My Life as a Star_A Romantic Comedy

by Ruth Kaufman

  See you very soon,

  Your Frank.

  Well. Clearly my e-stalker isn’t done with me yet. As you may recall, I haven’t called Frank. He is crazy. He will drive me crazy. Frank has violated my personal comfort zone.

  I call Jake and leave a voice mail asking if he could start working more hours.

  The next day, when I take the L, I put my hair in a baseball cap and wear dark glasses to hide from fans, roving reporters and Frank. Jake called to say he was booked this morning. I’m determined not to let the side effects of fame intimidate me from going about my business.

  That doesn’t mean I won’t take wardrobe and other precautions. I lurk behind a billboard until the train comes to a stop. Before boarding, I poke my head inside the car and scan up and down to make sure Frank isn’t there.

  I’m glad I didn’t retract the police report, if you can even do such a thing. I wonder if the long interval between emails is part of Frank’s plan, if he’s trying to instill a false sense of confidence in his victim. Well, it’s working.

  Andrea and I are having lunch at the upscale food court on the seventh floor of what was once Marshall Field’s department store until Macy’s bought it. She seems tense as she relates her family’s latest escapades, upsetting to her, seemingly avoidable to me. She doesn’t mention Dan. I hope they aren’t having more marital problems. I can tell she doesn’t want advice, just a sympathetic ear.

  As we eat goat cheese salads amidst the echoing drone of fellow diners, I tell her what happened with DT and Frank.

  “I’m so sorry. How scary. You did the right thing, going to the police,” Andrea says. “I remember reading that Deidre Mann’s stalker got three years in prison.”

  “Yes. I read about her, too. Two to five is the maximum for aggravated cyberstalking under the statute. Is that enough? Can a stalker get help in that time, or when he gets out will he start contacting her again, or start in on a new quarry?”

  We have no answer.

  Next, I bring her up to date on Scott. The premiere. And what happened after. The telling hurts almost as much as the actual events.

  “Wow. Wow,” she says.

  “I hope there’s more. I was hoping for some consolation. And some advice on how to deal.” I set down my fork. My appetite flees as the pain of Scott losing trust in me resurfaces.

  “I’m sorry Scott didn’t understand you were just trying to help. We should get together more often. Your world is so different from mine, I don’t know what to say. Except living your life vicariously is a blast,” Andrea toasts me with her coffee cup. “I thank you for that. But I don’t know how you stand it day to day. Going from the ups to the downs. The uncertainties. The constant pressure.”

  Exactly how I feel about having to raise kids.

  We say our goodbyes. Minutes later, I’m strolling down State Street on my way to a quick cruise through TJ Maxx. Every so often, I sense a passer-by’s gaze on me. I think I catch a subtle smile. Does that woman recognize me? Is that one just admiring my coat? Having people know who you are is unsettling. I’d thought it would be rewarding. Would lift me above the masses to breathe the rarified air of the special.

  An all-too-familiar voice calls, “Marla!”

  A chill races up my spine. It’s Frank. How did he find me? I tell myself, we’re on a busy street, we’re on a busy street in the middle of the day.

  I ignore him.

  “Marla, honey! It’s me, Frank. Great to see you.” He catches up as I cross Washington.

  There are no cops in sight. What should I do? Run into a store? Hop on a bus? Scream?

  In my most stern tone, I tell him, “I told you never to contact me. I have nothing to say to you.”

  I may vomit. I hear Scott saying almost the same thing to me and STACEY saying it to AUDRA. Then I remember some stalker site saying never to talk to a stalker after saying “no.” I reach into my purse for my phone to dial 911.

  “MARLA,” Frank yells.

  Heads turn.

  Instinct makes me shrivel. I so do not want this in the tabloids. On the other hand, maybe I do. Maybe I can become the spokesperson for stricter anti-stalking laws and privacy rights for celebrities. But that might just put me more in the public eye, open to more stalkers who would resent my keeping them from their stalkees….

  I keep walking. My hand closes around my phone.

  “Marla.” Frank speaks quietly, as if he decided he doesn’t want to call attention to himself. “Wait a minute. We need to work things out.”

  Am I imagining his menacing tone?

  I turn right to go into Nordstrom Rack as I pull out my phone. Almost to the door….

  Frank grabs my right arm, hard. “Marla. You can’t ignore me. We’re going to talk. Right now. I’ve been so patient. Why won’t you admit you need me?”

  I can’t break free. Through my raincoat and shirt, his nails bite into my skin. My purse tumbles to the ground.

  “Let. Me. Go.”

  His grip tightens. “Why won’t you admit you want to be with me?” he asks, his tone miserable. “You know we belong together.”

  I open my mouth to scream. No sound comes out.

  “Marla. There you are.”

