“That’s it?” said Bernie. “You made a new friend? Okay, sweetie, here’s a smiley face sticker because you’ve done such a good job.”
“Ugh, Bernie!” I exclaimed.
“What?” he said. “You having a new friend doesn’t explain what a weirdo you’ve been. Weirder than usual, I mean.” Bernie picked up a napkin and started to wipe his hands off. “If you told me that you made out with Corinne Holmstrom in the back of a livery car or something, well, then maybe I’d have a bigger reaction.”
“How did you know?” I mused.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, giving my cheek a light smack. “No, that’s it. Just friends.”
“Just do me a favor, Tab,” said Bernie, tossing his napkin down onto his empty plate. “Drop whatever sexy romantic notions you have about Corinne, you’re just going to embarrass yourself. She’s a straight sex symbol and she bangs dudes.”
“You bang dudes,” I said under my breath.
“Is that your style of comedy now?” Bernie asked sarcastically. “That’s low. You’re funnier than that.”
“I’m sorry,” I mourned sullenly, like a kid caught making a mess.
“I’m sorry for making light of your new friendship,” he said. “I know it’s not every day you become friends with one of the hottest, most popular actresses there is. I tip my hat to you, Tab.”
I really just wanted to blurt out to Bernie how wrong he was. I wanted to tell him that I had in fact made out with Corinne Holmstrom in the back of a chauffeured car, that it was super arousing, that it was obvious that Corinne was digging me. I wanted to reach across that table, grab Bernie by the collar, push my face into his, and just gloat like there was no tomorrow. But damn it, there was a tomorrow and Corinne would be so disappointed in me if I let her secret out. If I didn’t tell Bernie, however, he was going to keep informing me of how stupid and off-base I was regarding Corinne’s, um, sexual preferences. The whole thing was a setup for a comedy of errors type sketch and I wondered how I could get something similar on air.
“Stop staring at me,” said Bernie, clapping his hands with a loud smack.
“Huh?” I said, focusing, coming out of my trance.
“Let’s get back to the office, shall we?” said Bernie, grabbing the check from the table and beginning to push himself out of the booth. I followed his lead, taking a final sip of my milkshake, and making my way out of the booth. I knew it was going to eat me up inside, this whole secret thing. I wasn’t that good at secrets. But I had to stay strong. I was swooning over Corinne and I was determined not to screw this up.
*
Saturday’s show was a success, as it usually was when Justin Trumbull hosted. That guy was so lovable and talented. He could do no wrong in America’s eyes. He and Adam had done a musical short together about adult diapers and it completely blew up. The audience loved it, the cast and crew loved it — they usually kept it a secret until the night of the show, so we were just as surprised as the viewers — and it got popular on the internet almost immediately. Most of all, George was pleased and when George was pleased, everybody else was pleased as well. I was so relieved after Saturday’s show, I skipped the cast party and went home to get some rest.
But after crawling into bed, I had a tough time sleeping of course. I had Corinne on my mind. We had planned to get together on Sunday and I was eager to see her. No idea what we were going to do, but I just didn’t care. I was more concerned with simply being in her presence, with trying to sneak a kiss with her again, and with making her laugh. For a comedian, making people laugh was just about the best compliment we could receive. Tell me I’m hot and sexy, tell me I’m ridiculously smart, whatever! If I say something and you crack up, I’m bursting inside with happiness. And making someone like Corinne laugh, super starlet, sex symbol, girl I’m just totally stupidly infatuated with, yeah, that was like magic.
As I rubbed my feet together underneath my covers, as I often did when trying to get to sleep, I heard my phone buzz on the nightstand next to me. I reached over and pulled at it, the charging cable coming with it and tripping up on my glasses, almost knocking them off the table.
“Crap!” I said aloud, stopping my glasses from tumbling to the floor. I unlocked my phone and looked down into the screen. It was nearing 2AM and I had a text message. A text message from Corinne.
