“No!”
He scoffed, playing with his straw. “What a naff proposal. No ring—”
“There was a ring! A toy one, something to have until he bought the real thing.”
“But you’re not wearing it.” Ben leaned forward. “Blimey O’Riley, you don’t wanna marry this bloke, do you?”
“I do!” Riley glared.
“No, you don’t—not if you’re keeping your engagement a secret, not wearing a ring…”
“It’s not a secret!” The loudness of her sharp retort caught the attention of a couple waiting for takeout. Riley hunched over the table’s edge, lowering her voice. “For your information, I lost the ring…on the bus, with YOU.”
“How old are you?”
“What does that have to do—” She huffed. “Twenty-two.”
Ben’s eyes widened.
“What? Lots of people get married young.”
“Yeah, if they’re religious types, saving themselves until marriage. Oh, shit, sorry—are you like a Mormon or something?”
“I’m not saving myself. Jeez, Ben!” She scowled, watching two old men at the counter eating donuts. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”
“You’re right, it’s not, but if you’re not keen—”
“I am. He’s great—we’re great.”
The server appeared with her wrap and Ben’s burger. “Do you need anything else? Mayo, hot sauce…”
“Malt vinegar, please?” Ben flashed a smile. The woman nodded and strolled away.
“Josh and I have been together three years.” Riley leaned over her plate, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really proud of him and I can’t wait for us to be together as a couple, okay?”
He smirked, flipping the bun off his burger. “If you say so.”
“Ben, you don’t know me. You have no clue what I want.” She caught herself. Why was she getting so annoyed at him? He was just being curious, and perhaps concerned. She knew in her heart it wasn’t his questions raising her blood pressure; it was the answers rolling off her tongue—the pretending, faking, lying, acting like all was well. It’s a miracle my nose hasn’t grown five inches. Ben’s right, about all of it.
The server set a bottle of white vinegar on their table. Ben frowned but grabbed it anyway. “Okay, so tell me—what do you want, Riley? Because it sounds to me like you’re following Josh’s dream, not your own.” He drowned his burger in a shower of vinegar, its smell prickling Riley’s nose as he tipped the bottle farther.
Yuck, he’s ruining his meal.
He set down the almost empty bottle and tucked the tablespoon sitting on his napkin into his hoodie pocket like it belonged to him. “Come on, be honest…”
Honest? What? She did a double take. “You—you just stole a spoon.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Needs must.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Riley.
“It means necessity compels. Hunter owns forks and knives—no spoons. Mad, eh? How do I put sugar in my tea without a bloody spoon? I hate stealing, but I need one so—”
“But you can’t just take it.”
“Oh, they won’t miss it.” He picked up his burger, but the soaked bun disintegrated into mush, spilling its contents on the plate. “Bugger!”
Riley chuckled. “That’s karma for swiping the spoon.”
He curled his lip, but a carefree glint shone in his eyes as he plucked the knife and fork from the table. “Fuck the spoon. I remember you saying you wanted to go to California, work your way into directing or casting…”
Riley was taken aback that he remembered. “Yeah. Someday…I’d like to work on sitcoms or dramas, happily ever after stories. I think there’s enough sadness in the news and everyday life, so I want to make entertainment that’s an escape, that helps people forget their worries for a while.”
“Happily ever after like…” He stabbed a chunk of burger. “You and Josh—in Minnesota.”
Riley scowled, stuffing a piece of chicken in her mouth. “Oh, forget it.”
“C’mon, I’m just taking the piss. I’m sorry. It’s great you want to use your creative talents in a compassionate way, to help people. It’s admirable, really. Not a lot of people care like that. And I totally get the escape from reality thing.”
“Yeah, I guess, being an actor.” Riley’s face softened. “Have you always known it was what you wanted to do?”
“No. When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronomer. I loved stars and planets.”
“Ah, that explains your tattoo.”
“This one?” Ben stretched the neck of his t-shirt, revealing two hollow stars, one larger than the other, beneath the curve of his left collarbone.
