“I didn’t say you were out,” Paris snapped with a snicker. “I bet some of the best parties take place in your bedroom.”
“You know I’m not the man-whore they make me out to be.”
“Sure you are, Jon. I know you’re not a saint. I’ve seen the pictures,” she said shrewdly.
“You believe those rags? I thought you were better than them.” He spun back around in his chair and glowered at the box towers. He bent down to pick up the green tennis ball off the floor in front of the stacks and ran his thumb over his portrait embossed in black ink on the ball’s side.
“It’s not just the rags. There are pictures of you all over the Internet. You’re cozying up to a different beauty every night, by the looks of it.”
“I just can’t help it when they throw themselves at me.” He laughed knowing this wouldn’t help his cause, but he was having fun. “What’s a guy to do? I’m only human.”
“I thought you were a god.”
“No, demigods are half-human.” He knew it would be a while before he shed that label, and using his self-effacing charm to keep the conversation light, he said, “Honestly, they’re just fans, and they only like my character, not me. They want my body so they can live out their character fantasies. The real me wouldn’t interest them at all. Besides, I’d never hook up with a fan.”
“Never say never, Jon,” she lectured.
The corners of his lips turned up as he thought about why he had called. “Paris, I need a favor,” he blurted out, knowing now was his chance.
“Anything you desire. You know that.”
Her seductive tone made him chuckle. Though he would never act on it, they had always had a certain amount of chemistry as they spoke, and Jonathan enjoyed their banter.
“How is your husband?” Last he had heard, Paris’s pro hockey player husband had been caught in the locker room with the coach’s eighteen-year-old daughter. The incident had almost gotten him traded, but he got injured before the trade went through.
“His shoulder is healing, and we’re still together, if that’s what you’re asking. I think revenge sex would help me get past my issues, though. You in?”
“I wish I could, but I’m saving myself for marriage.” He chuckled again.
“Give me a week. I’m open to a second marriage.”
“And mess up what we have? How would I survive?”
Over the years, Paris had manipulated stories on her website to portray Jonathan in a positive light, and he appreciated the unsolicited help with PR. In return, he provided her with tidbits of his personal life that he wouldn’t share with any other journalist. Their relationship had helped Paris build a credible reputation, and she had once told him that his name alone was responsible for half her advertising dollars.
“What can I do for you, Jon?”
“I know you track your bloggers. You have to sign into the comment blogs with an e-mail and—”
“Are you sharing on my site?” she interrupted with a bit of sarcasm.
Her website allowed its readers to interact with one another on its blog threads to discuss the day’s gossip, and over the years, Jonathan had come to the site many times—sometimes to read his fan’s conversations and sometimes to participate in the blogging.
“You know I do. I just like to see what my fans are thinking—my real fans, not the ones on the other sites who are just waiting for me to screw up,” he said. “Can I get an e-mail address of one of your bloggers?”
“That’s against policy, Jon.”
“You wrote the policy. Besides, you know I’m not a stalker.”
“Never say never, right?”
“It’s not like that.” He realized he was going to have to lie just a little. He hated to lie, but Paris ran a gossip site, and he couldn’t tell her the truth. “I think one of your bloggers may be Jack’s ex,” he stammered, “and I just want to reconnect. I haven’t seen her since the accident.” Jonathan knew that if he mentioned the accident, Paris wouldn’t press him for more information.
“You know it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, but in reality, he still blamed himself, and the guilt he felt plagued his every thought.
“OK, what’s her username?”
He read off the username, and Paris keyed it in.
“You know most of these are fakes,” she warned.
“I know,” Jonathan admitted, “but it’s worth a try.” He smiled as he thought about what had driven him to contact the website manager in the first place. The girl from the blog threads that he couldn’t get out of his mind, she was the reason for all this. He needed to know that she was real—flesh, bones, and a sweet voice to match her words. He needed to know that there was a woman in the world who really did understand him, and he wanted to meet her so badly that he was willing to talk to the enemy.
Jonathan wondered what the girl looked like. She said that she was two years younger than him, that she had dark hair and fair skin. She mentioned something about ex-boyfriends and had complained about the stupid pickup lines guys used on her, so she couldn’t be too awful looking. In truth, her looks didn’t really matter that much. Jonathan knew that, in Hollywood, anybody could be made to look good. It was inner beauty that was harder to fake.
The girl’s inner beauty inspired him to find her. She was witty, yet sweet. She had a core confidence that emanated from everything she wrote in the blog, she wasn’t shy about her opinion, and she seemed open-minded when she listened to others’ ideas. He didn’t know how to explain it, but Jonathan knew that this girl was special, not like anyone he had ever met before.
“I think you’re in luck, Jon. This one looks legitimate, although I can’t tell for sure.” Paris interrupted his thoughts. “Do you have a pen?”
“Yeah, shoot.”
She gave him the e-mail address and wished him good luck.
“Thanks, Paris. I owe you one.”
