Relatively Famous

by Heather Leigh

  I like Adam, he’s perpetually happy and makes me feel good, but mostly I like him because he never asks questions I find too invasive to answer. Plus, it seems as though he has the same fervent need that I have to protect his own personal life. He even sits as though he’s protecting his space; hiding in the corner with his back to the door, using me as a human shield.

  Adam is also super easy on the eyes, so spending a few hours with him each week is no skin off my teeth, plus he’s great at letting me bounce ideas off of him when I feel conflicted about a design element. He has a unique perspective on design that makes me think that he’s a very creative person overall.

  “I’m brilliant,” Adam says in his smooth British accent. “I’ve had quite a bit on my plate so I haven’t been able to get downtown in a while. When I woke up for work at the ass crack of dawn, I decided I really wanted a non-crappy cup of coffee, so I knew I had to pop in here. Plus, this week’s croissant is espresso chip, and you well know that I can’t pass that up.” He breaks out that million dollar smile again as he sips from his coffee. “Getting to chat you up is just the icing on the cake.”

  Dear God, the accent.

  Adam is most definitely beyond gorgeous. From his short, dark hair that sticks up on the top of his head in a sexy just-out-of-bed way, his stubble-covered angular jaw and perfect lips, to his obviously toned body shown-off under form fitting t-shirts, and my favorite, that mysterious tattoo that peeks out from his left sleeve. He’s a delicious package head to toe. Of course today, most of him is hidden under a hat, scarf and winter coat, but still, he’s very attractive.

  I start mentally comparing him to Drew as he’s regarding me curiously.

  Oops!

  “Well, everyone knows that if you want a non-crappy cup of coffee, this is the place to get it.” I lace my words with humor. Narrowing my eyes at Adam, I think about a problem I’m having that he may be able to help with. “Actually, since you’re here, I’m working on the design for the new Verve nightclub at the Warren Hotel in Midtown that I told you about. I have the barstools narrowed down to these two choices.”

  Clicking a few times on the laptop, I spin it around to show him the screen. “Which one says young and fun, but only if you have tons of money?” Adam looks up from the computer with a confused look on his face, so I purse my lips and wink at him. “They want to convey an exclusive feel, but also want young trendy people to frequent the bar. Quite the mix, right?”

  Smirking, his shining hazel eyes meet mine. “Okay, I’ll have a go.” He focuses on the screen and within seconds points to the chair on the left. “Chrome is high maintenance and expensive looking; dark distressed leather is fun and young. I would go with that one.”

  How did he do that so quickly? I turn the laptop back to face me and scowl at the two photos as if one of them would jump off the screen and into my lap.

  “You’re right, of course. It fits perfectly.” I let my stressed out features relax into an expression of relief and rest back in my chair. “Thanks Adam, I’ve been working so much lately that even the smallest decisions seem overwhelming. I guess I just needed a break and a fresh set of eyes.” I nudge his arm playfully, not missing how rock hard it is, and close the laptop.

  “Well, my work here is done.” He stands up to leave, leaning over to give me a chaste peck on the cheek. “See you later, Sweetheart. Don’t stress so much, your design is great. I’m sure all of the rich young elites in New York will be queuing up at The Warren’s new club soon enough. Just remember me when you have that big opening night party to attend.”

  “Bye Adam, and thanks for being my sounding board. I think I’ll take your advice and call it a day.” I smile and start packing up my things as Adam leaves the café.

  Leah comes bounding over, gathers up the dishes and gives the table a quick wipe down. “I never get sick of looking at that fine man” She waggles her perfectly plucked eyebrows suggestively.

  “I know what you mean,” I mumble, distracted as I gather up the rest of my wayward files and stuff them into my bag.

