Already Famous

by Heather Leigh

  From: Chad Sullivan

  Unwind your panties, pretty boy! The studio head is breathing down my neck for your shit. I shouldn’t have to hold your hand, this isn’t your first rodeo. And I definitely think I can make you look good enough to get one of those little gold men, I mean, I already have 4 myself, so I guess it’s your turn. And FYI, I’m currently on vacation at my perfect house on St. Bart’s. It’s my last day here so I’m living it up and don’t want any more calls about you from the boss. Jealous of my vacay??

  Chad

  He included an attached picture of his view from a lounge chair on a hill overlooking a brilliant turquoise bay. Of course, you can see his mangy white feet at the end of the chair in front of a sparkling infinity pool. What a dick, I haven’t been on a vacation in what feels like forever and he knows it. Suddenly inspired, I type out another email to Chad.

  To: Chad Sullivan

  From: Drew Forrester

  Tell you what, big shot director. Let this poor exhausted working man use your house this coming weekend and I’ll not only win myself an Oscar, but I’ll make you look like the fucking genius that you always profess to be and get you another one too.

  D

  The thought of Sydney with me on St. Bart’s for a weekend, lounging by Chad’s pool in a bikini is tempting. Several days of just me and her and no interruptions or time apart, she’d have to let me get to know something about her. My email alerts me to another response from Chad.

  To: Drew Forrester

  From: Chad Sullivan

  Deal. You can even use my jet to get there and my boat. It’s new so don’t fuck it up, the boat not the jet. Just show up in LA in a good mood, and don’t let your pretty face get sunburned. The execs will lose their shit! Call me later and we’ll hammer out the details, right now I’m going to go sit in my hot tub.

  Chad

  Perfect, now I just have to convince Sydney go with me. A text alert lets me know that Bruce just dropped off my stuff and the concierge is probably on the way up. I step over to the foyer and crack the front door to keep him from knocking and waking up Syd. An older man steps off of the elevator a second later with two cups of coffee and a duffel bag from my house.

  He seems surprised when he sees me. Well, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting Andrew Forrester to answer the door. Then I remember that I’m only wearing my underwear and that pretty much explains the strange look I’m getting. A famous movie star answering the door in his skivvies. This probably makes his top ten list of weirdest moments.

  I know Bruce tipped him well for me so I kindly ask him to forget about seeing me here. “You won’t mention this to anyone, right?”

  The concierge looks affronted. “We are quite discreet here at The Greenwich Tower, I assure you, Mr. Forrester. Our residents and their guests enjoy complete privacy. In fact, this conversation didn’t happen.” He smiles and pushes the button to go back down to the lobby.

  Stunned, I close the door behind me with my foot so I won’t spill the coffees. Well, that was easy. I hope complete privacy includes not telling Sydney that he spoke with the famous Andrew Forrester in the doorway of her loft. I bring one of the cups of coffee to the bedroom and place it on the nightstand for Sydney and take a few quick gulps of the other one, letting the hot drink warm me up enough to move around without the blanket.

  The rest of the stuff I bring into the bathroom with me and take a scalding hot shower and brush my teeth. Bruce packed my toothbrush even though I didn’t think to ask for it. I’m willing to bet that he called Jane to ask her what to put in my bag. If he did, I’m sure I’ll hear about it from her later. Not only is it the middle of the night in L.A., but I haven’t spent the night with a woman in all the years that Jane’s known me, and she’s sure to have a million questions.

  As I leave the bedroom, I scoop up my discarded suit and shove it into the duffel bag, then make my way into the kitchen, grinning like an idiot. The coffee keeps me warm as I get out a plate for the croissants that Bruce so kindly included with our drinks, and put everything on the kitchen table and sit so I can read the paper. It’s sometimes difficult, but I try to keep up with current events when I’m in town. When I’m on location or in L.A. it’s just about impossible, early call times and late nights make reading anything but a script a luxury.