“You do. Take care, Jonathan.”
Jonathan didn’t like owing Paris anything. He knew he would have to pay back the favor, but he had a feeling that it would be worth it in the end. He leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk, and sighed. He bounced the green tennis ball against the wall once and caught it, twice and caught it again. He kneaded the ball with his fingers as he contemplated. Months of anonymous chatting with Sarah had led to this. He was nervous about actually talking to her, and maybe a little intimidated by her, which was rare for Jonathan.
He remembered back to the first time he had run across her in the blogs. It was after a photo shoot he had done with four supermodels. During an interview following the shoot, reporters asked if he would be dating any of the models. He responded without thinking, saying, “They’re beautiful, but not really my type.” He had been through media training a couple of times, and at the time, he thought it was a decent answer. He preferred women who could think for themselves. Jonathan had never found much interest in models. He thought most of them were just a blank slate that could be molded into whatever someone wanted. “Where’s the challenge there?” They were not his type at all.
Of course, the press twisted his answer, and the gay rumors flew. Every rag magazine had his picture with headlines like, “What IS Jon’s Type?” or “Did Hanging with His Buds Make Jon Switch Teams?” or “The Hot, Steamy Truth About the Demigod’s Secret Life.” Then Remi, his publicist, called and insisted he get out and be seen with a woman. “Any woman, just make it public,” she had said. Jonathan called Mia for some help. He went out with her a couple of times to very public clubs, hoping to make the rumors blow over fast.
Jonathan went on the gossip site’s blog to see whether the sightings were actually working. The fans were usually very forthcoming with what they thought. That’s when he first noticed Sarah. He had signed in with a username that he had used before, and he could still visualize the words from the blog threads on his laptop.
Cracked23: I thought this guy had a reputation for
all the women he dated. Why would he all of a sudden switch teams?
Sarah A: You know those Hollywood types. He’s probably just trying to set some new trend.
Cracked23: Yeah, because it couldn’t be that he likes to go out to dinner with a girl who actually eats or that he’s just not that into high-maintenance women?
Sarah A: Guys like you described don’t exist. What guy would turn down a date with a supermodel?
Cracked23: I would.
Sarah A: Let me rephrase that. What straight guy would turn down a date with a supermodel?
Cracked23: Haha! I would.
Sarah A: No, you wouldn’t. When was the last time that opportunity came up?
Cracked23: Last week.
Sarah A: So you’re just as delusional as the rest of the people on this site. You were my only hope.
Cracked23: You should have known. My username IS Cracked23.
Sarah A: I’m usually more perceptive. Interesting username, I bet there’s a great story behind it.
Cracked23: Nope, just my everyday supermodel-rejecting life.
Sarah A: It’s too bad I’m a supermodel.
Cracked23: Oh? You don’t sound like the usual high-maintenance model type. Maybe I’d make an exception.
Jonathan watched the blog site to see if he could catch her again. He didn’t really know why, but she had captured his attention. The next time he found her, she admitted that she wasn’t really a supermodel, and the two got so goofy on the blog that Jonathan felt like he was joking around with his high school buddies. His high school friends were the only people he considered his true friends. He trusted them. He had known most of them since middle school, and they never treated him differently when he became famous. When he interacted with Sarah, he felt like she didn’t have preconceived ideas and expectations of him, like all the other people in the world. She treated him like any other person—like his high school friends treated him. Of course, she didn’t know who he was, and knowing that might have changed her opinion, but somehow, Jonathan didn’t think it would matter. She seemed different.
Over the next two months, he met up with her on the blogs almost every day. They would switch to chat rooms and privately message each other, but they always started on the gossip blogs. Their conversations progressed to anything and everything. They shared their most trivial thoughts on world economics, politics, education, dating, and music. They both liked some of the same bands. Jonathan told her that he used to play guitar and sometimes keyboard in a band in high school, but he didn’t get to play much now that he had a real job. Sarah shared that she had spent years listening to her brother’s band practice in her parents’ basement and was overjoyed when they finally learned how to play.
Jonathan learned that Sarah was attending college and that she would graduate next spring with a double major in English and psychology. He told her that he worked on movie sets, but never revealed that he was an actor. Sarah didn’t pressure him to give out information about himself. She seemed to know that it was something he didn’t want to talk about. Jonathan felt a little guilty when Sarah asked him his name, and he answered, “My friends call me Will,” which was true of his real friends, so he didn’t feel that he was lying, just omitting information. The nickname came from his last name, and it was so obvious that he hoped she wouldn’t figure it out, yet he didn’t want to lie, either.
Though it was difficult to truly get to know someone on the Internet, Sarah seemed to understand Jonathan better than anyone he had ever met, and for some intangible reason, he trusted her. It was just a feeling he had. Yesterday, they talked about ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends, agreeing not to use real names. But when a guy chimed in on their private chat room suggesting that they take it to a hotel, they knew they really needed to find another way to communicate. So without sharing any personal information, Jonathan promised he would find a way to contact her.
