Strange Addiction

by Alexis Nicole

  Still, he chatted about his days in college and how Atlanta would always be a second home for him. By the time we pulled up in front of Katsuya, a Japanese restaurant that I had heard about but had never been to, I felt like King and I were friends.

  King pulled the car to a stop at the valet stand, but the moment he stepped out of the car, bright lights flashed in our direction.He trotted around to my side of the car as if he wasn’t affected at all, opened my door, and took my hand to help me out. The cameras continued to click, the lights kept flashing, and then came the shouts from the paparazzi.

  “Who’s the new girl, King?”

  “How do you feel about your ex, Marlaina, getting married?”

  King held me close to him as we squeezed through the photographers, who barely gave us space to move. I kept my head down, making eye contact with no one.

  “Is this a rebound date?”

  “Was your heart broken?”

  Oh my God! The questions didn’t stop until we were behind the restaurant’s doors, and even then, King kept moving. He held my hand, though he moved slower now, and I had the chance to look up and around.

  The room was elegant and rich. From the beige suede walls to the sparkling parquet floors. But it was more than the ambience that smelled of money. It was the patrons who sat throughout the restaurant. Even though King was moving quickly, I was able to catch a glimpse of a couple of L.A. Lakers and their wives, as well as Stuart Scott, who starred with King in his last movie.

  King paused for only a millisecond to nod to the Lakers, and then for another second to give a dap to Stuart, but then he kept it moving and we entered a room in the back of the restaurant, a private room.

  “Oh my God!” I said aloud what I’d been thinking.

  “Sorry about that.” He grinned. “I guess I should’ve warned you.”

  “No, no warning needed. I guess I kinda knew we might run into some photographers but . . .” I shook my head. “Is it like that for you all the time?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, kind of. But I got used to it a long time ago with my parents. It’s part of the price of all of this.” He stepped behind me and helped me slip my sweater from my shoulders. Then he held out the chair for me to sit at the single round table, which was covered with a black tablecloth and had a single candle in the middle.

  I kept wanting to turn around and peek out the door to check out any other famous people in this place. But I didn’t, because King’s attention was completely on me.

  “So do you have any questions for me?”

  I cocked my head, not sure what he meant.

  “I’m sure you heard them ask me about my ex.”

  Ah, Marlaina Douglas, the gorgeous young starlet who had been hot and heavy with King forever. For the last five years, they’d been known as the king and queen of young Hollywood. Their on-again, off-again relationship was tabloid fodder, and I’d read that they’d broken up, once again. But I had not heard that she’d gotten married, which was weird, since I thought everything passed through BME.

  “I heard the question.” I shrugged. “But I don’t think it’s any of my business.”

  “Oh, really?” he asked as he raised an eyebrow. “So are you telling me that you always date men who are attached?”

  “This isn’t a date.”

  He grinned when I said that. “It’s not?”

  “Nooo,” I said, smiling back at him. “This is just a dinner between two business colleagues.”

  “Okay.” He chuckled.

  “So I don’t think I have any right, or any need, to know about your personal life . . . in that way.”

  He tilted his head a bit, as if he was thinking about my words. “You’re a very special lady,” he finally said.

  “Thank you.”

  “And just so you know . . . Marlaina and I broke up, and a month after that, she got married.”

  “I hadn’t heard that part.” I paused, planning to leave the conversation there. But I was curious, so I just had to ask, “Did that bother you?” And because I was a journalist, I added, “Off the record, of course.”

  “Of course.” He shook his head. “No, I’m not upset at all. We were done, and I wish her nothing but happiness.”

  I wondered if he really meant what he was saying, but then I asked myself, why did I care? This was just a dinner, right?

  He said, “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know . . .” He paused. “How you’re going to like this.” He pulled out a long black velvet box and rested it on the table in front of me.

  What was this? A gift? For a long moment, I stared at the box, before I said, “King, I can’t.”

  “Just open it,” he said, motioning with his hands.

  I sat there thinking for another moment, before I slowly opened the cover and was immediately blinded by the diamond tennis bracelet inside. I couldn’t help it; I gasped. All I could do was stare down at it in amazement.

  “I was having a hard time finding something that could compliment your beauty, but there was nothing. I just hope that this will come close.”

  When I sat there, still saying nothing, King asked, “Do you like it?”

  I kind of shook my head a little. I was completely speechless. I had never seen anything so beautiful, so magnificent before, let alone been given something like this as a gift.

  Finally, I lifted my eyes, glanced at King, then looked back at the bracelet. I kept doing that again and again.

  I managed to get out, “It’s beautiful.”

  King nodded as if he was pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “But still . . .” I shook my head. There was no way I could take this gift. Not only was this supposed to be just a dinner, not a date, but what about the professional implications? “King, I can’t. I just interviewed you.”

  “So?”

  “Professionally . . .”

