Already Famous

by Heather Leigh

  I have to tell her what I did. “Sydney, I didn’t wear a condom.”

  I watch as her face falls. Adoration replaced by anxiety, contentment by confusion. I did that. I put that look on her face. What the fuck kind of man does that?

  Disgusted with myself, I scoot her off my lap and get out of the tub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist. I shove my hands through my hair and snatch up my clothes. Stalking out of the bathroom to pull on my shirt and jeans and toss the towel aside, pissed as fuck.

  I have no idea how to fix this.

  I’m supposed to protect her, this sweet, vulnerable, damaged girl. And I just fucked it all up with my dick. I fantasized before about her riding me bare and now that I’ve done it, I feel like a piece of shit. Not just because it was wrong, but because it felt so fucking fantastic that I would give my left nut to do it again and that makes me a selfish bastard.

  Sydney comes out of the bathroom and quietly ducks into her closet to get dressed. Well, I’ve worried about what she would think of me if she saw my fucked-up over-protective side. I think I’m about to find out.

  She leaves the closet and walks calmly into the living room without saying a word. I follow her, unable to comprehend how she can be so composed after my massive screw up. When she gracefully sits down on the couch, I can’t bring myself to join her. I’m too agitated. Instead, I pace back and forth in front of those goddamn bookshelves that hold the pictures that reveal nothing in the sterile apartment that gives me no hint of who the fuck Sydney really is.

  Sydney is quiet, watching me with a wary expression on her beautiful, flushed face. Alright, if she’s not going to speak then I will.

  “I can’t believe I was so careless! I’ve never done that, never!” I yell, continuing my pacing as I berate myself.

  “Drew, calm down,” she says evenly.

  What? I snap my head up to look at her. “Calm? Sydney, I’m pissed at myself. I can’t believe I did that to you. I’m so sorry. I just don’t even know what to say.”

  Her clear blue eyes widen in shock. “Wait, I was just as caught up in the moment as you were, Drew. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want you to do.”

  Is she fucking kidding me? No way is she taking the blame for this.

  I drop to my knees in front of her and lay my head in her lap. “I’m so sorry, Sydney. It’s the first time I’ve ever forgotten to use protection. I’m supposed to take care of you and look out for you, not put you into more stressful situations.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. Look at me.”

  I can barely bring myself to do it, I’m so ashamed. She pulls her fingers through my wet hair as I meet her apprehensive gaze.

  “It’s okay, Drew. I run so much I don’t even get regular periods, so I’m sure nothing will happen. You don’t owe me an apology. I won’t allow you to feel like this. It was consensual, and we’re both adults, we’ll deal with whatever happens.”

  I can see in her eyes as she tries to reassure me, that she’s freaking out over the fact that she might get pregnant. I’ll admit, as fucked up as it sounds, the thought of Sydney carrying my child, whether now or someday down the road, makes my heart explode with pride. It’s stupid, I haven’t known her very long, but I know she’s the one I want, my forever. I’ve been completely numb for almost ten years and in the ten minutes I spent with her in my gym, I changed. She changed me.

  Now, like everything else I try to discuss with her, she’s shutting down and cutting me off. It’s as obvious from the look on her face as if she held up a sign saying “conversation over”. I have no choice but to go along with her decision. If I push her, she’s likely to slam shut her protective doors and keep me out permanently. As much as I want to throw her down and force her to talk to me, I’m too afraid of her deciding that I’m not worth it.

  “Alright, but I don’t like this at all Syd.” I sigh in frustration at her ability to cut me off from discussing anything involving us. She’s not getting away without at least a warning. “But I trust you. If you say you’re not upset, then I’ll let it go, for now. Just understand that I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you, not even me.”

  “Let’s order some food,” she says, changing the subject and letting me know that this conversation is without question, over.

  Pissed and irritated by my strained capitulation, I order Thai food to be delivered and we eat in silence, the stress of my fuckup combined with her constant state of denial is hanging over the kitchen table like a dark cloud. I attempt some small talk, but it’s forced and unnatural. It’s only when I tell Sydney that I’ve known Chad for over ten years that she seems genuinely interested in the conversation.

