by Lori Folkman
“You speak Spanish?”
“Um, no.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. He looked like he was about ready to laugh. She felt like an idiot. She quickly amended, “I just like to watch … to see if I can figure out what’s going on from watching their expressions.”
“Really?” He had this look of understanding, intrigue even. He sat next to her on the sofa, rolled up the sleeves on his white poplin shirt, and then turned his focus to the TV.
Wow. He looked nice. He’d dressed up to match her attire. His shirt was thin and had this swirly design woven subtly through the fabric, almost looking like this ghostly ivy growing down from his shoulder. His hair was still a little wet, making it look shiny black like Lena’s. She could smell the rich, woodsy sent of his aftershave.
She was totally staring at him, taking in every detail. Until she got caught. He turned and looked at her, gave a partial smile and said, “What?”
“You look … good. Cool shirt.” She felt awkward. She wanted to say more. To tell him how stunned she was by his beauty. And how amazed that she was here, sitting next to him. He never seemed to struggle to tell her his feelings. Like in the solarium. Why was it so hard for her to admit the same?
He thanked her for the compliment and told her he had picked the shirt up in Italy. Of course. It made her two-hundred dollar dress look cheap. “You didn’t get it at Wal-Mart?” she joked.
He reached out and held her hand. “So, what’s happening?” he asked, nodding towards the TV.
Crap. She was busted. She hadn’t been trying to interpret the Spanish soap opera at all—although she had done it many times before. She’d been too busy thinking about Ben. So she had to wing it. “Well, that girl right there is mad at that guy: the tall one. She thinks that he killed … her Chihuahua.”
“Her Chihuahua? Why?”
Argh. Don’t ask questions Ben. “Because he was jealous. Of her and that other guy. So he wanted to hurt her. And he took her dog.”
“How did he kill the Chihuahua?”
Why did Ben need the details? Yeesh. “Well, he didn’t really kill it. He sold it to this Chinese guy. The Chinese guy owns a restaurant. So, I’m assuming that the dog got made into soup.”
“Kat, that’s terrible,” Ben sounded slightly disgusted, but his voice had an edge of laughter to it. “Was there actually a Chinese guy on the show?”
“No. But this guy, I think his name is Hector, tugged on his eye. So he had to be talking about someone Chinese.”
Ben smirked. “Great plotline.”
That little Chihuahua that Kat had seen on screen earlier made a timely (or untimely) reappearance. “Oh! There he is! He wasn’t made into soup!”
“What are they saying now?” Ben challenged.
“Um. Hector is saying that he rescued the dog. Found him tossed in the dumpster with leftover egg rolls.
“And now the lady is thanking Hector. Proclaiming her love for him. Says she’ll love him forever. Because she could never live … never love … without … having Snickerdoodle in her life.”
This got a laugh out of Ben. “Snickerdoodle? I don’t think she said Snickerdoodle. She told him he was stupid. Estúpido.”
“You speak Spanish?” Oh crap. Kat just filled the vacant Mayor position in Idiotville.
“Sí. Un poco. Tengo que ser capaz de conversar con los fans allí también, usted sabe.”
“Um … what?”
“Seriously, you don’t speak any Spanish? And you live in Southern California? Isn’t it a requirement in high school?”
She had to correct him on high school requirements. No one had to learn Spanish, even this close to the border. But they did have to learn one language. She’d chosen French.
“Vraiment ? Vous parlez français?”
Ugh. Now she was going to have to admit that she’d barely passed French. She’d struggled through it for two painful years. “No. not really.”
“But you just said that you had taken French.”
“Right. But I didn’t say that I could speak it.”
His eyebrows furrowed. He studied her carefully. “Si vous ne parlez pas un mot ? Vous ne comprenez rien que je dis?”
“S’il vous plaît anglais.” That was one saying that stuck. English please. She knew that if she ever had the good fortune to travel to Paris, that was the only saying she needed to know. Then everyone would speak her language. They all knew English. So really, why did she need to suffer through French class?
