Map to the Stars

by Jen Malone

“It’s about my dad,” I began, flipping cards onto the table.

  “Well, yeah, I figured as much. I assumed the picture was for his sign collection . . .”

  “Yeah. It’s just that we’re not exactly talking these days.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t ask a follow-up question or give me pointed looks. He just waited for me to be ready. And somehow that did the trick. Once I started talking it was like I turned on a faucet and the handle came off in my hand—I couldn’t stop.

  “My dad, he’s, well he was, this awesome dad. Like really awesome. I’m an only child so I got a lot of attention anyway, but my dad always gave me even more. My mom helped run the salon my grandmother owns, so she worked a lot of weekends and it was just Dad and me most of the time. I didn’t mind. He always made up adventures for us so I wouldn’t miss Mom. When I was little he would draw letters with his finger on my back every night while I tried to fall asleep. I always felt like he was the person in the world, besides Wynn and my mom, who I could trust completely. And then he fucked it all up.”

  Graham’s head jerked up in surprise. He looked at me for a beat, then asked, “What did he do?”

  “It’s more like what he didn’t do. He didn’t tell us that he’d been laid off from his job. He was a restaurant supplier. And when the recession hit, restaurants were dropping like flies. Eventually it caught up with the company Dad worked for. It’s not like he did anything wrong. He wasn’t fired or anything. Just laid off. But for some reason he didn’t tell us. Actually, he says he didn’t tell us at first because he thought he’d find another job in a matter of days and he didn’t want to worry us. And then he said when days turned into weeks, he was too ashamed.”

  “Wow,” said Graham. When he looked at me his eyes were sympathetic. “So how many weeks was it before you guys found out?”

  I took a deep breath. “Nine months.”

  “Nine months?”

  I nodded and raised my shoulders in a shrug. His reaction mirrored mine when I’d found out, minus about a thousand times the shock.

  “He would shower and get dressed every morning and leave for work the same way he always had. Except then, without us suspecting a thing, he would drive to a Panera Bread three towns away and send résumés out from his laptop all day.”

  “For nine months? How was he hiding the fact he wasn’t making a salary all that time?”

  I stopped flipping cards and tugged at a piece of cuticle on my thumb.

  “He used my college savings. All of it. It was only when it ran out that he was forced to tell my mom. That was a red-letter day,” I said with a snort.

  “She had no suspicions at all?”

  “None. She handled all the finances for the Curl Up and Dye.” Graham smiled slightly upon hearing the salon name. Most people did. “It made sense for him to be the one in charge of all the household finances, so she wouldn’t be stuck with both. But even if she had studied the bank balance, it would have looked the way it always did because the college account was a totally separate one. Obviously, I found all of this out after the fact. The only thing I ever knew about our money situation before this was that we had plenty for me to be on the swim team and buy new shoes for school, but not enough to go to Disney every year. When I was old enough to work, I got paid to be the shampoo girl at the salon and that was my spending money. Talk about being in a bubble.” I snorted again.

  I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with someone who probably ranked on the Forbes Richest People in America list, but Graham made it possible to forget about that part of him completely. He wasn’t making a move to touch me, but his body leaned toward me and he gave every indication of listening intently.

  “Anyway, when he finally confessed, everything sort of hit the fan.” I picked the cards back up. “Well, that’s an understatement. Mom had been helping out on hair and makeup for this movie that was filming near us and the producer kept encouraging her to move to LA, so she decided it would be a chance to get a little space from everything. Except I’m not so sure she still thinks that. She and my dad have been talking.”

  Graham made a sympathetic noise in his throat, but didn’t add any commentary of his own. Somewhere he’d learned to be a really good listener. And I was turning out to be a pretty good talker, considering I’d never told anyone but Wynn about any of this. My other friends thought my dad was just staying behind until he got a job offer in California.

  I swiped at a stray tear that had escaped my eye. “I don’t even know how to feel about that. On the one hand, I don’t see a way to forgive him. But I miss him.”