Now here he sat, typing the e-mail that could change his life. Or not. It was no longer within his control. Once he sent the e-mail, it would be up to Sarah to call him. It had been a while since he worried about a girl returning his call, and it excited him, especially because she didn’t know his true identity. He felt that she liked him for who he really was, not for who she thought he was, and that intrigued him. He kept the e-mail short. He said that he had been able to get her address through some connections his family had with the website and that he hoped she would call him so they could finally talk to one another. He gave her his cell phone number and chuckled out loud to himself.
He picked up the embossed tennis ball again and bounced it one more time, deliberately smacking his face hard against the wall before hitting send.
“The ball is in your court now.”
Sarah didn’t make him wait too long. She called the next night at eight, LA time, and said simply, “Hi. Will? It’s Sarah.” She sounded unsure and nervous, yet confident, and Will thought she sounded adorable. “I’m so glad you found me.”
“I told you I would. I always keep my promises,” he proclaimed.
“So what were you doing tonight? Anything exciting?”
“Oh yeah, I was thinking about you.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I was. I was starting to worry that maybe you were some middle-aged housewife just teasing me, and you weren’t going to call because you didn’t want your secret to be exposed.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a very good liar, and everything I told you is true. I am only twenty,” she said with a chuckle.
“Good. At least no one will stare at us.”
“Is that important to you—that no one stares?” she playfully antagonized.
“Not really, but I like to know what to expect—though the unexpected can be exciting.” He stifled a laugh and hoped she would be open to surprises in the future.
“I didn’t expect you to find me so quickly. You don’t even know my last name.”
All of a sudden, he felt like he might have been coming on too strong. “You wanted me to find you, right?”
“Very much, but I didn’t realize you were so…resourceful.”
“You’ll have to get used to it. I have many talents, Sarah.”
“So, Mr. Talented, you said that you like indie rock. Have you been to any concerts recently?” she asked.
“I haven’t been to anything huge in a while, but I saw the Killers in Austin, in March. They were pretty chill. I’ve been to a couple of smaller concerts since then, but nothing that stands out. How ’bout you?” He consciously redirected the conversation back to her. Though comfortable talking to her, he was still leery of revealing himself.
“I’ve only been to three concerts in my entire life, and one of them was Ashley Tyler when I was fourteen—with my mom,” she admitted. “It was excruciating. My parents wouldn’t let me go without an adult, and Jessica and I really wanted to go. My mom was dancing in the aisle and singing, as if she was onstage. I think she secretly wants to be a pop star. It scarred me for life.”
Will laughed.
“I didn’t go to another concert until I was in college.”
“No doubt. Who would?” He chuckled, marveling at her openness. He liked that she could talk about humiliating moments and make fun of them.
“I know, right? Seriously, the whole pop-star-mom ordeal was very traumatic. I think it’s the root of why I started taking psychology classes.”
“So who would you go see now, now that you’re starting to heal?”
“My housemates and I tried to get tickets to see EXpireD at the end of the month, but they sold out in ten minutes. Have you ever seen them?”
“Yeah, they’re great. They’re based in LA. They play here all the time. If you come out and visit me sometime when the band is in town, I promise I’ll get us in.” He suppressed another laugh. He couldn’t believe that she’d mentioned the one band that he knew personally—better than personally. Two of his best friends were in it. He could arrange a privat
e concert if she wanted.
“And you always keep your promises, huh?”
“Of course, like I said.”
They chatted for three hours that first night. Neither one wanted to end the call. To them, it felt like they had known each other forever and were just catching up. Finally, they agreed to get off the phone, but only after Will had promised to call her the next night. And he did. Will and Sarah spoke to each other every night for three weeks. They gathered every insignificant little detail of each other’s lives that they weren’t allowed to talk about on the very public Internet—except Will’s true identity.
By the end of three weeks, Will knew he had to meet her. He couldn’t wait any longer. He was starting to feel like a liar, and that wasn’t who he was at all. Will wanted to share everything with her. Sarah’s birthday was next Friday—a week away. If he was able to organize it, he would be visiting her in Minneapolis the same day his buddies were doing the concert there. He might be able to arrange it so he could take her to the concert on her twenty-first birthday. He figured out the logistics of her birthday surprise and then called his buddy Nick to set up the concert details.
Sarah sat at the reception desk in her dad’s veterinary clinic. It was a slow day. Her dad scheduled most of the clients’ wellness exams in the spring so they could start their pets on heartworm protection. By the time summer came around, the office visits were mostly emergencies or newly acquired pets.
There was nothing exciting happening at the clinic today. A nine-week-old German shepherd pup was scheduled for two o’clock, and a cat with possible ear mites was coming in at two thirty. Sarah had already pulled the file for the cat from the tall wall of shelves behind the desk that served as the clinic’s filing cabinets and had gathered the paperwork that needed to be completed for the new puppy.
Between the Raindrops Page 2