I felt my heart begin to speed as I swiped here and there, trying to get into my messaging app to read Corinne’s text. So much for sleeping.
“Good job tonight!” said Corinne’s text. “I liked your cameo.” We had run a sketch in the show starring Justin as a 70s game show host and I was one of the ladies showing off the prizes. That kind of thing would happen if another one of the female cast members was involved in a costume change for the following sketch. I was like an extra who sometimes got to speak.
“Huzzah!” I wrote back to her, which was a repetitive line we said in the sketch. “Thanks,” I texted.
“I hate texting,” was Corinne’s response. “If you’re still up, wanna chat?”
“Um, yes!” I said out loud to myself, grinning happily. I sat up in bed, positioning my pillow behind me on the headboard, and turned on the small lamp on the bedside table. I took up my glasses and pressed them against my face. With a smile plastered across my lips, I responded to Corinne. “Yep!” I texted. “Call when ready.”
It only took another moment or so for my phone to begin buzzing, Corinne’s name listed on the caller ID. I wasted no time in answering it.
“Hello?” I said in a groggy voice, like I was just waking up from a deep slumber. “Who’s calling so late?”
“Oh Tab!” said Corinne. “Am I calling too—“ She stopped herself, suddenly realizing the joke. “You’re such a tease,” she said through a small laugh. I couldn’t help but accompany her laughter.
“Sorry,” I said. “You’re gonna have to get used to it.”
“If I’m keeping you up,” said Corinne. “Just tell me. I know it’s late.”
“I’m used to weird hours,” I said. “With the whole up pretty late every Saturday thing, you know.”
“Right,” said Corinne. I could tell she was smiling on the other end of the phone. It came through in her voice. “I’m looking forward to our date tomorrow,” she went on, giving me a huge boost in confidence. “But I realized that we haven’t talked about what we should do!”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well,” started Corinne. “To be honest, it’s hard to go out and do too many things as I get recognized almost everywhere.”
“I can see how that would get tedious after a while,” I admitted.
“It kind of makes me want to move to LA full time,” mused Corinne. “I mean, there’s still paparazzi but there are so many famous people out in public, it’s just a little bit easier on a day-to-day basis.”
“Don’t leave New York,” I whined jokingly. “We just met.” Corinne laughed.
“Okay, I won’t,” she said. I could feel her smile over the phone. “So how about we get some coffee and just walk around Central Park?”
“Won’t you get recognized?” I said. “It’s the Park, after all.”
“Sunglasses, hat,” she said flippantly. “I’ll do my best.”
“All right,” I said. “The Park it is. I don’t remember the last time I actually walked around the Park. Probably when I first moved to New York.” Corinne laughed.
“I run through the Park most mornings,” she said. “It’s, like, my favorite place in the city.”
“You run?” I asked with surprise. “Run through the Park?”
“I told you, Tab,” said Corrine. “That Hollywood fitness regimen is tough.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
After a bit more pleasant repartee, Corinne and I agreed to meet at a particular coffee shop near Central Park late morning the next day. I could tell she was getting tired on the phone so I didn’t want to keep her long. It w
as quite obvious that she had stayed up to talk to me and being awake that late was not her usual Saturday night. Happy to have gotten to talk to her before bed, we said our goodnights and let each other go.
It was easy to get to sleep after speaking with Corinne. I could hear her relaxing and endearing voice in my head as I nodded off.
*
As I stepped into the coffee shop around 11AM the next morning, I saw Corinne sitting off to the side by herself at a table, a tall paper cup in front of her with her hands cradled around it. She was dressed in fancy athletic gear, black yoga pants, a grey herringbone styled zip-up track jacket, big black sunglasses, her blonde hair pulled up in a haphazard bun. As soon as she saw me, she smiled wide and gave me a frenetic wave.
I mouthed the word “coffee,” pointed up to the counter and promptly walked up toward the barista waiting for me.
