Beyond the Stars

by Stacy Wise

  Jack fiddles around on his phone, still balancing Leo in his lap. He suddenly turns to me. “Did you sign the confidentiality waiver?”

  “Yep!” I say, too enthusiastically. “I signed it yesterday in my aunt’s office.”

  “And you read it all, right?”

  I steal a glance at him. “Yeah.” The truth is, I skimmed it. But Aunt Marnie filled me in on the major points. It’s not like I need ten pages to explain that I cannot speak of, write about, photograph, film, or otherwise record Jack, or any of his belongings. I get it.

  “So you understand that you can’t take any photos of me and post them? Not on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram…not on your blog, if you have one?”

  “Right. Got it. No photos. No disclosing of any information. I’ll pretend you don’t exist except when I’m working for you.”

  “I hope you’re taking this seriously. It’s no joke.”

  Jesus! Does he need me to recite the freaking agreement? “Very much so. I appreciate your need for privacy.” If he wants a robot working for him, fine. I’ll be a robot.

  “I have enough shit with the paparazzi. I don’t want someone who works for me leaking stuff.”

  “And I don’t want to get punched in the face, so we’re good.”

  He shifts Leo on his lap and turns to me. “The guy wouldn’t get his fucking camera out of my face.” He glances out the window. “Turn right at the next light.”

  “I’m sure it was terrifying.” He sounds like a big baby. It’s no secret people go a little crazy around movie stars. He’s not the first star to be pestered by the paparazzi, and he certainly won’t be the last. I watch for my turn and startle when Jack whips around in his seat so fast that Leo almost topples to the floor. His head bobs as he looks out the back window.

  “Has that white Honda been following us?”

  I glance in the rearview mirror and see the white Honda Accord in question. A guy wearing a slouchy beanie is driving. It’s possible a guy with any sort of cap and sunglasses could be suspected of traveling incognito so he can snap some undercover photos. But then again, this is Hollywood. Everyone is trying to look hip and trendy. And his beanie is very fashion forward. “I didn’t notice him until now. Do you think he’s following us?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “Okay. Hang on.” I punch the accelerator and speed through the intersection, not caring that I’m a block past my turn. I’d rather flip a U-turn than witness a fistfight starring Jack McAlister and a photographer. I grab a glance in the rearview mirror and the Honda is still behind me.

  “Can you drive any faster?”

  I press my foot on the Fiesta’s accelerator, passing two cars to my left before I shift to the right lane. The Honda is stuck behind an old Toyota pickup that’s crawling along at thirty-five miles per hour. Ha!

  “What the fuck are you doing? Slow down!”

  “You just told me to go faster!”

  “I was being sarcastic! Don’t you know sarcasm?” I swear he’d yank the wheel from me if he didn’t have his hands full with Leo.

  “You didn’t sound sarcastic! You sounded serious.”

  “Just pull over. Right now.”

  I make a hard right off Sunset and nearly land us on the sidewalk as I screech to a stop in front of a gorgeous contemporary home. I shut off the ignition and place my hands on the steering wheel, squeezing it as if it’s a life raft and I’m in the middle of a stormy sea.

  Jack’s anger circles around us, filling up all the space in my little red car. “You were inviting a high-speed chase driving like that! You could’ve gotten us killed.”

  For a second, I wonder if he’s going to smack me. “I wasn’t trying to kill anyone.” My voice sounds far away, like it’s trapped in a seashell and I can only hear a hollow echo of my normal voice. “All I did was pass a few cars and make a lane change. Quickly. People do that in L.A. traffic all the time.”

  “What you did was stupid!”

  I stare at the wheel, wishing I could rip it off and use it as a shield for his harsh words. My face burns, and tears sting the corners of my eyes. “You know what? I need a minute to myself. Your house is only a few blocks from here. Maybe you should walk. Take the bag for Leo if you like.”

  “You’re telling me to walk home?”

  “Yes.”

  He shakes his head and glares. “Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t walk up the street.”