What was disgusting was that Ben had never sat through a French class, yet he spoke it fluently. Along with Spanish. And Italian. He told her that he knew select phrases in an additional five languages. And he hoped to learn more. He liked to be able to communicate with fans in all the countries he toured.
He must have sensed that Katrina felt like a mega-loser, since she had a hard time speaking English. He explained how when children learn a second language when they are very young, learning other languages comes easily. He had his Grandpa Santareno to thank for that. He was insistent that his family’s culture wasn’t lost when he moved to America. That meant that all the grandchildren could only speak Italian when they were visiting the Santareno home.
“So do you think in Italian? And dream in Italian?” That always amazed Kat. She couldn’t imagine a second language flowing so smoothly that it would run through the subconscious mind. And that the conscious mind could understand it!
“Sometimes. If I’ve been in Italy for an extended period of time. Or if I’ve spent a lot of time with my grandparents. It’s kind of hard to get it out of your head when you hear it 24/7.”
“Are you thinking in it today, since you just got back from there?”
“Sì. Ha fatto vi dire bella come sei?”
Okay, that was her fault. She led him into that. She really didn’t need to hear Ben speak Italian. Her stomach had just done a major spin. If she heard anymore Italian, she might spit out a bingo ball. “You know that you’re not supposed to exclude people like that? It’s rude when you say something others can’t understand.”
“Lei non può capire una parola?”
“Rude.”
“Io sono caduta nell’amore con voi, Katrina Hayes.”
She was very, very close to having a repeat of that coughing incident. It felt like she had just inhaled her entire trachea. She stifled a cough.
Although she didn’t know any foreign languages to speak of, she wasn’t an imbecile. Everyone knows what “amore” means. And he’d said it. Along with voi, which kinda sounded like vous, and she knew that there were similarities between French and Italian. Which would mean he said “you.” Oh—and her name was in there somewhere too. He couldn’t have really said that could he? And why would he say it so that she couldn’t understand? And WHY was he killing her by speaking Italian? He had to know that would drive her wild.
She had to stop this right now. It was as dangerous as running across a wet tile floor while carrying a cactus. “Ouryay acefay ookslay ikelay away onkey’smay uttbay.”
Ben sat straight, his expression puzzled. Then it dawned on him. “Pig Latin.” He chuckled. “You can’t speak French, but you speak Pig Latin?”
His voice sounded like he was disappointed with her. So she was glad to say, “No. I just know one phrase. Jack taught it to me, when we were kids.”
“What … is it? That you said?”
She could tell that he was trying to decipher it in his head. If she gave him long enough, she was sure he would figure it out. She didn’t really want that, because she’d said it without even thinking what it meant. “Ah, poor Ben,” she said in a voice she’d use to comfort a child. “It’s frustrating not knowing what someone else is saying, isn’t it.” She patted his arm in fake sympathy.
He squinted at her. “You’re not going to tell me?”
“Are you going to translate what you said to me?”
“Ah. That’s how you’re playing? Hmm.” He sounded slightly irritated. B
ut his lips were upturned. He was enjoying this. She should torment him more often.
“Voi me intirgo,” he said. Then he translated, “You intrigue me.”
He took the remote and shut off the TV, all the while holding his eyes on her. Real serious like. Kat held her breath, wondering what was next. Trying to gauge his mood.
“You ever play poker, Kat?”
“Uh … no. Why?” Is that why she was here? Did he need another hand in his poker game?
“Because you’d be good at it.”
What was that supposed to mean? Wasn’t that typically an insult—when someone tells you that you have a poker-face? But at least it’s better than someone saying you’re a pizza-face. Which, thank Clearasil, no one had ever called her. She played dumb. (Which wasn’t always a stretch. Could be considered type-casting.) “I’m not very good at cards. I’m too impatient—too impulsive.”
Ben chuckled, but it was a small chuckle. He wasn’t super amused. “That’s not what I meant. I meant it because you’re hard to read—at times.”