“I spotted it earlier. It’s cool.”
“Thanks. Shame a passion for something can’t make up for shit grades.”
“Because of your dyslexia?”
“Maybe…probably.” He raised his fork to his mouth, chewing a bite-sized piece of burger quickly. “God, I hated school.” He spun his plate around so his fries were facing Riley. “Help yourself, ’kay?”
She nodded with a smile.
“The teachers said I had a learning disability, behavioral issues, and you know what kids are like. They called me a div.”
“A div?”
“Stupid person, a moron.”
“Aw, that’s awful!”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to win any academic awards. I did okay in drama class, though, so I thought, why not? I aced my auditions for drama school, received bursaries to help pay for it, got my BA, and here I am.”
“But how do you learn lines?” Riley peered into her wrap. “What do you see when you read?”
“Depends. Sometimes letters get mixed up or they move…it’s weird. If I’m relaxed or have time to partially recognize the words, I’m pretty good. It takes me a while, but I get there. I love books and reading, so I invest the time, but when I’m learning lines, I record myself reading aloud on my phone. Then I listen to it over and over, imaging a mini movie in my head, relating the actions to the words.”
“That’s a lot of work.” Her eyes fell to his plate. “No wonder the Netflix audition threw you—no prep time.”
“Cold read auditions are the death of me. It’s like reading aloud in school all over again.” He pulled the straw out of his shake. “I want to make something of myself, make my mum proud, but I’ve lost out on a dozen or more acting gigs on the trot, so I’m taking the hint.” He tilted his head, contemplating the chocolate dripping back into the glass. “I’m gonna quit.”
“Quit? How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You’ve been out of drama school for…?” She picked up her phone and tapped at the screen.
He squinted at her flying fingers. “Almost three years.”
“And you’re quitting? Already? Imagine if J.K. Rowling gave up after her first rejection letters! You gotta keep chasing your dream, Ben. That’s what they’re there for—to keep you going.” She turned her phone around. “Look, these actors are all dyslexic: Kiera Knightley, Tom Cruise, Orlando Bloom. If they can do it…”
“Wow, you’re great.” His eyes brightened. “Care to follow me around and give me a kick in the arse when I need it?”
Her fingers scrolled the screen. “And it says here dyslexia doesn’t signify low intelligence. Ben, those kids at school were ignorant assholes. In a way, you’ll be letting them win if you quit—”
“How can you say all this to me but let your own dream die?”
“I’m…I’m not letting it die.” Aren’t I? Riley looked down at the bridesmaid sash, returning her gaze to Ben with a stiff smile. “I’m just…putting it on hold for a while.”
“Okay, then make me a promise, here and now.” He sucked on the straw, savoring the chocolate bubbles. “If you promise to hold on to your dream of working in TV, I’ll do the same with acting.”
“Ben—”
/> “C’mon, you can’t urge me to keep going and then ignore your own advice. Swear on that California wrappy thing.”
She set her phone on the table. “So, you’re going to stick with it?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Los Angeles…I’m envious. Riley’s eyes crinkled in the corners, visions of swimming, sunshine—freedom—flashing through her mind. “Will you head back to LA?”
Ben scratched his eyebrow. “I think I’ll stay in New York for a while. Someone’s gotta say yes at some point. One good audition could change everything, right?”
Yes! He’s staying… She nodded enthusiastically.
“So, come on, Hope—pinky swear you’ll not give up on your dream either?” He offered his small finger expectantly. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”
Riley’s shoulders slumped as she gave in to his demand, briefly locking her pinky finger with his. “Erghh, fine!”
They shared a smile and dug into their meals.
Come 2:30 A.M., both were slipping into carb comas. Ben insisted on paying for Riley’s dinner as an apology for his behavior at the club.
BUZZZZZZZ. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his brows furrowing farther with each passing second. “Shiiiit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Hunter. He brought two—” He blinked. “No, three girls back from the club—perks of the job, I guess—and he’s asked me to make myself scarce.” He exhaled heavily. “I sleep on his sofa, so I’d have a front row seat…”
“Yikes!” Riley squeezed the takeout box containing half her wrap, tomorrow’s lunch.
