And then they were at Frostdots. While in line, looking at the menu, an embarrassing thing happened. Kat’s stomach rumbled. And not the stupid Frogger getting squished by an overly excited stomach, but a real rumble. A hunger rumble. She looked at Ben with trepidation. He laughed. Dang, he heard it.
“Hungry?” he asked.
She patted her stomach. “Apparently.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “Didn’t you have dinner? It’s almost eight.”
“No time. We practiced right up until the performance.”
Ben encouraged her to order food, even though he wasn’t going to. But no way was she going to eat something substantial in front of him while he was nibbling on custard. He must have sensed that. He told her he would order a wrap if she ordered a wrap. Agreed.
They sat in the back, where it was darker and less crowded, gobbling up wraps before the custard began to melt. A thought occurred to Kat. She was not just out for ice cream with Ben Wilder; she was having dinner with him. Wahoo! And that’s in Nebraska. This was a definite journal moment.
They finished their custard and conversed lightly. Speaking of light, Ben kept squinting at this obnoxious neon sign. It was uber-florescent yellow. He shifted in his seat. He ducked. He held his hand up, like he was blocking the sun. Then finally he stood up. “Dang, that light is annoying. It makes me feel like I have jaundice.” He slid his chair over about two feet, and sat down, pretty much smack-dab next to Kat.
Did he just make a move? Kat swallowed her custard too quickly. It probably looked like this huge bump going down her throat, just like a snake swallowing an egg. And then the inevitable happened. Brain freeze. She smacked her head and closed her eyes, grimacing from the pain.
When she opened them, Ben’s face was just a foot from hers. “I could blow in your ear; warm your head up a bit.” His voice was playful when he said this, but still. The implication made her shiver.
“Yeah, that’d help,” she muttered.
The pain passed and she focused on him, up close. Real close. Oh, those crystal clear blue eyes. She felt her lungs freeze, not allowing vital breath to enter or exit. But she didn’t need air. She just needed to stare into those eyes. Those eyes that she had spent countless hours staring at: in magazines, on album covers, on TV, and now she was seeing them in the flesh. Or in the cornea or something. She didn’t know what part to gaze into: the dark blue ring on the rim of the iris or the ice blue centers that seemed to make her entire body freeze when held in his trance.
He swirled his custard around in his bowl, breaking eye contact with her. Thank goodness. She knew her legs—at the very least—had turned into ice. If he’d stared at her any longer, she’d be a giant ice-block. Not a fancy sculpture. Just a big block. With a headband on top. She’d have to make sure not to get caught in that trance again.
“So, how long have you been dancing?” he asked.
“Um, forever. I think I probably danced before I walked.”
“Yeah, I can see that. You’re a natural.”
“Thanks.” Though she should have loved the compliment and attention from Ben, it made her uncomfortable. Subject shift. “How ‘bout you? I mean, I know you’ve been singing your whole life, but how ‘bout the songwriting? Jackson said you wrote all the songs on this album.”
“Yeah, or co-wrote. I had to have a little help on some. I can hear the melody, but not always all the variances. It’s still an emerging talent. I’ve only been doing it since I was fifteen.”
“Emerging huh? I’d say you have it down pat. That album has some of the most amazing songs I have ever heard. The lyrics alone …” she let it trail off. She didn’t want to sound like the typical groupie.
“You like it? The entire album?”
“It rocks,” she said somewhat facetiously.
“Yeah?” he smiled with her. He shifted in his seat, leaning away from her slightly. “It’s kinda nerve-racking … waiting for the reviews to come in. It’s so different, such a leap away from teen pop. I guess I can’t wait for it to hit the charts, just to see how it does.”
Ben, talking about nerves? Really? She just saw the tiniest of cracks in that shell of perfect confidence. She reassured him of the greatness of his album while trying not to sound like a loony fan. She mentioned her favorite song: “Outside In.” “It’s so …” oops, she had to stop herself before she said the word romantic, “… tender. It will be a legendary love ballad, I’m sure of it.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad Jackson let you listen to the album. It’s nice to hear support from someone in your age bracket. I’ve worried that the new sound will turn away the younger fans.”