  Leah grabs my arm and stares at me. “I don’t think you do, Syd.” Her tiny face hardens as she lectures me again on my lack of a social life. “You’re going to have to let someone in eventually. You can’t keep secrets from everyone forever. I’m your best friend, and I love you, but the extremes you go to for privacy are ridiculous. I get it, but it’s still ridiculous. Your past doesn’t matter. You should have gotten yourself a piece of Adam by now. You’ve spent who knows how many hours sitting next to him and you don’t even know what he does for a living! And what about this Drew guy from yesterday that you’re obsessing over? Did you even get his number?”

  Crap, not this again!

  Trying my hardest not to get angry I tell her what she wants to hear. “No, I didn’t, and I’m not obsessing over him.” I so am. “I appreciate your concern. I know you’re right. I just don’t feel that way about Adam. He’s hot and he’s nice and he might be into me, but it would only be a one-night stand and I just can’t go there with him. I like talking to him about useless unimportant stuff, the second I get involved deeper; I get asked questions about my life. It would ruin everything, you know this. The same with Drew, I just can’t risk it right now.” I sigh and pull back the hostility I feel in my voice. “Call me tomorrow, if I need a break from work we can grab dinner.”

  Leah stares hard into my eyes, as if silently willing me to see things her way. I watch as her resolve melts away. “Definitely. Dinner sounds great.”

  Chapter 3

  The next few days consist of work, sleep, and breaks to eat and hang with Leah. That’s it. Adam hasn’t reappeared at the café, so I’ve avoided having that conversation with Leah again and she let the Drew thing drop since I have no way to contact him. Not that I’ve stopped thinking about him and his gentle touch and scorching hot gaze. Such a contradiction, a man so strong and fierce that he hits other men for fun, but so tender and kind as he wrapped up my injury and made sure I got home okay.

  It’s Tuesday afternoon and I have to show the Warren Hotel’s final presentation to my mother for final approval. Sitting in my home office, I stretch my arms over my head, drained from work.

  I love my mom, but sometimes dealing with her is exhausting, even if it’s only on the phone. When your mom is also your boss, it gets even more stressful, and Evangeline Allen is a force of nature. I decide to rest on the comfy couch by the huge office window before calling her.

  My mother was already a Hollywood power player by the time I was born. Supermodel looks and a brilliant actress, she was at the top of her game. I remember my parents getting dressed up for awards shows and parties when I was a little girl. Tall and lithe, with dark wavy hair and perfect alabaster skin, my mom has always been gorgeous. Watching her get her hair and makeup done and putting on beautiful gowns made personally by the world’s most famous designers, I couldn’t wait until it was my turn.

  Then I remember how all that attention ruined my family and my mouth crumples into a grimace. The people that love you would just as quickly turn on you and destroy you to make a buck. People love to see a spectacular fall from grace. And there was none as spectacular as the fall of Evangeline Allen.

  My mom packed her bags at age nineteen and moved to LA. Her innate talent, natural good looks and unwavering work ethic brought her near instant success in Hollywood, landing her the tabloid title of “America’s Sweetheart”.

  Within a year, she accepted her Best Actress Oscar for her portrayal of a pharmaceutical company CEO turned patient activist. My mom is still comforted years after her parents died in a car crash in upstate New York by the fact that they got to see her best moment and didn’t have to see her very public disgrace.

  Young, rich and famous, my mom married Hollywood’s “Bad Boy”, my dad, Reid Tannen. Rugged, masculine, and an A-list fixture in Hollywood circles, he broke hearts all over town when he and my mom exchanged “I do’s”. My mom and dad were a tabloid
reporter’s dream come true. The fresh faced and sweet Evangeline landing Hollywood’s biggest player meant they were hounded by paparazzi and fans everywhere they went.

  I remember people jumping out at us from behind bushes, screaming horrible things at my parents to get their reactions on camera, and crazy fans showing up at our house proclaiming their unrequited love for one of them, or both of them, or worse, me. It was so weird, we didn’t know these people, but they all thought they knew us. It’s a disturbing feeling.

  My dad had been known to get into bar fights in his early days in L.A., and his “Bad Boy” image resurfaced several times in my childhood; usually rearing its ugly head when he would beat down photographers that threatened me or my mother. I remember having to be surrounded by bodyguards just to go to school every day. It got so bad that my parents couldn’t even drop me off themselves because it caused too big of a scene.