  With that, I broke down. Graham slid swiftly across the bench to wrap me in his arms and I cried into his T-shirt, not even having the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it. I was vaguely aware of Mom’s voice asking what was going on, but Graham must have waved her off because I didn’t hear her again.

  We stayed like that for a long time. As we sped down a foreign highway in a foreign country, I felt protected and at home with this near stranger who somehow wasn’t a stranger at all anymore. He smoothed my hair and whispered that things would be okay, and I was so comforted that I fell asleep in his arms.

  When I woke, we were stuck in traffic amidst a cityscape. Mom was still tucked away in the back room and Roddy was busy trying to maneuver the huge beast through gridlock.

  Graham smiled at me as I picked my head up and looked around to get my bearings. When I remembered what landed me in his arms in the first place, I ducked my head in embarrassment.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t be,” he said, strangely intent. I tilted my face up to his to gauge his expression.

  It was a good one.

  He whispered, “Hey, so, I heard everything they said this morning and I don’t want to mess up my career. But . . . I don’t want to lose you either. Or this. Whatever it is.” He gave me something that was a cross between a smile and a grimace. “Would you . . . I mean, would it . . . would I be a total ass to ask you to stick with me, but behind the scenes? Until I can figure out how to fix things? You deserve someone who can give you more than that and I would totally get it if you—”

  Instead of answering, I shut him up with a kiss.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting this way,” Graham whispered into my neck, his arms circling me from behind. The heavy door leading to the empty stairwell had barely clicked shut.

  “Do we? Seems pretty perfect to me.” I spun to face him and brushed my lips against his. He gave a playful growl and eased me against the wall, where his hands ran down my sides.

  “Graham?” I asked, but the last syllable was cut off by his lips on mine. I melted into them for long minutes. Just at the point I was so breathless I could barely stand, he pulled back.

  “Mmm?”

  “Mmm, what?” I murmured, kissing along the stubble on his jaw.

  He sighed and captured my lips again. When he finally broke the kiss, he said, “God, you’re amazing. And I said ‘Mmm’ because you said ‘Graham,’ just before I did this . . .” Another deep kiss had my hands clutching the air beside me for the railing of the stairs. From Kiss One he’d had me, but holy hell, Kiss One Hundred and One was even better. I could officially die happy in a dark hotel stairwell somewhere in Barcelona. I nestled into his shoulder and thrilled at his arms around me.

  “I forget,” I whispered.

  “Good.” He nibbled on my earlobe and sent a shiver along my entire body. I twisted my hand around a chunk of his shirt and pulled him closer. He leaned his forehead against mine and we stood quietly for a moment before he asked, “Do you think we can con your mom, Melba, and Ellis into a Girls’ Night Out tonight? Not that secret rendezvous in hidden stairwells aren’t sexy and all, but I do have more comfortable accommodations at this place.”

  I shivered once again, this time at the suggestion. But then I remembe
red why Melba and my mother would not be getting sangrias together and why I’d said “Graham” moments before. Shit.

  “We can’t. You have to cheat on me, remember?”

  Graham’s face fell. “Damn. I think I blocked it out. You know I would never go if I didn’t have to . . .”

  “I know.” I snuggled into his chest and breathed in his fabric softener, but the spell had been broken. Like it or not, Graham had a date tonight. And not just a date. A hot date. As in, an actual former Miss Universe and current model with legs longer than the height chart on the back of my bedroom door at home. Everything about it sucked.

  Ever since that moment on the bus when I’d spilled my guts to Graham and he’d wrapped me up and let me bawl my eyes out, it was like something had shifted with us. We’d become a couple. Like, a real, honest-to-God couple. Even if we hadn’t said it yet.

  The “house arrest” Graham was placed on as soon as we’d arrived in Barcelona was supposed to give the news cycle a chance to move on to some other star’s bad facelift incident or marriage implosion. But stuck in the hotel in Barcelona for the last three days is not a bad place to be when you just want to spend every second with a guy you’re falling for and you really don’t care where you are anyway. We’d become completely inseparable.