  I pull the newspaper out of the bag and unfold it and realize that this is the New York Post, not the Times. Crap, well, Bruce isn’t an assistant, and everything else was perfect so I can’t blame him. I look at the clock. It’s not quite seven. I can’t wake Sydney yet. Great, I open the Post and start to read the sports section, but it’s just a quick scan. The Pats are out of the playoffs so I’m not interested in football news. Baseball doesn’t start for two more months and I can’t stand basketball or hockey even though the Celtics and the Bruins are both great teams.

  I finish both the News and the Metro sections and move on to the Entertainment section. Surprisingly, there’s a small mention about my upcoming movie, A Soldier’s Burden. Unfortunately, it’s accompanied by the photo taken with the two girls I met in the street after leaving Sydney’s loft the other night.

  I scan the caption, “Actor Andrew Forrester poses with fans in NYC’s West Village”.

  Isn’t that just wonderful? I scowl at the photo in disgust. You can’t trust anyone to keep anything private.

  I’m still stewing over the picture when Sydney walks into the kitchen, looking absolutely radiant. She makes the awkward, post-sex disheveled look seem easy to achieve, perfect skin, tousled hair, slight beard burn on her chin and swollen lips, my dick starts to take notice.

  Shit, the photo of me is front and center on the table. I scoop up the newspaper, hastily folding it and tossing it far enough across the table that Sydney can’t reach it. Standing, I pull her in for a kiss. “Good morning.”

  She looks around at everything spread out in her kitchen. “Well, you’ve been busy.” Then her head tilts to the side in confusion, her brow furrowed as she studies the table. “How did you get out of my loft and back in without waking me for the key?”

  Okay, now I feel stupid. Normal guys don’t have newspapers and coffee and bags of clothes delivered to them, I should have thought of that. “Oh, I didn’t. I had someone pick up the pastries and coffee and bring them to your lobby. Your concierge brought them up,” I admit to her, somewhat embarrassed.

  “Oh.” Oh? What does that mean? “Well, thanks.” Sydney picks up a croissant and takes a big bite. Her sharp gaze finds the wadded up Post. “Did they bring the paper as well?”

  Crap. I have to distract her so she won’t ask to see it. “Yes. Did you sleep well?” I look right into her deep blue eyes, willing her to talk to me.

  “Except for when you woke me up in the middle of the night like a horny teenager, I slept like a rock. Which is actually unusual for me.”

  Holy shit, it worked! Although, she seems displeased to have spoken so openly. Me? I’m ecstatic to have been thrown a crumb of information, accident or not.

  I try to continue the dialogue, hoping to learn more about her. “You have trouble sleeping?” I’m not surprised, given how many secrets she seems to harbor. Hiding all that shit and keeping it inside would give anyone a bad case of insomnia.

  “Ummmm, well, yes …” she doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s obvious, her eyes shift around the room, not meeting mine directly. “I sometimes have bad dreams, but really, it’s not a big deal.” The casual shrug she throws in is stilted and stiff and not at all convincing.

  Bullshit it’s not a big deal. But she didn’t have nightmares last night. Maybe I’ll have to sleep with her every night to keep them away.

  I tap my finger to my lips. “Hmmm. Maybe we’ve found a cure for your problem.” I blatantly check her out in her tiny little robe, her pert nipples visible through the
thin fabric, and think of everything I could do to help her sleep better.

  Adorably, a deep crimson creeps up her neck. She’s embarrassed by my flirting. I can’t help but laugh, she’s so endearing. I haven’t met a woman who feels emotions like self-consciousness in a really long time. Usually, I’m surrounded by overly confident Barbie dolls that I want to ditch as quickly as humanly possible. She’s such a refreshing change from all that phony crap. “Sydney, your reactions always surprise me.” My eyes flick down to the table, where her arms are resting. “How’s your arm? It looks good.”

  She immediately stiffens and tucks her arm under the table. “It’s fine.”

  Okay… She doesn’t want me to ask about that other scar again. The one that freaked her out when I mentioned it at the gym.