“Then we better go to Vegas.” She should have thought that one through, because she realized what it sounded like after it floated out in the air and smacked Ben in the face. He was taken aback for a split second, then he smiled. She quickly corrected. “For the gambling. Even though I’m not old enough for it. But I’m sure you could arrange it … pull some strings or something.” Doi. That was the first time that she’d ever mentioned Ben’s status. She cringed. She may have seen him cringe as well. “Not that you use your … fame to do things that are illegal. ‘Cause you don’t think you’re above the law or anything. And I’m sure you don’t even think about doing things that are illegal.” Yep, he cringed that time. What started as a stupid attempt at humor was quickly turning into the worst case of Ex-lax mouth she’d ever had. “Crap,” she muttered. “I don’t mean any of this. I didn’t mean anything about Vegas. Not the What-Happens-In-Vegas thing, for sure. That was the farthest thing from my mind. My mouth runs on its own sometimes. It’s discombobulating.”
He smiled. “Yes, it is very discombobulating. And intriguing. Why are you so flustered today?”
“I’m not …” Ugh. He had her. Which direction should she go with this? She decided to fess up. “I just thought … that maybe you were going to dump me today. But then you’re … like … still into me and everything. So I dunno. I’m just off.” Bleck bleck bleck. Her mouth tasted like chalky laxative powder. She just couldn’t make it stop.
Ben didn’t duck like she thought he would have, since he was sitting just a foot away from a girl who had diarrhea of the mouth. He didn’t even look around the room for a protective face mask. He held his eyes steady on her; his blue eyes a little less brilliant, a little more somber. “You thought I was going to dump you?” He sounded thunderstruck. Maybe even a little offended.
Holy Idiotville. She had to quickly amend, “Not like you were going to break-up with me. ‘Cause we’re not technically going out or anything. But just … ya know … not want to see me anymore.”
He started smiling, but it looked like he was fighting it. Like he was trying not to laugh at her. “Why would I ask you to come over if I didn’t want to see you anymore?”
Well, ahem. Kay. She hadn’t really thought of it like that. Except … “Because you’re a gentleman. And you’d want to tell me in person. Instead of in a tweet or something.” So there.
This time he did laugh. At her. Not with. Because she wasn’t laughing. “I wouldn’t do it in a tweet. Because that would be going public.”
She froze. He didn’t debunk her theory. She hoped it was just because he was taking her literally. “I didn’t mean a tweet specifically: I just meant a modern mode of communication.”
“I know. But you don’t need to worry about that. About me dumping you. Here. Or via technology.”
Phew. Kat breathed a sigh of relief. But it was just a small breath. Because he didn’t necessarily look relieved, or penitent about causing her confusion.
“But we do need to talk. About … some things.” He looked tense. Maybe even nervous. He didn’t say anything else for a bit. Which was nerve-racking, because Ben never had a hard time finding words. He was looking at a spot on the wall … not at her. Which was also a bad sign. He always looked at her—a little too much at times. “I want us to have an open relationship, Kat.”
Her body was still frozen, but her mind started to swirl. This could go in so many directions. She liked that he’d said the word relationship. That could be good … but.
“I think it’s … crucial with the nature of my … life, for us to always be upfront with each other. Like that thing at Actuelle. That was good. I’m glad that you told me about it. I don’t want you to ever be afraid to tell me anything … even if it might be bad. Or embarrassing. We always need to be honest with each other. If we’re going to make this work.”
Kat heard a swear word in her head. One that she never said. Good thing her mouth was shut at the moment. He was telling her to be honest. To not be embarrassed to tell him things. This was about Jackson. Hole … eee … crap.
Ben knew the truth. How long had he known? He must think that she was a schmuck: not just the Mayor of Idiotville, but also the mother of all five-thousand residents. She opened her mouth to talk, but then snapped it shut again. She had to think this through, rather than just babble. She had to use caution. She could explain this logically without sounding like a stalker-fan—if her mouth was connected to her brain.