  “Why not? Because of the thousands of paparazzi hiding in the bushes? Wave, smile, and move on. Give them what they want and they’ll stop chasing you. It’s simple.”

  A snide laugh escapes his lips. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Just wave like a princess on a float and call it a day. That’s hilarious. I can’t remember the last time I strolled down the street.”

  “Maybe you should try.”

  He balls his hands into fists and groans. “You’re unreal.” Without another word, he places Leo on the passenger seat and jumps from the car, slamming the door.

  He starts to tromp off but turns, tapping on the window. I roll it down, wondering if he’s ready to apologize. “We’re making a wager. If no one bothers me, you stay. If someone does, you quit. You can tell Marnie it didn’t work out.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  He raises a brow. “Stay behind me in case I need cover.” And with that, he pushes away from the window and begins trudging up the hill.

  I steal a glance at Leo. “Your owner is crazy.” Or maybe I’m crazy for letting him go. What if there is an altercation? Aunt Marnie would explode. A new panic grabs me as I remember her words: Don’t mouth off…

  How much farther is his house? I force myself to recall the turns—right to get back to the correct block, then left up the hill—and his house is second from the top. My hands slip against the steering wheel, and my armpits tingle. I flick my eyes to Jack and gasp. He’s singing in a ridiculous high-pitched voice, making a complete ass of himself as he saunters up the street.

  “Stop it!” I shout, but he either can’t hear me or is choosing to ignore me.

  Two little girls wearing pink and purple bicycle helmets coast toward him on scooters. My insides clench, and I pray they don’t jump from their rides shrieking for autographs. By the grace of God, they breeze past him, and I let out a breath. We creep up the hill and finally reach the gated driveway that seems much too fancy for a guy in his twenties. He ambles over to punch in the code.

  Quick flashes spark against the sunshine. A man parked just up the street has a camera trained on Jack. A second guy, sporting a backward baseball cap, jumps from the car, heading toward us. “Yo, Jack! Can we talk about Candice Esperanza’s ass? We hear she’s getting injections because of a comment you made.”

  I slam a hand on the horn and roll my car forward to block Jack’s driveway. The guy in the hat charges my car, slapping the hood. I rev the accelerator, and he jumps back, hands in the air. “Jesus! Are you trying to kill me? I’m just asking a few questions, man!” He looks down, checking his body for injuries. It doesn’t escape me that this is the second time today someone has accused me of attempted murder.

  “You’re an idiot. Get out of here.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” He peers into my car. “The dog walker?”

  I roll up my window and click the panic button on my key fob. Leo wails at the noise. “I’m so sorry, piggy. So, so sorry.”

  The cameraman clicks photos of my car as his buddy crosses back to him, wearing his annoyance like a badge of honor. He throws me the finger before they skid down the hill. I press the panic button again, turning it off. My ears ring, and my hands shake. Jack stands safely behind his now closed driveway gate, wearing a victorious smirk. If he thinks for one second he won the stupid wager, he has another think coming.

  Throwing my car into reverse, I reposition it so it faces the gate and wait for Jack to open it. When he doesn’t, I punch his number on my speed dial. “Are you going to let me come in and park?
”

  He chuckles into the phone. “You lost.”

  It takes everything I have not to whip my car around and get the hell away from this madness. A vision of Aunt Marnie packing up her office, no shiny stars in tow, floats in my mind. And then I picture my mom’s bright face peeking in my room at seven sharp, telling me to rise and shine. With forced calm, I say, “It was a tie.” His face remains unchanged. I glance down at Leo, desperate for an ally. “I have something you need,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Your pet piglet. Open the gate, or I keep him.”

  His eyes meet mine. A glimmer of hurt flickers through them before they harden again. He pockets his phone and opens the gate, standing aside to let me pass.

  I reach the top of the driveway and marvel at the ginormous Spanish-style home. It’s stunning. When I came for Leo this morning, Jack’s housekeeper, Imelda, stood waiting at the gate to hand him off to me. I’m sure Mr. Privacy instructed her to do so. God forbid I see his house unsupervised.