  A glance at my phone shows that it’s already later than I thought and I realize that I should go soon. I have to call Chad and arrange for next weekend, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Sydney eyes me inquisitively as I stand and walk around the table so I can kneel down next to her chair and take her hand in mine. “I have to get going, when can I see you again?”

  Sydney answers without her usual caution. “I have no projects lined up, and I’m just waiting for my current client to call to start work, so I’m fairly open in the next few weeks.” Then she shrinks back, as if she caught herself telling me too much too soon.

  “I’ll call you later today, okay? I need to get home and check some things on my calendar.” I lean in and brush my lips across her inviting pink mouth several times before I stand up, remembering to snatch the Post off of the table before I go. I retrieve my duffel bag from the floor and head toward the foyer, Sydney trailing behind.

  As I shrug on my coat she stops me, holding up a hand to keep me in place. “Wait here,” she says with a mischievous smirk. She ducks into the living room and comes back just as quickly. “A gift, I don’t want to take a chance losing our luck.” My Red Sox hat is balanced precariously on her outstretched palms, as if she’s trying not to let it touch too much of her skin, which is probably exactly what she’s doing.

  Amused by her disgust for my favorite hat, I give her my biggest grin, take it from her hands, and shove it on my head, pulling it down low. Might as well get my costume ready now for when I hit the street.

  “Me neither. Sydney, I’ll call you later.” I spin the brim around so I can lean in and get one more taste of her before I leave. As usual, she doesn’t disappoint.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Chad, what’s up? When did you get to the Caribbean? Last I heard you were still scouting sites with Lou for the shoot.”

  I have my calendar pulled up on my laptop, which took thirty minutes of Jane explaining over the phone to get me to the right place. So, I’m not a computer whiz, what does it matter? I usually do everything from my phone, but it’s easier to see my work schedule on the larger laptop screen instead of the teeny-tiny one.

  Chad is clearly in an open top car, the wind roaring around as I speak to him. “I got here six days ago! I pushed some stuff off onto Lou so I could visit this fabulous home I own but only get to use every two years or so!” Damn, he’s yelling since he’s having trouble hearing me. “Sorry¸ I’m on my way to the airport! Convertible, you know?” Yeah, I figured.

  Lou Pierce is the EP, or executive producer for the Mind of the Enemy, the film we’re shooting in California. Chad and Lou formed their production company, Surge Films, fifteen years ago when they couldn’t find anyone willing to finance their first project, Upsidedown. Their unwanted film turned into the darling of the Sundance Film Festival that year and Surge Films is now worth an estimated $300 million.

  “Lou must be thrilled,” I say dryly. “Anyway, what’s up with the house? You change your mind yet about letting me use it?”

  “Why, you’re not going to bring fifty of your closest friends and have a raging weekend-long kegger are you?” I hear the amusement in his voice. He knows me pretty well and is quite aware that not only would I not want to be around fifty people for more than a few hours, but that ‘raging keggers’ are not exactly my style.

  “You got me, Chad. I guess I’d better change my plans,” I laugh at him. “Actually, I’m bringing a girl. Just me and her, and I need a little help.”

  “Huh? You? You’re bringing a girl on a weekend vacation?” He bursts out in hysterics. “No really, what are you doing this weekend?”

  Nice, he doesn’t believe me. So what if I’m not known for my long term relationships, he doesn’t have to be an ass about it.

  “Chad, I’m serious. I think I found the girl I’m going to marry.” I’m not sure what possessed me to say that out loud, or even to think it. But somehow I know, I have found her. It’s nothing specific about her that I can explain, it’s just her. I just have to get Sydney to feel the same way. Go big or go home, right? That’s what I’ve always said to myself and I’m not going to change now. That still doesn’t explain why I’m telling this to Chad like we’re two teenage girls gossiping at a sleepover.

  “I’m speechless, Drew. If it’s true, then I’m happy for you man. Really.” I know he’s being sincere. This isn’t like me at all, so I’m well aware that it’s probably blowing his mind.