  “This is a personal gift.”

  “That could be the problem.”

  “Well, this is a personal date, right?”

  “This is a personal dinner.”

  He laughed. “You’re quick, and I like that.” After a pause, he continued, “Look, the thing is, Heiress, I like you. And this is just my way of saying thank you.”

  I frowned a little. “For the interview?”

  “No. For taking the time out of your busy personal life and having dinner with me.”

  I glanced down at the bracelet once again. It really was beautiful, but still.

  King reached over and touched my hand. “Please, take it. It’s just a little present.”

  I chuckled. “This is not little.”

  “To me it is,” he said.

  “It’s too expensive. And you said that all you wanted to do tonight was take me to dinner to say thank you.”

  “And this, young lady,” King began as he lifted the bracelet from the box, “is my way of saying thank you.” He leaned across the table and clasped the bracelet onto my wrist. “And don’t say anything about it being too expensive. Don’t you know it’s not polite to discuss money in mixed company?”

  I laughed, because what King said was funny and because I was just thrilled with the way the bracelet sparkled against my skin. I wanted to protest again, at least one more time, but when King put his forefinger against my lips, I didn’t say a thing.

  King leaned back in his seat and smiled when I finally nodded, my sign that I was graciously accepting his gift. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, let’s get this dinner started.”

  Just as King said that, a waiter appeared with two bowls of miso soup. I wasn’t sure if King had chosen what we would eat or if the restaurant had done it, since no one had ever given me a menu.

  As our dinner went from soup to sashimi and then to sukiyaki, I became even more comfortable with King. As we chatted about where we’d grown up—I i
n a small Ohio town, and he in the lap of luxury, commuting between New York and L.A.—and shared embarrassing college stories, I began to feel like I was just sitting with a friend. King, the famous actor, disappeared, and in his place was King, the fine man, the interesting man, the man who was a complete gentleman the whole night long.

  When it was time for us to leave, I wanted to look for reasons to stay. But King glanced at his watch and said, “I wish we could keep this going all night, but I have an early call in the morning.”

  “Of course,” I said, as if I was in a hurry to leave too.

  King had such manners: he helped me out of my chair and then held my hand as he led me once again through the restaurant.

  King’s car was waiting for him at the curb the moment we stepped out of the restaurant. That surprised me a bit. I hadn’t seen him make the call to the valet, but I guessed it was just like that when you were famous. Having the car there, though, didn’t stop the flashing camera lights. Once again, I kept my head down as King and I were accosted the moment we went through the door. He helped me into the passenger seat and then trotted around to the front, ignoring the lights and the questions.

  When he jumped into the car, he put the pedal to the metal and we sped out of there like someone was chasing us. Looking over my shoulder, I wondered if any of the paparazzi would follow us.

  King said, “Don’t worry. We’re alone now,” as if he’d read my mind.

  “So they don’t come after you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not ever.”

  “Not anymore.”

  I knew what that meant. Now that he wasn’t with Marlaina.

  “I guess that’s good,” I said, turning back around. “They’re not hunting you. Just stalking you when you’re out living your life.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t hate. They’re just making a living.”

  I twisted to the side to get a better look at him. “So it doesn’t bother you the way they impose on you while you’re out?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. They’re just journalists.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Please don’t compare those people to me. They are hardly journalists.”

  He laughed. “I just said that to tease you, but really, I do believe that everyone has their job to do. I just let folks do what they have to do.”

  I smiled. I liked King’s attitude about this and everything else. He was so easygoing, not a famous, uptight celebrity at all. That was just another reason for me to really like this dude. For the rest of the car ride home, King and I rode silently. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was one of those quiet times that two friends shared when they’d just spent hours together having a great time.

  When King stopped the car and then, once again, like a gentleman came to my side and opened the door, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. It had been such a long time since I’d been on a date. Yes, it felt like a date now. Was I supposed to ask if he wanted to come up? Was I supposed to ask if he wanted a drink or a nightcap, or say something corny, like all those lines that I’d heard in movies? I didn’t say any of the above, and King followed me inside like he knew exactly what to do.

  In front of my apartment door, he said, “Let me have your key.” He opened the door, then kissed my cheek. “Good night, pretty lady. I’ll call you.”

  I wanted to ask him when, but I had too much class for that. So I just told him good night, then stepped into my apartment. I didn’t hear him walk away until I clicked the lock.

  Leaning against the door, I listened to his footsteps as he went back to the elevator. I sighed. I wasn’t one of those girls who met a guy and then started writing his last name in her notebook, but I had to admit that I really liked this man. Like I said, the dinner had turned into a date, and as I glanced down at the bracelet that graced my wrist, I felt like it had been more than a dinner for him too.

  I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but I had to admit, I couldn’t wait to see what the future would hold for me . . . and King. I couldn’t wait for him to call; I just hoped he’d call tomorrow.