  “Drew, how old are you?” she asks, her complexion turning a deep scarlet.

  I smile. She’s asking me a personal question. “Twenty-nine, I’ll be thirty on March 8th.”

  She suddenly looks sick. What the fuck? “What, am I too old for you or something?” Jesus, what if she thinks I am?

  “No, that’s not it. It just reminded me that I have something to ask you, related to my work.” She stands up and puts her dish on the counter. “Are you done? Let’s go into the living room.”

  Like a condemned man on his way to the gallows, I follow her to the living room, knowing that whatever she’s going to say I’m not going to like. I’ve never felt this way before, downright fucking insecure around a girl. She brings out the best and worst in me.

  Sydney motions for me to join her on the couch and sits quietly for a moment. This is not going to be good, I can tell by the look on her face. She’s freaking out. What would that have to do with her job? I’m always so fucking confused around her. She fucks with my control so easily.

  She inhales deeply before starting. “Okay, you know that I’m redesigning the new nightclub at the Warren. Well, when one of these clubs launches, they have a huge party. They invite people who will bring the most exposure to their business, like…you know…celebrities and what not.”

  I stiffen up at the mention of celebrities. Fuck, does she know about me? That can’t be it. She wouldn’t have wanted to see me tonight if it was. She most certainly wouldn’t have fucked me in her bathtub.

  “Ummmm, the bigwigs that run the Warren Hotel chain saw the interview in GQ.”

  That fucking prick piece of shit Reynolds?

  I whip around to look at her. “The interview with Adam Reynolds?” I snap a little harsher than I should have. I can’t help it, I despise that slimy bastard.

  “Yes, that interview,” she confirms. “He mentioned Verve and that he knew about it through me, and called the Warren to get an invite.”

  Yeah, how could I forget? He’s such a pussy he tries asking her out in a fucking interview instead of face to face like a man.

  I can’t let her see how pissed off Reynolds makes me. I’m not going to explain it and I don’t want her to ask. Not that she’d ever actually ask me anything remotely personal. I drop my Andrew Forrester mask into place and play it cool. “Okay. Is that why you were so unhappy when you left work? You already knew about the article.”

  Well, ummmm…” She stumbles on her words and turns bright red with embarrassment. What the fuck is going on? “So, the mention in the article set off a firestorm of A-listers calling to get on the invite list. Management at the Warren feel it’s only right to repay Adam by granting his request to be at the party…and…ummmm, his request to be my date.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  This girl, who hates celebrities so much that just looking at an article in GQ sent her into a full blown panic attack. Who won’t even watch television. Who is my fucking girlfriend and I can’t even tell her what I do for a living. Is going to a party with Adam Fucking Reynolds?

  I can’t hide my anger anymore, a red haze drops over my vision and my fists ball up tightly in front of me.

  “And you said yes?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  She avoids my furious glare.
“No. Not at first.”

  “Not at first,” I repeat. So she said yes.

  “Drew, I said no! I told them I was seeing someone, and I wasn’t going on a date with anyone but you.”

  Holy Fuck! She mentioned me to her bosses! Then she does knows who I am.

  “You mentioned me?” I choke out. I think I’m having a heart attack.

  A flash of anger crosses her face and she narrows her eyes at me. “Well, I told them I was seeing someone. I didn’t mention you specifically. Why, do I embarrass you or something?”

  She thinks she embarrasses me? Jesus, I would parade her around everywhere I went if I could just get past all the secretive shit she’s hiding from me.

  Now I’m even more pissed. “Of course you don’t embarrass me Sydney!” I yell. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to talk about anything, or know anything! I’m just shocked as hell that you would even tell anyone that I exist!”

  She exhales quickly, my words stung. “That’s how you think I feel about you? That I want to pretend you don’t exist?”

  Great, now I’m an asshole.