Ben slouched back, running his finger along the edge of his plate, dotted with cake crumbs. “I’ll hang here, have another slice. Bet their breakfast is good.”
Putting on her jacket, Riley toyed with what to do. Should I offer? A pack of drunk teens harassed a neighboring table for change, making fun of the man’s accent and refusing to take no for an answer.
Ben looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Kids, eh?”
I can’t leave him here—alone. “You could crash on my sofa? It’s not very big—well, my whole place is claustrophobic, but at least you won’t be bugged non-stop.”
“You sure? Your fiancé won’t like it.”
“Ben, it’s sleep, not an invitation for sex.”
“But aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your spoons…eat all those peanut butter things you love so much?”
“I don’t have any peanut butter cups or valuables worth stealing, and don’t think you can try anything because I can taekwondo your ass with one hand tied behind my back.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Okay, so get a move on, Benjamin. It’s a one-time offer.”
“Riley, what can I say? You’re a real mate—thanks a lot.”
She smirked and picked up her leftovers. They both rolled out of the diner, sleepy and uncomfortably full.
Fifteen
Ben eyeballed the shops along St. Mark’s Place. This place looks like Camden High Street on a bender. Great for going out on the lash, but… He scrunched his nose. “Hope, this is your street?”
“Think I can’t handle myself?”
“I bet you can, it’s just…” If you were mine, I wouldn’t want you to. “Really grungy.”
Across the way, a disheveled old man in a torn coat rummaged in a recycling bin.
“Murray!” Riley hollered. The scraggly guy peered over the pile of bottles and waved a dirty hand. “You hungry?” She ran across the road, giving him the box containing half her wrap.
Did she just…? Wow.
Riley said good night and skipped back to Ben.
“That was your lunch and you…”
She shrugged. “Murray’s a great guy. Piper and I make him sandwiches whenever we can. You should hear his stories about this neighborhood back in the day.” She pointed at the bright yellow awning. “I live here.”
Funky Town? Ben broke out into a huge grin and laughed through his words. “Oh. My God. You’ve got to be kidding. That song!”
“I know!” She stuck her key in the lock, shimmying back and forth while singing. “Funky Towwwwn! Shrek 2 is hilarious.”
“I’ve never seen Shrek.” Ben’s eyes tailed a taxi zooming past
“You’ve never seen Shrek?”
He shook his head.
“What kind of depraved childhood did you have?” She waved him inside.
“I didn’t really watch cartoons.”
“What kid doesn’t like cartoons? Are you for real?” She yanked open the stairway door. “If you haven’t seen the movie, how do you know that song?”
“Ah, I have my ways.”
They ran up the stairs and entered Riley’s room, a wave of heat surging forward.
Woah. “Who turned on the sauna?” Ben took off his cap and fanned his face.
She tugged off her ankle boots and rushed over to the window, hoisting it open with a groan. “The heating needs to be fixed.”
Ben removed his shoes and coat then yanked his hoodie over his head, sending hair tufts reaching for the ceiling. Dropping the two layers on the loveseat, he bent slightly, eyeing a bunch of library books scattered over the cushions. What’s she got here? The Art of Racing in the Rain, A Woman of Independent Means, 84 Charing Cross Road… His fingers briefly tugged on a thin leather bracelet knotted on his right wrist.
Riley adjusted the curtain so no one could see in from the building across the street. “I’ll leave it open, but if you get cold—” Shaking off her jacket, Riley turned around. Ben was reading the books’ spines and flapping the bottom hem of his Police t-shirt, trying to cool down. He looked up, catching her raised eyebrows.
“Oh, don’t worry.” He straightened his posture, a cheeky grin brightening his face. “Nothing else is coming off. This stripper has hung up his G-string for good.”
Riley bit her cheek, avoiding his eyes and diving for the mess on the cushions.