She held her breath for about two seconds. Crud! She’d forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to have heard the album. But he wasn’t mad. And what else would they have to talk about if they couldn’t talk about his music? All’s good.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Kat said. She hurried and took a drink of her water so her mouth couldn’t say anything else without permission. Something like, “Teen girls will still love you even if you sing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy.’”
The subject shifted again, back to Kat and her dancing. Ben wanted to know if she had a desire to dance professionally.
“Um, yeah. Maybe. I’m going to apply to Juilliard next fall, and we’ll see what happens. My instructor thinks I’ll get accepted, but you never know.”
“Your instructor is right: you’re not going to have a hard time getting in. How ‘bout after that? Join a touring group or something?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind a hard to think that far. I haven’t even made it to five foot five yet, so that might change everything. There’s not a real big demand for short dancers.”
“So if you don’t grow—if you’re stuck at what? Five foot four and three quarters? What will you do?”
Wow. This wasn’t really light conversation. Maybe that’s what Kat was doing wrong earlier. She was trying to chit-chat. Ben must like conversations with substance. She’d been trying to feed a carnivore asparagus. “My backup plan? You have to promise not to laugh.”
“Okay. No laughing. Unless you say you want to be a circus clown.”
“No, but close. I’d like to be the entertainment liaison at a children’s hospital.”
“A what?”
“You know, the person who organizes all the activities for sick children at a place like St. Judes.”
“Serious? Where’d that come from?”
“There was this girl from my church who had a brain tumor and we went to visit her every week when she was in the hospital here in L.A. They were always doing something fun … some sort of craft or sing-along. And celebrities were always stopping in to visit. I just thought that it would be a really cool job to be the one bringing smiles to all those sick kids.” Kat tried to give a content smile, but she couldn’t quite muster it. This wasn’t an aspiration that she vocalized often, especially to her peers. Most of her friends only aspired to jobs that yielded big paychecks.
“Huh.” Ben sat up and took a drink of his water. Was he trying to stop himself from saying something like, “You’ll never drive a Beamer on that salary?” Then he sat back, leaned on his right elbow and said, “That’s really awesome. I’ve never heard anyone plan to do something like that. It’s really … noble.”
Maybe she would rather have had him make fun of her, because the look he gave her was a trifle intimidating. Like he was digging her or something. But maybe not. Maybe that’s just how Ben Wilder looks at girls—like how he’d look at a new guitar that he can’t wait to cradle in his arms. Let his fingers explore. Caress.
She almost shook her head, wanting to erase the image of Ben replacing one of his guitars with her. She took a short breath and started to shift the focus, yet again. “How ‘bout you? Any back-up plans?” Kat regretted the words right as they left her mouth. Duh. He already had a career. A very successful career. And money. No need to ever work with the ki
nd of trust fund Ben had.
He chuckled. “Yeah, actually. But no one ever asks me that. They just expect that I only want to do one thing: sing.”
“Well, yeah, because you’re so good at it.”
He tapped his fingers on the table, like maybe he was hesitant to continue. So Kat urged him on. “So if you’re singing career … flops—which it won’t—and you are jobless, what will you do?”
“Pastry.”
“Pastry?” Kat asked. She didn’t follow.
“A pastry chef. I’d like to have my own bakery.”
“Serious?” Kat tried not to sound too flabbergasted. What an unexpected field for someone so … rockin. “You like to cook?”
“No, not cook. Bake. I like to make breads and cookies … my specialty is Italian pastries.”
“Ah, you’re a Carb Demon? Go figure.” As if his physique wasn’t enough of a lust-trap. Just imagine him with a platter of cookies. No woman could resist that.
Ben laughed at her again. She kind of liked it. “That’s what my mom says. She only lets me bake when she’s out of the house. She says the smell alone makes her gain weight.”