  “No, that’s not what I meant, shit. I don’t know Sydney, I’m still stuck on the whole date with Adam Reynolds bomb you dropped on me. I don’t share,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

  I’m so angry and confused. I run my hands through my hair in frustration, ready to pull all of it out if it will help me deal with this unbelievably bizarre crap.

  Sydney is suddenly on her feet in front of me, her cheeks red with anger. “It’s not a date!” she shrieks. “I told them I would only go if I could bring you and that Adam understood that we,” she motions back and forth between the two of us, “would hang out with him and talk to him but that’s it!” Her chest is heaving in and out with rage.

  Fuck this! If she’s going somewhere with Adam Reynolds then I want answers. That prick fucked me over once, and he’s not doing it again.

  I stand up and face her, towering over her as she fearlessly meets my furious stare. “But you can’t stand celebrities, Sydney! That’s what you said! There will be cameras and famous people everywhere! I just don’t get it!”

  “I don’t like any of that shit, Drew! I hate it! It fucking ruined my life, okay? I’m still screwed up from it. I don’t want to go to the party at all, but when the boss of a multi-billion dollar hotel chain tells you to show up at his party, you have to show up! I have no choice!” Sydney huffs and sits down heavily on the couch, crossing her arms and sticking her lip out in an adorable pout.

  Now I’m the bad guy here. Adam motherfucking Reynolds wants my girl and I have to fucking take it like a chump because it’s for her job. I want to find him and punch the ever living shit out of his stupid fucking face.

  I slump over, defeated. I can’t win this argument. Not with only half of the information available to me, and Sydney’s not about to tell me the other half. I drop onto the seat next to her and attempt to control my fury. I don’t like to lose, especially to that fuckwad Reynolds. There’s no way he’s going to make a move on my girl and live. I take a deep breath, making a concerted effort to not sound like the raging lunatic that I’m hiding inside.

  I can’t believe I’m backing down. It goes against everything I feel, everything I am, but I know if I push this and tell her she can’t go with that asshole because she belongs to me, I’ll lose her.

  “I’m sorry Sydney. I won’t ask you about your past, since you aren’t ready to tell me, but I won’t know if I can go with you until I get to California and see how my schedule is and how the project is going. I understand that you have to be there, but I’m not going to pretend to like it. In fact, it makes me want to punch Adam Reynolds right in the head.”

  Or destroy his fucking arrogant British ass with my fists. Or my feet. Or both.

  I see her jaw drop slightly, then she closes it tight before apologizing for her job. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for dumping this on you. It’s on your birthday and it’s probably not your idea of a good time. If you can’t make it, I get it.”

  Sydney sounds defeated too, like she really doesn’t want to go. And honestly, I believe her. She doesn’t want to do it but her asshole of a boss is making her. To keep Adam Reynolds happy. That fucker better hope I can’t make it that night. He has no idea what he’s started by forcing my hand by screwing with my girl. Again.

  I lean in and touch my nose to hers. “I’ll try my best to be there, if for no other reason than to keep him from hitting on my woman. Let’s go to bed.”

  I have no clue what just happened or how tonight went so wrong but I know one thing, if I see Adam Reynolds again, I’ll fucking kill him.

  CHAPTER 20

  Bruce drops me and Jane off in front of terminal 8 at JFK for our 5pm flight to LAX. I hate airports. If anything got infinitely worse for me after I became an actor, it’s air travel. Unless I fly private, it’s always a giant nightmare. At least it’s winter, so I can get away with an unshaven face, a scarf around my mouth, and my hat pulled low.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow,” Bruce says as he gets back in the car. We didn’t bother changing his flight; the studio will send a car to pick us up at LAX.

  ‘Yeah, see ya man,” I call out as I duck my head and enter the busy airport.

  “Okay,” Jane sighs as she hoists her bag over her shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

  I smile at Jane. This sucks almost as much for her as it does for me. She gets mobbed just like I do, but unlike me, people don’t hesitate to physically push and shove her out of their way. It pisses me off so much that I’ve almost taken a swing at a few people who went too far with their man-handling of my assistant.

