Saved by the Celebutante

by Kirsty McManus

I close my eyes and surrender. My rational mind wouldn’t be able to take over now, even if I wanted it to.

  FIFTEEN

  I refuse to get out of bed the next morning. It feels like a jackhammer is working inside my head. I am never mixing cosmos and pot again.

  It takes quite a while for me to remember what I did yesterday. Everything is kind of hazy, so I gingerly pick through my memories of the previous twenty-four hours in an attempt to work out their chronological order.

  Corey has a new boyfriend. Ugh. The baby shower. Double ugh. I got stoned with Brad. Meh. But then…

  Actually, the memory of us getting naked is a surprisingly pleasant one. We had a lot of fun. I’m back in my bed and dressed in my PJs, so I must have had enough sense to sort myself out afterwards.

  There’s a knock at my bedroom door.

  “Yes?” I croak. I’m going to need some water.

  Brad peers in. “Hey. How’re you feeling? No buyer’s remorse?” he teases.

  “Is that what you call it?” I rub my temples. “Well, if you’re referring to that joint of yours, then yes, perhaps. But if you mean the other thing…”

  “I mean the other thing,” he confirms, eyes twinkling.

  “Definitely no buyer’s remorse here.”

  “Good. The reason I’m asking is because I was supposed to go for a hike with Frank today but he’s stood me up. So, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me instead?”

  “Really? You’re not worried I’ll get too attached and wonder if you secretly want to be my boyfriend?”

  “Um, no. Should I be?”

  I laugh, but instantly regret it when a wave of pain crashes through my skull. “No. So where are you hiking?”

  “Yosemite.”

  “What?”

  “Why not?”

  “Um, because it’s four hours away?”

  “And?”

  “You would be prepared to spend eight hours in total in the car with me?”

  “Of course. We live together. I’ve spent longer than that hanging out with you before.”

  “Yeah, but not on a car ride.”

  “Come on. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just say yes.”

  “Sorry. Yes. Thank you. I appreciate you making the effort, and I apologize in advance for being hungover.”

  “Don’t worry, I know the perfect cure. Will you be all right for a few miles?”

  “I think I can manage.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at the car in twenty minutes.”

  I jump in the shower and attempt to revive myself. I’m trying to embrace Brad’s philosophy of being free and open to possibility. Who cares if I’m about to go on a day-long outing with my twenty-five year old roommate who I happened to sleep with last night? This could end badly, and let’s face it, it probably will, but I’m sick of being afraid and playing it safe. Plus, after yesterday, I’ve realized I need to do whatever I can to move on. Maybe a fling with a young guy is exactly what I need. I just have to take it for what it is. A fling and nothing more.

  After drying off, I quickly throw on some cargo pants and a racer back tank. I find my jacket, put on my trainers and go out to the car, sliding my sunglasses on in the process.

  “That was quick,” Brad marvels. “I like a girl who doesn’t mess around.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean. Corey used to spend ages in the bathroom. It drove me nuts…” I stop talking because I don’t want to think about Corey today.

  Brad opens the passenger door to his fifties convertible Buick so I can get in. He then runs around to the other side and jumps into the driver’s seat without opening the door.

  I haven’t been in Brad’s car before but I wish I had. I love the contrast between the shiny yellow exterior and red leather seats.

  “Have I mentioned how much I love old cars?” I ask.

  “I think you might have said as much when you first moved in.”

  “I always wanted something like this, but Corey said a Prius would be better for the environment.”

  Brad chuckles. “As soon as they make a decent looking hybrid, I’m in. But until then, I’ll find other ways to help the environment.” He switches on the stereo. “I Wanna Rock” by Twisted Sister blares through the speakers. It’s so Brad, and doesn’t hurt my head as much as I would have expected. He revs the engine, and we take off down the road.

  “So have you and Frank sorted things out?” I yell over the music.

  “Sort of. Although, standing me up today is possibly his way of trying to punish me.”

  “Do you think he’d be mad if he saw us like this?”

  “Probably, but I don’t care. At least with me, you know where you stand. Frank would totally lead you on just to get you into bed.”

  “Yeah, but the outcome is the same, isn’t it? Neither of you have to commit.”

  “It’s totally different! I’m not deceiving you. But I guess you do have to make sure you’re accepting what I say on an emotional level. It’s all well and good to hear the words and think you’ll be cool with it, but you’ll have to consider deep down whether you really are. Hopefully we’re on the same page.”

  I contemplate what he’s saying. Part of me wants to prove I can be cool and detached too, but another part of me worries I’m not capable of it. Or that he might not be either and he’s just fooling himself.

  I’m saved from any further musing when the car turns sharply into a driveway. My stomach protests.

  “Careful,” I warn.

  “Sorry, I almost missed the entry.”

  I look up and see a Denny’s sign. “Denny’s is your hangover cure?”

  “Yep. I guarantee a Grand Slamwich will fix all of your problems.”

  “Gross. Isn’t it like, loaded up with all kinds of meat and cheese?”

  “Just try it, and if you feel worse afterwards, I promise not to get mad if you throw up in my car.”

  “That’s a pretty convincing argument,” I concede.