“Good morning,” said the barista, a young man with a bad goatee. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t believe so,” I said. “I’ll have a medium caramel latte, skim.” The barista looked thoughtful as he punched my order into the computer.
“I know who you are,” said the barista finally.
“How much is the coffee?” I asked curtly.
“It’s $4.63,” he said. But he wasn’t letting up. “You’re Tabitha Bloom from This Saturday,” said the barista.
“How do you know that?” I asked, handing over my money.
“I’m a comedy nerd,” he said. After he changed my five dollar bill, he reached his balled hand out and let it hang over the tip jar.
“Yeah,” I said, motioning that he could keep it. He dropped the change into the jar. “Here,” I said, stuffing another dollar in.
“Thanks,” said the barista. “So I’m a big fan. I’m a comedian, too.”
“Oh yeah?” I said. “What’s your best joke?”
“Right now?” he asked, suddenly looking like I caught him sneaking around where he shouldn’t be.
“Right now,” I said. “What’s your best joke?” My eyes darted behind me and I noticed that Corinne was watching me chat with the barista.
“Um,” he said, coming across as nervous. It probably felt like he was auditioning for the biggest role of his life. I don’t know why I asked him. It was kind of a jerk thing to do. But it had become a habit of mine to ask anybody who claimed to be a comedian what their best joke was. It usually shut them up. “So my girlfriend told me the other day that there’s not enough spice in our relationship.”
“Sounds like a personal problem,” I said.
“But she’s Indian,” said the barista, unfazed by my interjection. “And our entire apartment smells of spice from her cooking. So I told her—“
“I’m going to stop you there,” I said. “You’re already going on too long. You’ve got to have a quick joke that punches people in the face.” As I spoke, another barista came around and slid my coffee cup toward me. I picked it up from the counter and continued. “I see where you’re going with your joke, but it needs to be tighter.”
“Okay,” said the barista, almost defeated, but there was a hint of appreciation in his expression.
“Quick setup, quick punch,” I said. “Then an even funnier tag. You got it?”
“I think so,” he said. “So you’re not going to hire me away from coffee hell?”
“I’m not,” I said. “Keep practicing. Thanks for the coffee,” I said with a smile. With cup in hand, I turned from the counter and made my way over toward Corinne who, as she saw me approaching, stood up.
“And here I was worried about being noticed,” said Corinne, dipping her oversized sunglasses down for a moment to meet eyes with me. “But you’re the one with the fans.”
“Cut it out,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
It was a beautiful sunny day outside, slightly brisk, and as we crossed the street into the Park, a gang of mothers pushing strollers surrounded us on either side, crossing in the opposite direction. I pretended as though we were being attacked, flailing my free hand and holding my coffee up high with the other.
“I never traveled as much as I wanted!” I called out. “I never got to see Berlin!” Corinne giggled at me. She yanked at my jacket and pulled me along.
“C’mon,” she said. “You’re crazy.”
Even though the Park was quite crowded, it being a Sunday and all, Corinne’s big sunglasses and athletically dressed-down appearance kept us relatively free of gawkers. Occasionally someone would stop as we walked by, stare for a moment, and then decide that they weren’t actually seeing a mega movie starlet, just some young woman who kind of looked like her, and continue on. I could tell that Corinne was relieved every time it happened.
“You’ve got this down to a science,” I said. “We haven’t been stopped yet.”
“I even did my makeup a bit different,” admitted Corinne. “My lips don’t look as full.” She pursed her lips at me and then smiled.
“So they don’t,” I said.
“I’m glad we could do this,” said Corinne, still smiling. Her hand reached over to me and lightly flicked at my hip. “I have to admit, Tab, I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”
“Get in line,” I said. “This faceless comedy writer is a hot commodity. Lotta suitors.”
“Funny,” said Corinne with a soft laugh. “But you don’t give yourself enough credit. I think you’re pretty desirable.”
“Why’s that?” I asked coyly.
“Really?” she said incredulously. “I can’t believe you don’t see it in yourself.”