Aw, she’s blushing! Cute! Let’s see if I can make it worse. The smile fell from his face. “Actually, I’m disappointed. My final dance was supposed to be performed…completely starkers.”
“Starkers?”
“Naked.”
Riley juggled the books in her arms. “OH!”
His intense expression cracked. “Your face! Back of the net!”
“Yeah, yeah!” She smirked and squeezed around him. “Very funny!”
“Well, I thought so!” He laughed, smoothing down his t-shirt as he surveyed her place. On top of her drawers, a colorful collection of candy dispensers standing to attention drew a smile. “PEZ fan, eh?” He picked up a Snoopy.
“Um…” Her cheeks gave away her embarrassment—again. “When I was a kid, yeah. I’m not sure why I still have them…”
“You’re nostalgic—nothing wrong with that.” Taking in his surroundings, Ben flicked Snoopy’s chin up and down and returned him to his perch. “You’ve made great use of space.”
“Thanks. I can’t afford anything bigger.” She piled the books underneath her clothing rack, her eyes catching the red and white pattern on his green socks—candy canes. She stood up and bumped into him. “Um, sorry.”
But Ben was distracted. “Riley…there’s a…spider.” He pointed a shaky finger at the wall.
“Eww!” She did a double take—Ben was pale and wide-eyed. “You’re more freaked out than I am!”
“Spiders give me the willies.”
“Well, I’m not killing Charlotte. It’s bad luck!”
“But…how will you sleep…knowing it’s…” Ben gulped and bent over, pulling a tissue from a box on the milk crate. “Don’t… move.” His hand flew at the wall and he scrunched the tissue quickly. “Oh, FUCK. It’s wriggling!” He leapt to the open window and set Charlotte and the tissue free.
“My hero!” She teased. A dark blue design on Ben’s inner arm drew her curiosity. “Hey, what’s that?”
Ben’s face relaxed. “My tattoo? He’s from
Pac-Man, a frightened ghost.” He stretched out his arm, showing off the character, which was a little bit larger than a quarter. The top of its head was rounded with pink dot eyes and a squiggly frowning mouth, and its feet were three undulating waves.
“Pac-Man? You a gamer?”
“Not really. The café near school had a beat-up machine, and I’d play for ages. I always felt an affinity with the frightened ghosts, aimlessly wandering…” He chuckled. “Do you have ink?”
“No. I can never decide what to get.”
“Hey, nothing worse than tattoo regret.” His smile dissolved into an eye-crinkling yawn. She probably wants to change, but with me here… “Where’s the toilet?”
“Oh, bathroom’s down the hall. It’s shared—hopefully you won’t walk in on someone having sex in the shower.”
“Hopefully not! Uh, you wouldn’t have a spare toothbrush, would you? I know I’m British and people joke we have bad teeth, but I always brush before bed.”
“Let me see.” She pulled out a box from underneath her clothing rail and lifted its lid, the cardboard packed with toiletries, including an unopened toothbrush. “You’re in luck.” She handed it over with a new tube of paste.
“Cheers, Riley.”
“I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Five hours ago, I thought I’d never see her again. Now, I’m sleeping over. With a smile, he slipped through the door.
Riley quickly changed into an NYU tee and a pair of shorts, catching Josh smirking from a photo taped to her wall. What? It’s not like you don’t have female friends. She brushed her teeth at the sink and was hanging up a damp facecloth when a knock behind her head made her jump. “It’s cool, come in.”
Ben squeezed through the opening, careful not to hit Riley with the edge of the door. “Cheers.” His fresh minty breath punctuated his gratitude.
“I’ll just…” Riley pulled a fuzzy blanket from a storage box and snuck past to the loveseat.
“I’m so knackered, I could kip on a bed of nails.” Ben followed, leaving the toothpaste tube on top of the box.
“Ahh, sorry—sold that on eBay last week.”
Straightening up, Ben copped an eyeful of Riley’s ass as she bent over.
“You’ll have to make do with this.” She unfurled the blanket on the loveseat.
Until The Last Star Fades Page 9