  We get in the express line at the United Airlines check-in counter. I have to go through all the same shit as everyone else at the airport, my only saving grace is that I always get to use the fast lanes. If I had to stand in the security lines with hundreds of other people, I’d probably never fly.

  “I.D.’s please,” the middle-aged ticketing agent says to us as we step up to the counter.

  Please don’t make this a big deal lady. After arguing with Sydney last night and the bathtub incident, I can’t take any added stress today.

  We hand over our licenses and I hold my breath. She must scan Jane’s boarding pass first because it takes her a minute to get that look on her face.

  “Oh,” she gasps as her eyes go wide. She glances up at us and her eyes study me for a moment. Probably trying to figure out how the scruffy guy with the hideous hat is actually the attractive man in the photo on my license.

  I give her a small smile, nothing big enough to encourage a dramatic reaction from her, but enough to keep her happy. She smiles back and hands us our paperwork and I.D.’s. “Enjoy your flight,” she chirps breathlessly.

  “Well thank God for small miracles,” Jane mutters as we head toward security.

  I smirk from under my scarf, knowing full well that the problem at the airport isn’t the ticketing desk, it’s getting through security. I can’t keep my hat, scarf, or any other item on to hide under, so I’m always recognized by someone.

  We step over to the first class security line to wait for our turn. I stall until the last possible second to take off the scarf as I hand the TSA agent my I.D. and boarding pass. Doing my best to seem happy, I smile when the agent does a double take and her bulging eyes meet mine. I must have luck on my side today, because she thanks us without any extra conversation.

  “Wow, this is going way too smoothly,” Jane says as she removes her shoes and throws them into a bin.

  “I know. I guess one of the agents will have to steal something of mine to even it out.”

  My comment about stealing is both humorous and pathetic, because it’s true. At least half the time I fly, something of mine goes missing at security. There’s always a sticky-fingered agent that wants an Andrew Forrester souvenir, knowing that I won’t notice until much later that it’s missing. Last time it was my sunglasses, the time before
it was my watch. Once, someone even took a fucking pack of gum. A pack of gum!

  After six years together, Jane and I have devised a plan of attack. She goes through the body scanner first, and then watches my stuff as it slides through the x-ray machine, not giving the agent an opportunity to snatch something. Still, every once in a while a tricky thief makes off with one of my belongings. It’s irritating to say the least.

  I reluctantly drop the scarf into a tub with my lucky hat. If that hat ever went missing, I’d throw such a fucking fit they’d wish they never heard of Andrew Forrester. Luckily, it’s so gross looking, that no one has tried to lift it, yet.

  “Excuse me.” I cringe at the soft voice behind me.

  “Yes.” I respond without turning around.

  “I love your movies,” the woman says kindly.

  I can’t be rude to someone who’s being so respectful, even if I’m annoyed. It’s not her fault that she caught me in a bad mood.

  “Thank you.” I turn to give her one of Andrew Forrester’s best fake smiles.

  “You’re welcome,” the young woman says, smiling back.

  And that’s it. If only every fan could be like her; polite, to the point and not pushy or demanding. We manage to get through security without any more problems and head to our gate.

  Unfortunately, our good luck doesn’t last. Before we can get to the private club lounge, someone spots me, and this woman isn’t nearly as quiet or polite as the one at security.

  “Oh my Gawd!” she screeches in her brazen New York accent as she runs over to me.

  I hold up my hands to ward her off before she can put her outstretched fingers on my arm. You can look lady, but don’t fucking touch.

  “Hi, sorry we’re in a hurry to make a flight,” Jane says dismissively to the woman without breaking her stride.

  “I just gotta say hi,” she rasps in her obvious smoker’s voice. “I love your work.”

  She’s not going to go away, hurrying to keep up with us, and her loudness is beginning to draw a crowd. I hear my name being murmured throughout the terminal. Spreading from us quickly like a virus out into the masses as people realize that I’m here.