“Lay it on me, sister,” I said. “I need all the positive reinforcement I can get!”
“Fine,” said Corinne, sipping from her cup as she considered. “First, you’re super pretty. You’re like the geeky hot girl.”
“The geeky hot girl?” I reiterated.
“Yeah,” she said. “Like the girl in the movie who’s supposed to be a geek or something and then she removes her glasses and she’s a stunner.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Tab, you are,” confirmed Corinne. “Second,” she continued on, tapping her chin. “You’re probably the funniest woman working in TV right now. Everybody knows it.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I countered. “I’m not even in front of the camera. I just sit in a smelly room with a gaggle of other weird writers and come up with stupid ideas.”
“Tab,” she said, shaking her head knowingly. “I’m just trying to cushion the blow. You’re going to wake up someday very soon and wonder why you’re suddenly such a huge success.”
“I appreciate your positivity,” I said. “But I’m a bit skeptical.”
“Well, apart from your cuteness and your talent,” said Corinne. “You just seem like a really good person who isn’t full of themselves, and that’s a hard thing to find in our line of work.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said. Corinne and I looked at each other and shared a smile in a silent moment of connection.
“What about me?” asked Corinne sheepishly. “Why do you like me?”
“Corinne,” I said, like her question was beyond silly. “I mean, how does somebody even answer that?”
“C’mon,” she said. “I need some validation too.”
“You need validation?” I asked. “Isn’t America’s love enough?” Corinne giggled.
“No,” she said. “I want your validation.”
“Well,” I began. “Aren’t you, um, the Sexiest Woman Alive as surmised by some magazine?”
“Tab,” she said with a nervous laugh, almost as though she were embarrassed by that title. “I mean, that was like two years ago. I think it’s Sofia Reyes now.”
“Well, she is pretty damn sexy,” I admitted.
“That’s the truth,” said Corinne.
“But I guess what I’m trying to say is, you know, if I come up with anything to praise you it’s probably already been said a hundred times before,” I said.
&
nbsp; “That doesn’t mean I still don’t like to hear it,” grinned Corinne.
“All right,” I said, stopping and turning to face her. “Corinne, you’re like the most gorgeous woman there is. You’re easy going and down to earth, despite the fact that you’re this mega celebrity. Hanging out with you is like hanging out with an old friend. I mean, not old… you’re not old. You know what I mean.”
“Aw,” she said, smiling back at me. “I do.”
“C’mon,” I said. “This is embarrassing.” Corrine reached her hand out and threaded a couple fingers into one of the pockets of my jeans, pulling herself closer to me. There was hardly a foot of space between us.
“Okay,” she said. “I understand.” I could tell the smile on her lips was one of giddiness.
I saw a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye and looked away from Corinne. Standing some yards away was a young woman with her phone pointed at us, perched up like she had just taken a picture. She pulled the phone in close to check out the photo she’d taken of us. I suddenly felt violated, a feeling I’m sure Corinne had grown quite used to.
“I think that girl just took a picture of us,” I whispered.
“Oh God,” said Corinne with some annoyance in her voice. She looked over to the phone photographer who took Corinne’s glance as an invitation. The young woman strolled up toward us with an impressed smile on her lips.
“Holy cow,” she said as she neared. “Corinne Holmstrom.”
“Hi there,” said Corinne with a pleasant smile. She was really good a faking it, being a successful actress and all.
“Could I, like, get a picture with you?” the woman asked with wide eyes. “I’d totally get tons of ‘likes’ on Instapic.”
“The currency of a new generation,” I mused. Corinne laughed softly and swatted at me.
“Ignore her,” said Corinne. “Sure, let’s get a picture. But we need to make it quick,” admitted Corinne. “If people see us taking a photo, more people will come over and it’ll be never-ending for me. Make sense?”
“Absolutely,” said the woman. “Can you take it?” she asked, handing me her phone before I even had a chance to answer.
Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 8