Katrina couldn’t imagine Lena Santareno-Wilder spending much time in a kitchen. A fifty-year-old size zero probably eats her lettuce while running on the treadmill. “How’d you learn to bake?” she asked.
“My grandma Santareno. And a few of our chefs. They always give me pointers.”
“So really, someday you’d like to open a bakery? What would you call it? Rock n’ Dough?”
Again, the laugh. “Good one. I hadn’t come up with any names yet.”
They spent the next several minutes naming his bakery. Kat came up with most of the names. Ben did most the laughing. Bake My Day. Ben’s Fluffy Buns. My Dough Riseth Over.
“Well, now I know who to hire to do my marketing,” he said. “When the time comes,” he added somewhat somberly.
“I really don’t know why you’re worried. You’re not going to need a fall-back plan.”
“I just don’t want to be some middle-aged man holding on to my youth. There are so few artists who can actually transcend time. All the others just dream about their past. I don’t want that.
I don’t want to be some has-been without a future.”
“I think you have the determination—and the talent—to excel at whatever you do,” Kat said. “Especially since you are looking forward.”
He gave her a satisfied smile and then took another drink of water. Kat took a drink as well, mostly cause there was a little fire smoldering inside her. Apparently, there was more to Ben Wilder than just being a pop star. That depth that Katrina had always sensed—always hoped for—was there. And it made her stomach sizzle like a fajita.
Chapter Five ……
So Kat had called Jackson immediately following her impromptu date with Ben. Since no one else could know that she’d even met Ben, her options for sharing the wonders of Ben were limited. And although Jackson mostly teased and made fun of her anytime she talked boy talk, she still needed to download the info to someone. Two things bothered her about the conversation with Jackson. #1. Jackson knew that the date was going to happen. Ben had run the plan past Jackson. And Jackson didn’t call her and give her a heads up. What a Peever. Then #2. Jackson was irritated at her. He told her that she was going to blow his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, all because of that teeny-tiny little lie. The more time Ben spent with Katrina, the greater the likelihood that Ben would discover that there was no relation between Kat and Jack. Other than lunacy, she reminded Jackson.
“Not comforting, Kat,” he’d said over the phone. “You can’t keep coming to the set. I think he likes you and wants to hang with you. You know it’s going to slip out one of these times. But it can’t happen if you’re not around.”
“Really, you think he likes me?” she asked.
“Kat, did you hear anything else I just said?”
“Um, no.”
He repeated himself, but left out the part about Ben liking her. Then she got it. “You don’t want me at the set anymore?” she asked.
“You understand, right? He finds out that I lied to him and it’s over. Then neither of us will be going back to the set.”
Kat was silent. She cleared her throat. She didn’t know how to tell Jack. So she just blurted it. “Ben invited me to the set for the rest of the filming.”
“What?”
“As his personal guest.”
“Oh, Kat,” Jackson groaned. “You can’t. You have to bow out.”
“Yeah, right Jack. Not gonna happen.”
“Please, Kat.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t blow it. This secret will be taken to my grave. I don’t want him to know I lied either. I’ve got it covered. No worries.”
Jackson only groaned in response.
……
It’s the dream. I feel myself twitch, even though my body and mind are disconnected. I’m telling my body to wake up. I don’t want this dream.
The light is so bright that I can’t see. It makes my head hurt. I squint. I blink. Over and over again. Finally, the image comes into focus. It’s the man. He looks afraid. His mouth opens like he’s going to talk. But nothing comes out. Except blood.
I turn and start to run. But I slip. I look down. Blood. All over. On my pants, my shoes, my hands. I try running again. But it’s too slippery.
I look back at the man. He’s pale. His eyes are glazed open. It’s obvious that he’s dead. But then he talks. “You. You did this.” His voice is raspy, but pointed. Accusatory.
“No,” I say. “No. It wasn’t me.”
He doesn’t believe me. He repeats it. “You. You did this.”
“No!” This time I yell it. Again and again. “No! No! No!”
