realization that I couldn’t be sad about Nana forever and that things would have to start getting better eventually, but I’d take it.

  “This place is going to make someone really happy,” I said as we locked the front door for the last time. “Maybe a young family is going to get their start here. I hope their time inside is as happy as mine was.”

  Devon kissed me, his lips soft against mine. “Don’t you see now?” he asked gently. “Why I think you’re so amazing?”

  “Because I’m barely holding it together?” I asked, blinking back tears. “It’s hard to let this old place go.”

  “Because you’re so loving,” he said, stroking my cheek with his thumb, catching one teardrop before it could traverse the length of my face. “Because you loved Nana so much that you sacrificed being happy to make sure she was.”

  I looked at him sharply. “I didn’t…how did you…”

  “Nana told me herself,” Devon said. “She told me that there wasn’t a finer young woman in the world than you, and that she’d fight anyone who said different.”

  I shook my head, dumbfounded. “I can’t believe she told you that.” Nana had always been frustrated most by her own weakness, her own failing health, because I was the one who had to shoulder the majority of the burden. I’d given up a full-time job, even with a degree, so I could give her care whenever she needed it. She hated it, but I wouldn’t have dreamed of locking her away in some home. Nana had taken me in to her life when I was most vulnerable. The least I could do was to repay the favor when the opportunity had presented itself.

  She’d told Devon her deepest frustrations, which went to show just how highly she regarded him. The night before she’d made the decision to die, she’d told me I shouldn't be so hard on him. Maybe I should’ve listened to her.

  “June, I don’t know if this is the time or place—hell, I don’t know if there ever is a good time or place for this sort of thing.” Devon shuffled around, looking cutely awkward, seeming to struggle to come up with the right words. “I think…I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  He was right—there probably wasn’t a good time for a shocking revelation like that one.

  “Say something,” he said quickly. “Before I turn into a puddle of liquid horror and shame.”

  “You’re horrified and ashamed?” I asked, scowling.

  “At my own awkwardness, yes,” he said. “I’m normally smoother than this. I would’ve taken you to the nicest restaurant I could find, held your hand over a candlelit dinner, and told you gently there. But I don’t know. There was something about this moment. I had to tell you right now.”

  I looked around us. There was nothing romantically significant about this moment. We were standing outside my Nana’s empty and shuttered house. I was still grieving her loss. I was happy I wasn’t doing this by myself, grateful for Devon’s presence, and maybe that was good enough.

  I leaned into his side and he put his arm around me. “I think this moment is just fine.”

  “I think this is the beginning of something really good,” Devon said, rubbing my back.

  “I know it is,” I said, tilting my head up to smile at him and accepting a perfect kiss.

  Chapter 4

  Landing in Los Angeles felt like a dream I was in danger of waking up from. I could really get used to flying private.

  But walking from the tarmac leading to the terminal, Devon half turned to me and smiled grimly.

  “I think you’re going to want this,” he said, handing me a baseball cap. He was already pulling on one of his own and popping a pair of sunglasses on.

  “It’s not that sunny,” I said, confused as I took the hat.

  “Believe me,” Devon said. “You need to put it on.”

  We entered the terminal, and that’s when my LA dream turned swiftly into an LA nightmare.

  There was a crush of people toting cell phones with the flashes on, blinding me and making m
e wish I had a pair of sunglasses to don like Devon did. Even worse than the passersby who just got a lucky glimpse of Hollywood royalty were the people who did it for a living.

  Throngs of pushy men shouted rude questions, pushing enormous camera lenses in Devon’s face while others hefted heavy video cameras on their shoulders, checking behind them every so often as they backpedaled to try and catch the perfect shot.

  “Where you been, Devon?” one of them barked. “Rehab?”

  Devon didn’t answer. He didn’t even flinch, continuing to move through the growing crowd of people. He should’ve had security for this. Even though it was an airport, there were too many people. Someone could get hurt.

  “You been in hiding after your split with Trina, Devon?” another hollered, flashes popping off in all directions. The sunglasses were a genius move. My eyes were so dazzled by the brightness that I was seeing spots. I stumbled a bit and Devon grabbed me by the hand to keep me on track.