  Leo squeals as I gently take him from the passenger seat. Jack jogs toward us. “You can’t petnap my pig.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking more vulnerable than I would have ever imagined he could. My cheeks flush. When he stops talking, he’s gorgeous.

  “I wasn’t going to drive off with him.” Leo wriggles in my arms, and I pass him to Jack. Like a happy baby reunited with his mother, Leo settles into Jack’s arms.

  “Why’d you say it then?”

  Before I can respond, his phone rings, and he slides it from his pocket, turning away from me. “Hey, Marnie.”

  Even though I’m not certain I should, I follow him up the lush pathway that leads to the house. Maybe Aunt Marnie will ask to talk to me. I can offer to help her find a sweet older woman to assist Jack. Hell, my mother would be a better assistant for him than me.

  “Yeah. The interview was cool,” he says into the phone. I touch a giant leaf on one of the plants as I pass by, trying to distract myself. I would’ve loved to have had this type of plant in my yard growing up. I can imagine my younger self cutting off the leaves and using them as boats for my Barbie dolls. Jack pulls his keys from his pocket as he responds to Aunt Marnie with a series of “uh huhs.” I stand to the side, listening for my name as he unlocks the front door. It’s not like the cookie-cutter door of the house I grew up in. No, this is a work of art. The tree it came from is practically visible, with the knots and ridges showing through the gleaming French roast coffee–hued stain. It certainly wasn’t purchased off the floor at Home Depot.

  We step inside, and the shrill beeping of an alarm sounds. Jack sets down Leo, who skitters off to parts unknown, then opens a small box and punches in a code, using his hand to shield the numbers. Like I’d try to break in. Honestly. My ears perk up when he says, “Yeah. She’s right here. Do you want to talk to her?”

  His eyes mock me, and I wonder if he somehow covertly told her my days here are over in that series of “uh huhs.” Glaring at him, I reach for the phone, but then he says, “That’s cool. Bye, Marnie.”

  Not sure what to think, I focus on the ceramic tile floor, which is a rich shade of reddish brown. I’m sure it’s called something like burnt sienna.

  Jack pockets his phone. “That was your aunt.”

  “I figured. Did you tell her I quit?” I ask, shifting my gaze to his.

  “No.”

  I search his eyes. “Why?”

  “Maybe because I knew those guys would be there.”

  “Does that happen a lot? People waiting outside your house to ask stupid questions?”

  With a bitter laugh, he says, “You have no idea. I should call my publicist to do damage control before they tag you as my new girlfriend, a prostitute, or a drug dealer.”

  Chill bumps spring on my arms. “You’re joking.”

  “No. Welcome to my world. You know they filmed every word you said.”

  “How stupid! There’s so much more going on in the world they should care about. Now it makes sense why you punched someone. I might’ve, too.”

  He offers me a genuine smile, and I’m not going to lie; it feels like sunshine on a cloudy day. “Look, I don’t want to worry about having someone else in my life to manage, but maybe Marnie’s right about me needing some help. She’s never steered me wrong. Can we agree to take things one day at a time?”

  A million responses float through my mind, from scathing to sarcastic, but all I say is, “Sure.”

  “Come on back. I need to track down my pig.”

  As I follow him through the entry into the main part of the house, paw prints on the tile catch my eye. “Do you have a dog?”

  “A dog? No. Why?”

  “How’d the paw prints get here?”

  His shoulders seem to relax for the first time today. “Those are cool, aren’t they? The tiles are handmade. The tile maker’s dog ran through some of them while they were drying. My contractor was pissed, but I liked them. They’re scattered throughout the entire floor.”

  “I like them, too.”

  We pass a hallway that presumably leads to bedrooms, and he pauses. “This wing is off-limits. No need for you to go down there at all. The entry and kitchen areas are the only places you’ll use. There’s plenty of room for you to do whatever you need to at the kitchen table.”

  “Got it.” I try to sound perfectly fine with what he said, but once again, he’s made me feel like I’m a criminal. He’s going to keep me sequestered like some sort of prisoner in a tiny little area.