  Except if Melba was around.

  Or Ellis.

  Well, okay, so maybe we weren’t exactly inseparable after all, but it felt that way. Roddy was cool and Mom knew about us, of course, and she was, surprisingly, all about aiding and abetting our secret romance. She said she thought Graham needed a little normal in his life, “the poor kid.” As for me, I think she was hoping I’d get so happy, I’d agree to see Dad. I wasn’t agreeing to that, but I was definitely embracing the “get so happy” part.

  Even if we didn’t get a ton of privacy, we still spent as much time as we could together. Mostly in Mom’s and my room, where we didn’t have to worry about disapproving handler looks. We watched badly dubbed movies on TV or played chess or Scrabble against each other on Graham’s iPad, sitting cross-legged on the floor between the beds. Or we’d talk. So much talking. I felt like Graham knew every last detail of every last day of my life, right down to what my dad packed for lunch on my first day of kindergarten (peanut butter and marshmallow, for the record).

  Luckily for us, the stairwells in the hotel were VERY private. So was the sauna. And the rooftop deck after-hours.

  I did sneak out one afternoon to tour Gaudí’s more famous landmarks with Mom, but even then I’d spent half of the time on the phone with Graham, describing what I was seeing, and after a few hours I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel.

  Basically, I had it bad. I’d woken up the last four mornings feeling normal and then I’d remember Graham and I’d get that same feeling you have when your alarm goes off, but then you remember it’s Saturday.

  Which was about the opposite of how I was feeling now.

  Graham tugged at a piece of my hair. “You know you can ride along in the follow car? You could probably even sit next to me at the screening, once the lights go down. I only have to be with her to walk the red carpet and at the after-party for the hour they let the press in. As soon as we’ve taken a few pictures, I’m sure she’ll want nothing to do with me.”

  I could just picture it now, me on one arm, Cover Girl on the other. It’s not like I had a looks complex or anything, but seriously.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been neglecting Mom most of this trip and she’s all excited to hang tonight. We’re going out for tapas.”

  Graham made his guilty face. “I’m sorry about that. You’ve been totally cooped up in here with me. Has it been horrible?”

  I teased, “Yes, horrible. I can’t believe how miserable it’s been. If I never see this stairwell again, it will be entirely too soon.”

  Graham rubbed his chin in pretend contemplation. “Just for the sake of scientific accuracy, which part has been the most horrible? Was it this?” He used one hand to lift my hair from my neck before tipping his head down and brushing his lips against the bare skin. My knees buckled and he grinned wickedly as he noticed.

  “Interesting. Of course, there’s always this. I’ve been told it’s truly the worst.” He took my hand in his and twisted it so that my wrist faced out. He put his lips against my skin. When my breath caught on an exhale, he chuckled.

  Ha! No way he was winning this one. I tucked my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rotated us so that he was against the wall. Pressing up against him, I whispered in his ear, “Actually, the most horrible part has definitely been this . . .” I ignored his groan as I pressed up against him and planted a kiss on his lips.

  An hour later, when we could both breathe evenly again, we were alone once more, this time in an elevator. I was trying to adjust the bow tie I’d inexpertly tied around Graham’s neck so I could send him off looking like freaking James Bond in a tuxedo on his date with a supermodel. For his part, Graham was being very uncooperative, capturing my hands so he could get yet another kiss in. I can’t say I fought him too hard. Just being close to him made my insides feel like I’d just gulped hot chocolate and it was spreading through my rib cage.

  “I’ll miss you,” he whispered in my ear, releasing me at the exact second the elevator doors opened with a ding. Melba stepped on with a clipboard against her chest and an official-looking badge swinging from her neck. Her hair was in an elaborate updo that looked too fancy for the plain black business suit she wore.

  “Just checked on the limo—it’ll be outside in five.” She didn’t bother to acknowledge me. Instead she strode to Graham, tugged apart the bow tie I’d spent three minutes (with Graham’s face scrumptiously close to mine) trying to tie. In two seconds flat, she had it perfectly looped, pulled tight, and wiggled straight.