  I was noticed for the first time, connected to Devon physically but somehow much more vulnerable than before.

  “Hey, who’s this?” someone shouted. “Hey, pretty girl, what’s your name?”

  “She with you, Devon?”

  “Of course she’s with Devon. Look! They’re holding hands.”

  “You guys fucking?”

  “Look over here, pretty girl!”

  “He banging you, sweetheart?”

  I felt like I was drowning in shouting and bodies and lights until I was suddenly in front of the gaping passenger door of a dark SUV. I jumped in, not caring whose it was, desperate to get out of there, away from the crush of humanity that was demanding answers from me. What kinds of questions were those? It was insane. I felt like I’d been stripped naked and pummeled in front of everyone—utterly violated.

  When Devon climbed into the driver’s seat of the SUV, looking no worse for wear than before, I gaped at him.

  “What?” he asked, putting the vehicle in drive and pulling away from the herd of people still snapping photos.

  “Is that what it’s like to be you?” I asked. “Is it like that all the time?”

  “They were pretty eager today,” Devon said after giving it some thought. “It’s probably because I’ve been out of sight for a while. No one’s gotten a photo since the breakup. Well, except for that fine one you snapped in the hotel room in Dallas.”

  I shook my head. “Eager is how you would describe that? Devon, that was an assault.”

  He patted my hand. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I don’t want to get used to it. I hated that. Do you seriously have to deal with them all the time?”

  “Not all the time,” he said. “I can sneak around a little bit, but once they get wind of me, I get followed for the majority of the outing.” He shrugged. “It’s better when it’s fans instead of paparazzi. The fans are, at least, genuinely happy to see you. Makes me feel fulfilled.”

  “What was with all the offensive questions?” I asked. “That isn’t right. Didn’t you hear what they were asking?”

  “I’ve learned to tune it out.” We turned off of a main strip and the land started to get a little hillier, wilder. It was hard to believe that there was still space for undeveloped land in this part of the most populous state. It was gorgeous—tangles of trees and rocky outcroppings.

  “They were asking if we were fucking, for your information,” I said.

  “They say offensive shit like that all the time,” he said without so much as flinching. “What they’re looking for is a reaction shot. The worse you look, or the weirder, the more money they’ll get for the photo.”

  “Why? Don’t people want to see you happy and looking good? Isn’t that interesting for them?”

  “Not interesting enough.” The houses we were passing by were enormous. How in the world did people need so much space? “I always look good in movies, on red carpets, at appearances. People pay to see the unpolished side of me. Does he look drunk? Perfect. Does he look pissed? Perfect. Does he look like he doesn’t know where he is? Perfect. Then they can spin whatever clickbait headline they want to online and earn ad revenue.”

  “That sounds…awful,” I said. “Why would you put yourself through it?”

  “It’s not so bad,” he reasoned. “Everyone has to make a living. One time, the paparazzi caught me…um…adjusting myself.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Headline: ‘Hollywood’s Highest-Paid Hero a Public Masturbator.’”

  “Jesus.”

  Devon laughed. “Yep. Took Chaz a long time to bury that one. I had to make all these friendly appearances, my hands firmly glued at my sides, until my slate was wiped clean. I don’t even adjust myself in private anymore. I’m rid of that habit.”

  “Devon, that’s not funny. That’s awful.”

  “You learn to laugh about it,” he said. “There’s no use crying. Poor little rich boy, right?”

  I grimaced. “I guess I didn’t really understand the kinds of things you go through on a daily basis.”

  “Well, I’m rewarded for them,” Devon said. “I have enough money for whatever I want, and I make people happy, one way or another.”

  “It’s a high price to pay.”

  “I’m used to it. We’re nearly there.”

  I didn’t know what to expect when it came to the place where he lived, but when we drove up the winding path to Devon’s house and it finally came into view, I laughed, certain I was being tricked.

  “What’s funny?” he asked me, confused.