  Or not. Twenty of my kitchens could fit into his grand culinary arena. The table could seat a family of twelve. This is a legitimate movie star’s home.

  The counters are tiled in lustrous mossy green squares, with colorful, hand-painted Spanish tiles strategically placed here and there. And the sink! I never would’ve imagined I’d get excited over a sink, but this one is unreal. It’s practically the size of a bathtub, all bright white and inviting. Shiny copper pots hang from a rack above the center island.

  Jack pulls a giant sliding glass door open, allowing Leo to toddle outside. There’s a stone-paved sitting area with a built-in fireplace, and beyond that, a pool gleams with crystal blue water. Two Jacuzzis spill into it like fountains. And the trees! They stand in clusters, creating the feeling of a perfectly landscaped rainforest. Out past the pool is a guesthouse. Or maybe it’s a storage shed made to resemble the main house.

  I run my hand across one of the unique squares of tile on the kitchen counter. “Did you choose these, too?”

  He turns toward me. “I did. This house is the one thing I have that feels like my own.” He stops abruptly, as if he’s said too much. “You know what? I need to wrap my head around what I’ll have you do each day. Getting Leo to the show was a no-brainer, but I’ll need to come up with a plan for you. Why don’t you take off, and I’ll catch you tomorrow. Show up at ten.”

  “Uh, okay,” I say, not sure if I should be relieved or concerned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Text me when you get here, and I’ll let you in. The gate code is four, one, one, six.” He pauses. “I don’t need to tell you to keep that confidential, right?”

  “Of course. I won’t even write it down. I’ve memorized it already. Four, one, one, six. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yep.”

  I retrace my steps to the front door, careful not to veer from the center of the path. God knows I don’t want him to think I’ll take a quick trip down the forbidden hallway.

  When I get to my car, I sink into the driver’s seat. The events of the day buzz in my head, leaving me utterly confused. I gaze at Jack’s house, feeling like I’m seeing a secret part of him. It strikes me as odd that it’s the only thing that feels like his own.

  Just as I’m about to turn the car around in the driveway, my phone rings, and I dig it out of my purse. It’s Meg, my roommate.

  “Can you talk? I’m dying to hear how your first day is going!”

  “I’
m just leaving. Any chance you can meet me for coffee in, say, twenty minutes? The Starbucks by your office?”

  “Twenty minutes. I’ll be there.”

  Meg’s just what I need right now. If anyone can make me see the humor in this, she can. We met when she became my desk partner in our high school art class. Her wardrobe consisted of tight jeans, loose tank tops that revealed her bra straps, and black combat boots. She had shaved the right side of her head, Rihanna-style, leaving the rest to fall to her chin. It was flat-ironed straight and dyed blond back then. Her look was a stark contrast to my Havaianas flip-flops and long ponytail. I admired her bold style.

  She surprised me by initiating a conversation right away. “Don’t you think Mr. Penderecki would be a lot cuter if he did some manscaping?”

  I laughed louder than I should have. Mr. Penderecki would need high-tech power tools to get all the crap off his face. His lips were barely visible beneath the scraggly hobo beard. “Oh, yeah. He’s like one razor swipe away from being totally hot.”

  Meg grinned, and we became instant allies. She lived with her dad full-time and wasn’t speaking with her mother, which made me feel bad for her. I couldn’t imagine not talking to my mom. I liked knowing that if something bad happened at school, I was only moments away from homemade chocolate chip cookies and a mood-lifting conversation around our kitchen table.

  Chapter Four

  I walk into Starbucks and take in the wonderful normalcy of it. An icky layer of movie star feels like it’s clogging my pores. Maybe a large caramel Frappuccino with extra whip and extra caramel will make me feel better. There’s nothing like the cleansing feeling of too much sugar and caffeine. After placing my order, I stand to the side to wait.

  Meg rushes in, her curly, dark brown hair bouncing. She’d lost the flat iron and hair dye sometime during our junior year. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

  “I will, but let’s sit first. I ordered you a hot chocolate with extra whip and the lid on the side.”