  “Annie, could you send your mom up for a quick spot of hair gel? Nothing too obvious, tell her, but we definitely want our boy extra camera-ready tonight.”

  She pressed the button for my floor, then tugged Graham off the elevator. Her words to him followed me as the doors closed. “The press is double the usual since you’ve been so sequestered. Expect lots of questions on the red carpet. Do you remember the answers Ellis gave you to say?”

  Mom and I returned to meet the little group in Graham’s suite, then we all made our way together to the lobby, where the model and the limo waited. I was hoping one would be inside the other, but six-foot-something of raven-haired va-va-voom was standing by the coffee bar when we stepped off the elevator. To his credit, Graham resisted the double take the rest of us did. What happened to “It’s all airbrushing”? No one should be allowed to look like her in real life.

  Melba made introductions while Mom and I hung off to the side.

  “Graham, this is Brigitte.”

  Ex–Miss Universe smiled. Check that. She smiled nervously. Were people who looked like her even allowed to get nervous? I both loved and hated Graham for the warmth of his welcome and the way he put her instantly at ease. Within seconds he had her laughing. Part of me wanted to share a smile with her and say, “Can you see why I am so obsessed with him?” and an equal part of me wanted to scream, “God, please don’t notice how lovable he is. Plus, he has an enormous fourth toe. It’s seriously gross. Run away!”

  The group made their way through the door, and, to his credit, my last glimpse of Graham was of him turning back to mouth “I miss you already” to me, as he disappeared into the limo behind a whole lot of sequins and dazzle. I hugged his oversize sweatshirt close around me and breathed in his smell. At least the guy knew enough not to wear Teen Spirit.

  Most girls are blissfully oblivious when the guy they’re dating is out with another girl. If they find out afterward, it might be from a tagged Facebook picture or a phone call from a classmate. I can say with fair certainty that said date probably does not have its own Twitter has
htag.

  #GrahamandBrigitte sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I . . . Okay, fine, there was no evidence of kissing, but the Instagram shot of his hand on her back as he steered her down the red carpet did not help the tapas and paella pass over the acid taste in my mouth.

  #WelcomeToBarcelona

  At least when Mom and I got back from dinner and our walk around a few piazzas, I had Wynn on Skype to keep me sane.

  “Literally no way anything would ever happen. Graham is yours. Besides, their celebrity couple name sucks.”

  “What is a celebrity couple name?”

  I didn’t have to glance at the computer screen to know Wynn was rolling her eyes at me. “It’s a good thing the part Graham likes best about you is how outside of showbiz you are. You know. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes were TomKat. Brad and Angelina, Brangelina. Kimye: Kim plus Kanye? So Brigitte and Graham? Brigham. That’s like a bridge or something. Totally not cute.”

  “Wait, so what would Graham and I be? Theoretically, I mean.”

  Wynn looked down at her keyboard. “Right. Well, okay, so it’s not exactly super-sexy or anything, but, uh, I think it’s way cute.”

  “Wynn,” I threatened.

  “So, um, the only one I could get to approximate a real word is, uh . . . well. Grannie. But that’s so cuuuuuute, right?”

  I groaned. Great. Not only was my boyfriend on a date with a size-two model but our couple name had all the sizzle of orthopedic shoes. Just stab me with some knitting needles.

  Of course, nothing happened on their date. I didn’t actually expect it would. All night long, my cell phone buzzed with constant text updates from Graham.

  Had to walk on tiptoes along red crpet. This chick is TALL. (Have I told U UR the perfect height?)

  Guy in seat in front of me’s snoring. Such a wet blanket. Sorry. Triton humor. Wish U were here.

  Brigitte’s boyfriend just snuck in. He’s like 85. Srsly. And has bad breath. Missing you.

  Don’t infer anything from last 2 sentences. Those things aren’t linked in any way. You have snowflake breath.