  Chapter 5

  Was it possible to be madly in love with someone after only three months? King was everything that I had never known I even wanted.

  After our first date, he called me the next morning, waking me up to a song that he’d made up. He must’ve inherited his talent from his father, because his acting was far better than his singing, but the words were so sweet, who cared about the lack of melody?

  We went out again the next night. By the third date, I had to admit that one dinner had become a date, and now we were an item. And I was one happy girl.

  King was such a man. He showered me with gifts, took me to just about all the hot events that he attended—from red-carpet movie premieres to CD release parties—and introduced me to all his rich and famous friends.

  “This is my lady, Heiress Montgomery.”

  The first time he said that, I almost fainted. But thank God I didn’t, since I was standing in front of Idris Elba and a group of other actors.

  What was so amazing was that behind closed doors King was just as sweet. His kisses were soft, his caresses were gentle, and the first time we made love, I felt like he’d taken me to heaven.

  But it was more than all of that. King and I were just meant for one another. We liked to do all the same things. Mostly, that was stay close to home. All these years I’d seen King out on the L.A. town. Just about every night there was something about him on Access Hollywood or Entertainment Tonight. But what I discovered was that while he did enjoy hanging with his friends and being seen, what he loved most was just being with that special person. Being out was the life that people expected him to lead, not the one he wanted to live.

  So we often stayed home, at his condo mostly, because when he came by my apartment, Blair still treated him like a celebrity. At his place we’d watch one of the millions of DVDs he had, especially the old movies, like Gone with the Wind, with Hattie McDaniel; Lilies of the Field, with Sidney Poitier; and Carmen Jones, with Dorothy Dandridge.

  “I love watching the first African American actors,” he said all the time. “Those cats could really act, especially with everything that they had to go through.”

  We would watch DVDs and eat microwave popcorn for hours. Or we would read. I loved magazines, but King loved to read history and political books, so much so that I wondered if he would run for office one day.

  Almost every Sunday we would stretch out in his living room, with me lying on the couch with my head in his lap. We would stay that way for hours, silently reading our own things. Someone had once told me that when you could spend quiet time with another person, that was a sure sign that you could be together.

  Well, King and I were made to be together.

  It had all happened quickly, but King definitely was a part of me. He invaded my thoughts every moment that I wasn’t with him, and when I wasn’t with him, I wanted to be. I had never had dreams of being a wife and a mother, but after a month of being with King Stevens, that was all that I could dream about—being his wife, being the mother to his children. That man had definitely made me change my priorities in life. He was at the top of my list, and nothing was a close second.

  The best thing was I knew I was at the top of his list too.

  Life at BME was going just as well. I’d written only three articles in the three months since King’s interview, but I still felt like I was on a good track. I went back and forth between being one of the writers and being an assistant, and today I was back on assistant duty.

  It was even better since Carmen had called in sick, so there wasn’t much for me to do but file papers and answer her office phone, which left me with lots of free time. And lots of idle time had my mind wandering toward King.

  Sitting at my desk, I tried to last as long as I could, but before the first hour of work had passed, I pulled out my cell phone to dial his number. Just as I was about to press the CALL button, my ph
one rang. Looking at the screen, I rolled my eyes. I knew I was in big trouble.

  Pressing the ACCEPT button, I put a smile in my voice, even though there wasn’t one on my face.

  “Hey, Mommy.”

  “Oh, so you’re alive?” my mother asked, as if she really had some doubt about that. “Do you remember that you have a mother?”

  Okay, it was a bit over the top, very dramatic, and filled with the tone of guilt that only my mother could muster. Still, I knew I had that coming. I had been so wrapped up in everything King that I hadn’t talked to my parents in almost two weeks.

  “Mommy, I am so sorry, but I’ve been very busy.” I didn’t feel too bad for saying that, because it wasn’t a lie. It was tough balancing my demanding job and my demanding man.

  “Uh-huh. Busy with that boy who plays make-believe.”

  “He’s an actor, Mom. You know that. You’ve seen him in movies before.”

  My mother was just giving me a hard time because I’d broken our routine of talking at least once a week. Now she was lucky if she got two calls a month.

  “I’m really sorry, Mommy, and I promise I’ll do better.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “No matter what I have going on,” I said, ignoring the sarcasm I heard in her tone. “I promise.”

  I meant every word I said. My parents were hundreds of miles away, and I really did miss them dearly. I was their only child, so we’d been close all these years—especially me and my mother. It really was my responsibility to stay close to them, even though I was in L.A. and they were back in Ohio.

  “Do you accept my apology, Mommy?”

  This time I was the one putting guilt into my voice.

  And it worked.

  “All right, baby, I’m not going to give you too much of a hard time. You’re a grown woman, and you have your own life. Just tell me one thing.... Are you happy?”