  I stare at the ceiling in my office, thinking about how lonely my childhood was. If there’s one thing I learned from my parents, it’s to be cautious of everyone, because they just want to use you to get something for themselves.

  My parents would tell me to ignore the tabloid stories that were printed non-stop about their relationship. Of course they weren’t the ones going to school with kids who loved to rub your face in the rumors and make you feel crappy about them even when they weren’t true. Then when I was twelve, my world was turned upside down.

  ****

  I’m at my friend Tara’s house, hanging by her pool after school on one of a string of perfect days in L.A. in early September. Her mother, a producer that had worked with my mom several times, comes out of the house and down by the pool where we’re sunning ourselves and gossiping about classmates at our elite private school. “Sydney, your mom is sending a car for you early, you need to get home.”

  My friend Tara and I exchange looks and roll our eyes at the drama that always seems to surround my parents.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Tara,” I say as I grab my stuff and leave the backyard. I didn’t know that I’d never see my friend again.

  A huge silver Range Rover with blacked out windows is sitting in the driveway when I walk out the front door of Tara’s house. Robbie, my mom’s personal bodyguard jumps out of the back seat and holds the door open for me to climb in and follows suit behind me.

  “Miss Tannen, sorry to interrupt your fun,” he says gently as the car pulled away from the house.

  My eyes widen in surprise at his regret. I notice his hard face has softened, and he puts his large dark hand on my shoulder, patting me awkwardly. Robbie has been with mom for as long I can remember, and I have never heard him apologize for anything. He does his job well, and he does it quietly and discreetly. If he was told to fetch me, it certainly isn’t his fault that he intruded on my plans; he simply picked me up to bring me wherever I need to be.

  I wrinkle my nose and look at Robbie like he’s crazy. “No problem, Robbie. I’m sure mom has some super important stuff going on.” I use my pre-teen sarcasm to make me sound confident, but as we drive through the hills to the house, I have a nauseating feeling that something is very wrong.

  By the time the SUV turns up the long drive to my house, well, if twenty thousand square feet could be called a “house”, I’m in a full out panic. There are reporters all over the street in front of our private gate, screaming at the Range Rover as it passes them, banging on the sides, not even knowing who is inside the SUV because of the darkly tinted windows.

  I press my sweaty palms to my cover up and sit up as straight and rigid as a board, swallowing so hard I swear that our driver, Brett, could hear it from the front seat. I’m used to the press hanging around, but this many of them is unusual.

  The Range Rover pulls up to the side of the garage and it’s quite clear that something is off. There are at least six cars in the driveway that don’t belong to my parents, only one of which I recognize. It belongs to mom’s head of public relations, Devin Arnette. He’s a nice enough guy, but what’s going on that he had to drive over to the house?

  Notably absent is Daddy’s sleek black Bugatti Veyron. My dad might be gone a lot, but he rarely takes out the Bugatti since he had it rebuilt after the accident. He loves that car, but hates the attention he gets when he drives it.

  Robbie exits first and holds his rough hand out to help me from the Rover. He turns and grabs my bag from the seat and follows behind me as I weave through the vehicles in the eight car garage and into the house. When I climb the stairs from the garage and come out into the foyer, I am paralyzed by fear. There are people all over the house with clipboards and earpieces and they’re tossing things into boxes all around me.

  Standing there with my hands shaking at my sides I barely notice when Robbie whispers in my ear, “Your mom is up in her room, you need to go upstairs and see her.”

  I know at some point I must have moved because somehow I make it up the stairs and down the hallway to my parents’ room, but I don’t remember doing it. When I get to the enormous master suite, Mom is standing in her giant walk-in closet barking orders to a disheveled looking young man with yet another clipboard.