  “This isn’t your house,” I scoffed. I was so sure that it was an elaborate prank, Devon driving me out to some museum or historically significant castle before having a laugh and returning to some more conventional mansion. This place was palatial, perched on bluffs carefully manicured to look wild and windswept, overlooking a canyon that drew my eye to the coast. The view was gorgeous, but the house was overwhelmingly beautiful. It was too fancy to live in. I was sure of it.

  “This is my house,” he said, pulling just short of the multi-car garage and putting the SUV into park.

  “Nobody’s allowed to live here,” I said. “You can’t fool me, Devon. This isn’t a house. It’s a…a chateau. I don’t know.”

  “Can I show you around and at least try to convince you I actually live here?”

  I followed him out of the car, still smiling and shaking my head, marveling at the lengths he went through to fool me as he fit a key into the front door and opened it.

  “I bet you know the guy who owns this place, and he lent you his keys so you could fool me into thinking you live here.”

  I wandered inside, ready to enjoy the sights before Devon told me the truth.

  “Here’s the kitchen,” he was saying, still looking at me like I was a lunatic. “I don’t do a ton of cooking, but I always meant to learn so I could do it in my downtime. Like when I’m retired. If that’s a possibility. Most people in this business never retire.”

  I explored freely, opening cabinets and drawers and doors. “Ooh, cleaning supplies. For your small army of maids?”

  “I like to clean myself,” he said. “It’s like meditation for me. And I don’t like anyone doing my dirty laundry for me. That’s how secrets get out.”

  “Aha.” I didn’t believe this for one minute. “Continue the tour.”

  “You still don’t believe I live here?” he asked, laughing. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s too big for just one person.”

  “Well, you’re here, now. It’s the perfect size.”

  It was finally starting to sink in that Devon lived in an actual museum. He had photos and memorabilia from his movies mounted on the walls, autographs of classic movie stars he must’ve collected since he was a boy, books on all topics, souvenir scripts bound in rich leather with gold lettering.

  His decor gave the appearance of a man cave, but there was something comforting about low-slung leather couches and chairs, thick carpeting mi
xed with wood floors, shelves and walls and nooks and crannies filled with things he loved.

  “Okay, this might be your house, but I don’t believe you actually clean it,” I said. “It’s huge! How could you possibly have time for it?”

  “One chore at a time,” he said. “It’s good exercise, too.”

  This was a fairy tale. I was living in a real, live fairy tale.

  We cooked side by side in that enormous kitchen, filled with gleaming new appliances. He knew more than he let on, though he entrusted me with some recipes.

  “You forget that I cooked for Nana full time,” I said. “I’m a hell of a cook, Devon. Well, for health foods. I’m pretty rusty on soul foods.”

  “Chaz will love you,” Devon said. “He’s always on me to eat healthier. He says no amount of gym time will unclog my arteries.”

  “He’s right.” The steam rose from a skillet atop a burner, and I jostled its contents around. We were going to have a sweet and spicy stir-fry. It was one of the dishes I could most consistently get Nana to eat. She loved colorful food, and it was packed with carrots and bell peppers and the like.

  Sitting down at the countertop and eating a dinner we prepared together felt normal. Like we were just two normal human beings existing in the same space. There wasn’t the added, uncomfortable dimension of a movie star and a pizza delivery girl trying to find common ground. It felt almost as if we were a couple who’d been together for a long time, comfortable with each other, cooking for each other.

  “I like this,” Devon said suddenly. “I mean, I wanted you to come out here with me, but I really, really like this.”

  “It’s like we’ve known each other for a long time, isn’t it?” I said wonderingly, enchanted that he was feeling the exact same thing I was.

  “That’s just what it is,” he said. “You’re my old lady, June Clark.”

  “Okay, old man.”

  When he took me upstairs to show me where all the “magic” happened, magic did happen. We knew exactly what the other liked, the right tempo to stroke, the right things to murmur, the right time to push each other right over the cliff’s edge, tumbling down the other side together, sinking into each other. We fell asleep side by side, wrapped around each other, and I felt true peace.