Before she could begin with her explanation, Ben started talking again. “So I need to tell you about Dubai.”
Those words were like smelling salts under Kat’s nose. Oh. This wasn’t about Jack. This was about something that happened in Dubai. Kat’s gut told her that this had something to do with a female. Her body was stiff; she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even blink. Her blood had just turned to marble. She wanted to be a statue—to not have to hear this. To not have to think about what he was going to say. To not be altered by it.
“Paul’s push this year is to move me away from being just another teen idol. He wants the world to see that I’ve grown up. That I’m ready to inherit the throne, so to speak.”
This was one area where she thought that Paul was leading Ben down the wrong path. Ben didn’t need to be a man yet. He didn’t need the throne. She could see how this expectation weighed heavily on his shoulders, even though he tried to shrug it off. This was too much for Ben, at too young an age. She had to agree with her mom on this one: teen stars don’t need to grow up so quickly. But Kat didn’t say anything. She knew that Ben was still getting somewhere with his monologue. It wasn’t time for her to interject her opinions.
“So that’s why we were doing a spread for M magazine. And since most men wouldn’t buy a magazine with a teenage boy on the cover, we brought in a model to pose with me. A swimsuit model. Brishell Broz.”
Kat felt her mouth form an “O”, but no sound came out. While her body felt statuesque, her heart, unfortunately, remained alive. It was starting to hurt. Brishell Broz was the most gorgeous woman on earth. Woman! Not teenage girl. Brishell was old, around twenty, and fully developed. “We knew before we went to Dubai what Franz Burdette, the photographer, had in mind. And we knew that it was going to be … pushing the envelope. He sent the proofs yesterday. It’s a little more … provocative than I had realized. I just felt like you should see it. First. Before the cover is released.”
This time, her mouth actually said “oh.” Her veins began to pulse blood again. That was it? He wanted her to see a photo of him and Brishell? That was nothing! Here she’d been expecting him to say that he’d gone to a topless beach with Brishell. And they’d been caught rolling in the sand by the paparazzi. “Yeah. I’d like to see the proofs.” Really, how cool was this to see the cover for M Magazine before it even hit the stands? She was like an editor or something.
Ben turned the TV back on, but opened up an internal hard drive section.
Cool. His entire computer desktop was being displayed on an eight-foot plasma screen. It made Kat’s little netbook she had in her room seem like a Barbie toy.
He had the curser over a file marked “M April”. He turned to Kat. “You ready? It’s kind of … shocking.”
She nodded confidently. If it was something that was going to be on newsstands, it couldn’t be all that shocking. M had half-naked women on their cover all the time. This was just going to be a picture of Ben. And Brishell. What’s the big deal?
A black shadowbox about two feet across opened on the screen, then the picture appeared in the shadowbox. Kat caught a gasp before it escaped from her mouth. She blinked a couple times. Wow. This was shocking indeed.
Brishell was naked as a blue jay. And she was clinging to Ben. Please let him have clothes on. Kat was afraid to look. Her eyes quickly scanned that area. Phew. He had on a something Speedo-ish. She blinked a few more times before she turned her head to look at Ben—the real Ben, not the one blaring in HD with a nekkid girl wrapped around him. Kat hoped her eyebrows weren’t scrunched. She hoped she looked impassive. Her mouth opened. She didn’t know what it was going to say. She prayed that it was appropriate. “It’s really … stunning. Visually.” He was studying her, carefully analyzing her reaction. She needed to make this good. “That’s what? Around twenty-four megapixels? You can see every individual grain of sand. That’s pretty amazing.”
He was still staring, still scrutinizing her response. She looked away from him, and back at the photo. Honestly, it was cool—stunning even. Ben and Brishell were in the desert. There was this enormous sand-twister over Ben’s left shoulder. And Brishell was wrapped around Ben, like she was part of the sand-twister, trying to pull him away. Kat could see the sand swirling around them … like the photo was taken seconds before they were swept up in the twister. It was cool. Really, it was. “Is that … photoshopped? The twister?”