Then I become aware. My body and mind have reconnected. I’m yelling out loud, asleep in my room. My body is covered in sweat. I bring my mind through the heavy fog and force my eyes open.
……
Katrina felt sick to her stomach. Something was going down. Jackson had called her last night to tell her he couldn’t carpool this morning. He had an early morning meeting at the studio.
Apparently he’d received a call from Ben’s stepdad, Paul, over the weekend. Jackson was told that Ben wanted to modify the dressage. Since Jackson’s parents wouldn’t allow him to work on a Sunday, the meeting had to wait until the workweek. But Jackson had school at eight, so the meeting was scheduled for seven a.m.
Kat had hardly slept last night—worrying about it. And the stress did weird things to her dreams. She had just sat down at her desk, stretched, and then let out a big yawn. She prayed the discussion in English was lively today, otherwise she knew she’d be nodding off.
Jackson walked in just before the bell rang. Was he just now getting here? He looked grumpy. He didn’t acknowledge Kat.
Yaak. It was over. Gig’s up. They’d found out Jackson had lied. For her. So she could meet her dreamboat. She felt like crud-on-a-stick.
At lunchtime, she waited for him by her locker. But he was nowhere to be found. She went to the stairwell, thinking she would go to his last class and find him. But she didn’t need to. He was just coming down the landing.
“You … okay?” she asked hesitatingly. He walked past, still not acknowledging her. And he didn’t say a word the entire walk to his locker.
“I’m going nuts, Jack,” she finally blurted. “Please tell me what happened. Are we banished?”
“No, Kat.”
“They’re just mad then? Slap on the wrist kind of thing?”
“No.”
“So did they find out about the lie or not?”
“No. No one knows.”
“Then were good.”
“Sure.”
Kat was confused. Then she gasped. “Did they dump you? Do they want to do a different treatment for the video?”
“Uh … yes. No. Kind of.”
“Could you be any clearer?” she asked.
He shoved his books in his locker—a little roughly she thought. What’d those books ever do to him? He gave the locker door a tap with his fist, making it clang shut loudly. Then he gave this huge sigh. “No, I’m not canned. However, there are some,” Jackson used his fingers to put quote marks around the next word, “minor,” he drew a deep breath, “changes. But I’m not at liberty to say what the changes are. What I can tell you is that Ben would like to pick you up from school and personally bring you to the set.”
“What?” Ben personally taking her to the set? Why was it that whenever she heard his name, all the other words lost their meaning?
Funny, that’s exactly where Jackson went next. “Cool the obsession, Kat. Whenever I say his name you float off into la-la land. Like nothing else I say is even interesting … or meaningful. I just told you that my treatment got changed. The treatment that I sweat over for an entire month is now defunct. But that doesn’t matter to you. Apparently only things related to the word ‘Ben’ matter in your world.”
Kat blinked hard. She was getting scolded by her best bud. She felt bad. But. Ben was coming to school to pick her up? How could she think about anything else? Fake it, a little voice told her.
“Jack, I’m so sorry. But you have to tell me more if you want me to be sympathetic. All you said was ‘minor’ changes. I didn’t know that you were upset until you jumped down my throat and grabbed my uvula. Want to talk about it?”
“Can’t,” Jackson said. He turned and started walking toward the cafeteria. “Sworn to secrecy, blah blah blah.”
“But you feel like your toes got stepped on?”
“Yeah. But not just my toes. My entire foot. Stomped would probably be a better description.”
“So it’s not at all the treatment you wrote? They’re changing everything? But I thought Ben said your treatment was ‘magical’. What happened to that?”
“It’s still the same concept. But it’s being implemented differently. It’s not at all what I had in mind.”
“But they still are listening to you, and your ideas? Or is at all Tim’s show now?” Jackson had introduced Kat to Tim, the director. Jackson pretty much worshiped the guy. Apparently, Tim had a long line of credits. Commercials, TV shows, several big-name music videos. Jackson had told Kat that he imagined that Tim probably cost twice as much as other directors Ben could have hired. That’s how good Tim was.
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