  We go in and find a booth. Brad orders for the two of us. He gets two frozen coffees and then orders a bowl of oatmeal for himself.

  “Hey, how do you get away with the sensible option?” I ask.

  “I already had breakfast a few hours ago. This is brunch.”

  “All right. I’ll let you off this time.”

  “So, are you okay with everything so far? I want you to tell me any time you’re feeling uncomfortable, or if you change your mind about hanging out with me.”

  “I’m fine for now. I’m interested to learn more about how you think, though. For example, have you ever been in love?”

  “It’s hard to say. What is love exactly? Obviously I’ve felt lust. I’ve cared about a lot of people. I’m not sure if the whole clichéd thing about finding that one person to exclusively spend the rest of your life with is very practical. I think the couples who do stick together are either too scared to leave, or they just can’t be bothered looking for someone else.”

  “But that seems so sad to me. Don’t you think there could be someone out there who you share a good number of interests with, but also differences, so you can learn from each other? And you can plan future projects together with and feel secure in knowing they’ll be there alongside you? I think love is finding someone you respect and who respects you the same way.”

  “But what if that person later on discovers they have a stronger attraction to someone else and wants to do all that stuff with them instead? You would feel abandoned and cheated.”

  I don’t point out that this is exactly what I’m going through at the moment because I’m pretty sure that’s why he said it.

  “Yes, but I think once you reach your mid-twenties or early thirties, you should be smart enough to realize you will still be attracted to other people and that the grass isn’t always greener. I think there’s a trade-off between feeling secure and ending up alone.”

  “I’m happy alone.”

  “I don’t think I would mind trading a tiny bit of fr
eedom for knowing I have someone on my side. And properly. Obviously not like Corey.”

  “But you might never know if the next person is also hiding a secret. Wouldn’t it better to rely on yourself for your happiness?”

  “Yes, but…”

  My train of thought is cut short when our food arrives. It’s probably a good thing. Love isn’t rational, so you can never win an emotional argument with logic. I look down at my plate. My meal is enormous.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask doubtfully.

  “I promise.”

  I bite off the tiniest corner of the sandwich and chew tentatively. So far, so good.

  Brad leans forward on one elbow, casually spooning oatmeal into his mouth. He looks pleased with himself.

  My phone rings. The caller ID says it’s Corey. I ignore it and jam the phone back into my purse. Of course he would call now. Well, he can damn well wait until I’m ready. I know I’m being slightly irrational, but it annoys me he’s taken so long to respond.

  I can hear the beep indicating a message, so I angrily get the phone back out and delete it without listening to what he has to say.

  Except now the damage is done. Corey is inside my head and I can’t stop thinking about how I’m probably going to have trust issues forever thanks to the secrets he’s kept from me.

  I viciously bite into my sandwich, swallowing huge bites without chewing properly.

  “I can’t vouch for the effectiveness of my cure if you’re going to eat like that,” Brad says.

  “I don’t care.” I aggressively chew on a strip of bacon to prove my point.

  “Okay…but seriously, you might want to slow down a bit.”

  I slam down my frozen coffee in between bites and stare at him defiantly.

  He tries to suppress a smile. “I like a girl who can eat.”

  “You are so weird.”

  “I just don’t see the point in getting all worked up over stuff,” he says.

  I stiffen.

  “I don’t mean that you don’t have the right to be upset with Corey,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I’m not going to let him affect me too. Life is messy. You should just go with it.”

  My stomach turns over. And not in a good way.

  “I’ll be right back,” I whisper as I jump up and run off to the bathroom.

  I barely make it to the toilet in time before puking up everything I’ve just eaten. Tears stream down my face, and I don’t know if they’re from the stress of throwing up, or because of how upset I am with the Corey situation. I refuse to believe that they’re in any way related to my confused feelings towards Brad.

  I flush the toilet and leave the stall. I stare at myself in the mirror.

  What are you doing? I ask myself. Brad has gone out of his way to cheer you up and you’re acting like a complete psychopath! Pull it together!

  I wash my face and rinse my mouth with some tap water. On the upside, I do feel much better. Maybe there’s more than one way to cure a hangover.

  Back in the restaurant, Brad is already paying the bill.

  “Hey, I’ll get that,” I offer. “You barely ate anything.”

  “Neither did you,” he points out.

  “Sorry about that. I should have listened to you.”

  “It’s okay. Are you feeling better now?”

  “Much. Thanks. And I apologize for acting so crazy. I’ll be on my best behavior for the rest of the day.”

  He laughs. “You’re fine.”

  He hands the waitress his credit card. “I’ll settle this,” he tells me, “and you can pay for our lunch later. I plan on building up quite the appetite on our hike, so be prepared to splash some cash.”

  “Deal,” I say, half-smiling.

  We get back in the car and continue listening to old rock songs. After an hour, I plug my phone into the stereo and switch on some Portishead.

  “Oh come on, can you get any more hipster?” Brad teases.

  “I’m not a hipster,” I say, slightly outraged.

  “That’s what all hipsters say,” he retorts.

  “I’m too old to be a hipster.”