  “Sydney! Sydney!” I turn around to see who called my name and find Devin sitting in one of the oversized leather chairs by the fireplace. He jumps up and hugs me to his perfectly pressed, Prada-clad chest, his expensive cologne surrounding me.

  “W-w-what’s going on, Devin?”

  “Sydney, I’m going to let your mother tell you most of what’s happening, but you are going with your mom to live in New York.”

  I gasp and back up to look into Devin’s eyes. “Are you insane? We can’t go to New York! I live here! We live here! What about my dad?”

  I see Devin’s face fall at the mention of my dad, and then he rearranges his features back into perfect neutrality. I know that look, I’d seen my parents use it, it’s bad. Really bad. “Your dad’s not going Sydney. They’re getting divorced.”

  With the long day, dehydration from lying in the sun, and the hysteria building up inside me, I, Sydney Tannen, black out.

  ****

  Shaking, I wake up and I’m not quite sure where I am. It’s completely dark out and it takes me a full minute to realize I fell asleep on the couch in my office. I sit up and frown, trying to push the realistic dreams that plague me out of my head.

  Why do I keep dreaming about that shit?

  I need to use my usual method for calming down when the panic overtakes me. I stand up and press my forehead against the cool glass of the massive picture window behind my desk. Breathing deeply and taking in the sights of New York at night will help stop the trembling in my hands. Feeling small, invisible, and anonymous, knowing that no one can find me. That’s what helps keep my nerves from fraying when I think about my childhood in L.A.

  Somewhat put together, I let out a huge breath and drop into the desk chair to call my mom.

  “Sydney! How are you sweetie?” Mom’s soothing voice floats out of the phone after the third ring.

  “Great mom, how’s Belize?”

  My mom spends every winter on a private island off the coast of Belize. She designs her custom décor and furniture line from her winter home, running Allen Deconstruction from her home office. I have at least thirty employees at my beck and call at the New York office, so it’s pretty much my fault when I get overwhelmed on a project, since I never call any of them. Few of them know my last name or know who I am. I don’t need them judging me or worse, trying to befriend me. Only three employees know that Evangeline Allen is the Allen behind the company name.

  “It’s beautiful darling. If I didn’t need you in New York, I would have you stay here with me for a month.”

  Uh huh, yeah right.

  I suppress the urge to respond sarcastically but I do roll my eyes since she can’t see me. Mom always talks about needing me in New York, but I know darn well that she could easily have someone else to do the presentations for me. It’s my mother’
s way of making me feel necessary to the business, and I appreciate it. Being thought of as important and hardworking is the greatest compliment Evangeline Allen could give you.

  “I emailed you the details on the Warren Project mom, did you look them over yet?” Stressed, and unable to sit any longer, I get up and pace back and forth in front of the big window, watching the headlights crawl down the city street in front of my building with the phone to my ear.

  “I did sweetie, and they’re great. I love what you did with the VIP area, incorporating our new line of low-rise loveseats and the glass and chrome tables. It’s genius.” I can hear my mom’s fingers flying over the keyboard of her computer as she speaks, making changes and sending them back to me, and copies to the office. “I tweaked one little thing with the table sconces but the rest is a go. I’m sending it back to you right now. I’ve cc’d Bethany Williams at the office so don’t worry about that. Good luck tomorrow Syd, but I know you don’t need it.”

  I can feel her smiling through the phone as we chat a little about the weather in New York and the diving in Belize, as well as next year’s designs that she’s excited to be working on, then hang up after exchanging quick I love you’s. That was easier than expected. Maybe she trusts me more after my last two projects were so well received.

  After ending the call, I take one last look through the huge office window and into the night. Exhaling deeply, I turn back to the desk and shut down the MacBook, plug in my iPhone, and leave the office to get ready for bed.

  As I scrub my face I look in the mirror. At five foot seven inches, I’m tall enough, and my near religious devotion to yoga and running keep my body lithe and athletic. Of course, the exercise is more to keep me sane and nightmare free than fit, but whatever, the result is the same. I think I look like my mother, except I have my dad’s eyes and too-full lips.