  “Thanks, there’s just one thing.” I enlighten to Chad on the Sydney situation and explain that I need him to clear his place of anything related to the film industry. After he finishes laughing his ass off at me, he agrees to call his caretaker and have him move all of his personal items to the locked office.

  I hang up with Chad and put my head in my hands, praying that his guy doesn’t miss anything at the house. I can’t ruin this with Sydney. My plan is to make sure she falls for me before she finds out who I am and what I do. Not my best idea, but it’s all I have until she’s willing to tell me what her issues are with fame and magazines and televisions.

  There’s a ton of stuff that needs to get done, so I turn to my work laptop and click on the email icon. Three days without an assistant and my life is already a mess. I have no clue where to begin. Jane will be back later this afternoon, and I’m looking forward to having her taking care of all this shit for me.

  How she does all this every day is beyond my comprehension. I have about a million emails in my work inbox, there’s over ten voicemails on my work phone, and a huge stack of scripts that I have to go through is sitting on my desk.

  Fuck this.

  I stand up and head for my bedroom to change. I’m going to the gym to hit something.

  After sparring with Damien for an hour and a half, my head is ringing and I’m drenched in sweat, but it’s still better than slogging through hours of emails. The bastard hit me harder than he usually does, still pissed about the ass kicking I gave him yesterday.

  “Forrester, drinks tomorrow night? I’ll buy since you got your ass handed to you in the ring.” He’s just as sweaty as I am and sticks it to me like the poor winner he always is.

  I sit on a bench and towel off my face. “Sure, why not?” Then I glare up at Damien to see him smirking at me. “By the way, you’re a dick. If you’d have busted my nose, I’d get sued for breach of contract.”

  That motherfucker laughs. He thinks it’s so goddamn funny that I make my living partially because of my looks. Not everyone can be like him and have their nose broken four times in the cage and receive a paycheck for it each time.

  “Sorry, Drew. I couldn’t help myself.” Damien takes a long drink of his water and then dumps the rest on his closely cropped hair. He doesn’t look or sound sorry at all. “You were out of it today. Where the fuck was your head at?”

  “How about I tell you about it later? I need a shower. I can smell myself from here.” I gather my stuff to leave.

  “Okay dude, tomorrow at six at The Hub? Bobby wants to go out. The Packers play the Chargers.” He puts his fist out and I bump it with mine then smack the back of his head before he can react.

  “Hey!”

  “That’s for be
ing an ass,” I tell him, ducking out of the way of his tightly wound towel as he snaps it at me.

  The Hub is a dumpy little sports bar near the piers that we frequent. They show all of the games and have about a hundred different beers on tap.

  “Six, okay. See ya there. I’ll be the asshole in the Red Sox hat and the ridiculous wig.” Damien laughs so hard that he’s still going at it as I leave the gym. Dick.

  My phone beeps as I get into the car and I see that Sydney texted me. She initiated contact? That’s a first.

  Sydney

  I smile. She’s so radically different from every other woman I’ve ever known. What girl doesn’t live for a day of shopping at high end department stores? I type out a response and hit send.

  Me

  Now to impress Miss Sydney Allen enough to get her to say yes to St. Bart’s.

  CHAPTER 9

  I can’t believe I’m nervous for a date. Incredibly nervous actually. As nervous as I was the first time I stood in front of a camera and the director yelled “action”. Everything is ready for Sydney to arrive, so now I’m stuck waiting around with nothing to do except freak the fuck out.

  I still have about fifteen more minutes until Bruce drops her off so I use the time to do a quick double check of the house to be sure that I didn’t miss any movie paraphernalia. Earlier, I gathered up all of my books, scripts, photos … everything and threw them all in a huge pile on the couch in the office. I’m finishing the final sweep when my phone buzzes from my pocket,

  Bruce

  Sydney is here. I hurry downstairs so she doesn’t have to stand on my doorstep in the glacial cold and open the door just as she steps up to the front landing. Bruce gives me a nod and takes off for the night.