  “No you’re not. Being a hipster is about the attitude, the clothes and the image. So let me start. You have bangs and you wear vintage clothing.”

  “So having bangs is a hipster thing now?”

  “Yours are.”

  “Riiight…”

  “And you have those red cats-eye glasses that aren’t even prescription.”

  “I thought they were cute because they reminded me of cats.”

  “Totally hipster.”

  “Stop it.”

  “What about your bike?”

  “What about it?”

  “Does it have gears?”

  “No. I got it cheap from Walmart.”

  He laughs loudly. “I don’t even know why you’re trying to convince me you’re not a hipster.”

  “Because I’m not,” I say, exasperated. “I like mainstream music, and I’m not some spoilt trustafarian.”

  “Okay, whatever. We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

  We banter like this back and forth for the whole trip, and then suddenly we’re there. I look at my watch, which is admittedly slightly hipster, and realize we actually have been driving for more than four hours. I have to hand it to Brad. He is great at making me forget my problems.

  We cruise through the iconic scenery down the winding road that leads into the village in the valley. It’s a crystal clear day, and the mountaintops are all sharply in focus. I’m starting to feel a little queasy again, but the crisp scent of the surrounding trees helps slightly.

  We find a car park and get out to stretch our legs while we wait for the shuttle bus.

  Brad buys a couple of bottles of water and loads them into his daypack. I feel like a tourist, which I suppose I am. I’ve only been to Yosemite a few times, mostly just with Penny. Our parents aren’t really outdoorsy people, and Corey definitely isn’t. His idea of roughing it is staying in a three-star hotel.

  It’s only now that I realize I haven’t spoken to Mom and Dad since the whole Corey thing happened. We’re not very close, and they didn’t even come to the wedding because we kind of eloped, but I should at least let them know my marriage is over. They probably won’t care. They’re a bit strange that way. I’m not sure what they were thinking when they had kids, but I’m certain they regretted it. Sometimes I think they only had Penny so they could give me someone for company. As soon as we were old enough, they moved to Florida and made it very obvious we weren’t invited.

  I often wonder if that’s why I always wanted a big family of my own – to make up for the lack of a proper one when I was younger.

  I mentally shake myself. It’s too nice a day to be thinking like this. There will be plenty of time to psychoanalyze myself later.

  The shuttle arrives to take us to the mountain track near Vernal Fall. We drive along the valley floor for a few minutes with a handful of other tourists.

  We all get out at the base of the mountain and set off up the track. Brad leads the way, and we hike in silence, absorbing the sounds of nature and trying to tune out the loud voices of our fellow hikers.

  The fall drowns out the people noise the higher we get, and when we reach the top, it’s surprisingly uncrowded. Brad and I find a flat rock to sit on while we rest and rehydrate, listening to the water rushing over the cliff.

  “How awesome is this?” Brad breathes.

  “So awesome. I’d forgotten how much I love doing this kind of thing.”

  I stand up and look out over the railing at the edge closest to the waterfall. The steep rock faces on either side of us form a V-shape. When I direct my gaze downwards, I can see a misty spray rising several feet in the air.

  This is nice.

  My phone rings again.

  “Shit,” I hiss.

  I yank it out of my pack and see that the caller ID is Corey. Again.

  “Do you want to answer that?”
Brad asks.

  I look at the phone, frustrated. “No, I do not want to fucking answer that.” In a sudden fit of frustration, I hurl the phone over the edge of the cliff. I’m not sure if it falls in the water or smashes on the rocks below, but either way, it’s gone.

  “Uh, that was a bit dramatic,” Brad says. “Couldn’t you have switched it off like a normal person?”

  “Sorry,” I say, coming to my senses. “I just wanted to enjoy one day without thinking about Corey every five minutes.”

  “Maybe we should go,” he suggests.

  “No! We’re going to have fun, even if it kills me!”

  He raises an eyebrow and joins me at the edge of the fall, looking over. “I hope you have all your photos and contacts backed up,” he remarks.

  It’s only then I realize the huge career ending mistake I have just made.

  Peter Carson’s personal number is on that phone.

  And now it’s gone.

  SIXTEEN

  You may be wondering how I can be so certain that Peter’s number is gone for good. The fact is, I’ve always been wary about storing stuff in the cloud because I worry it could be hacked. And what if there was some technical problem and everything suddenly just disappeared one day? I have always looked after my phones, and have never lost a single piece of information once it’s been saved to my trusty handset.

  Until today.

  I can’t tell Brad what happened because I don’t want him judging me or thinking I’m an idiot. Which I am. Who throws away their only link to a Hollywood director just because they’re mad at their ex?

  Having Peter’s number was like having a direct line to God. You can’t just call up the studio and ask to be put through. At least I’m pretty sure you can’t. And what if Peter hadn’t told anyone he’d been considering Gia for the movie? They’ll just think I’m a nutcase.

  Brad tries to recapture the easy mood we had earlier, but it’s not working. I’m too stressed, and I just want to get home so I can sort out this mess.

  We climb back down into the valley.

  “Do you want to get something to eat?” I ask half-heartedly.

  “No, it’s okay. It’s later than I thought. Maybe we can just grab something at the gas station on the way home.”