  Is that Scott’s voice behind me? I’m so freaked out I’m hallucinating.

  When I turn, Scott is standing next to me. He looks terrific in a black leather jacket. “Release her,” he orders, his voice calm but deeper than usual.

  He’s really here.

  “Make me,” Frank counters. His other hand squeezes my wrist.

  “I said let her go.” Scott steps closer, dwarfing Frank. Never have I seen him so imposing. “I will have you arrested.”

  Frank swings at Scott. And connects, hard, with his jaw. Scott reels from the impact and tumbles to the ground.

  Frank dashes away.

  Scott scrambles to his feet and lunges after Frank, but he’s disappeared into the crowd.

  We both stand for a minute, stunned.

  “I’m sorry he got away. Ow,” Scott says, stretching his mouth wide.

  A small, curious crowd has gathered. Most are holding up their phones.

  “Omigod, that man hit Scott Sampson!”

  “That man was grabbing Marla Goldberg!”

  “Maybe they’re filming a movie. Where are the cameras?”

  I lean close to Scott and lower my voice. “My hero. Are you ok? Maybe we should get you to a hospital.”

  His hand goes to his chin as he tests his jaw’s range of motion. “No, I’ll be fine. Nothing’s broken.” He glances at those around us, then whispers in my ear, “Are you okay?”

  I nod. “Just taken aback.”

  “I assume that was the chap who’s been sending you emails?”

  “Yes.” My teeth are chattering, though it’s not that cold. “He sent me another this morning, too. I need to call the police.”

  I pick up my purse and clutch it close. As I turn from the crowd, I dial 911 and tell them about the incident as best I can. “There. I feel a little better.”

  A plump woman with several Nordstrom Rack bags holds out a scrap of paper. “Excuse me, Mr. Sampson, may I please have your autograph?”

  He smiles graciously at the shopper. “Certainly.”

  I’m glad for the interruption because I’m still in shivery shock. My stalker accosted me in broad daylight and Scott Sampson appeared out of the blue to rescue me. Unbelievable, unless my life has become a soap opera.

  As thrilled as I am to be safe, and see Scott and have him talk to me, I feel a swell of longing for the days when my life was less complicated. Less momentous. When nobody knew who I was and I could go anywhere, do anything without being recognized.

  “Oh, Mr. Sampson. It’s such an honor to meet you. I’ve seen all your movies,” the woman gushes. I’m surprised drool doesn’t drip from her lips.

  “Thank you.” Scott signs with a flourish.

  “Aren’t you Marla Goldberg? Can I have your autograph, t
oo?”

  I sign beneath Scott’s name, but my hand shakes so the signature is almost illegible.

  “How can I thank you?” I ask Scott when the woman leaves. Several ways involving kisses and a bed come to mind. “And what are you doing here?”

  “I flew in for a lunch meeting. I may direct an episode of one of the Dick Wolf shows. My plane leaves in a couple of hours.”

  Meaning, “Glad I could help in the nick of time but I’m out of here because I still hate you,” or, “If you can seduce me I’ll take a later flight?”

  “No one walks in L.A.,” he continues. “It’s odd. I had a sudden urge to take a walk, and had my driver drop me off only a few minutes ago.”

  “Great timing.”

  And in more great timing, an officer arrives. Scott and I quickly fill him in, but since Frank has disappeared, there’s not much he can do. The officer departs amidst the dwindling crowd.

  Scott’s hair is slightly windblown, his eyes bright blue. His jaw has turned red. I drink in the sight of him.

  Drink, great idea. “Could I buy you a drink? I know it’s the middle of the day, but I could sure use one.”

  Scott’s quick frown says no, but he says, “Yes. I could use one, too.”

  My heart soars. At this rate, I will have a heart attack. Going from abject fear to sublime joy in the space of a few minutes can’t be healthy.

  Maybe, just maybe, Scott has gotten over his anger at me. Maybe Fate has brought us together so he’ll forgive me.

  “I know where we can go,” I say.

  Just a few steps away is the Hotel Burnham, where we secure a quiet table in their intimate Atwood Café, decorated with black wood furniture. He chooses the seat with his back to the other tables. At this hour, most of the lunch crowd has departed, but several groups of ladies linger over coffee.

  The waiter comes over. His eyebrows rise when he sees us but he simply asks for our drink order. I can’t help wondering if he’s going to rush to the kitchen and call a tabloid.

  “She’ll have an Absolut with cranberry and I’ll have a single malt Scotch. Make it a double.”

  Scott remembers what I like to drink. Sigh.

  “So how were the Bahamas?” I ask when the waiter leaves. Ever since I read that he’d gone there, I’ve been burning to know if he was alone or not. And I’m just not ready to address today’s incident or why he’s willing to talk to me.

  “I never went to the Bahamas. That’s the story I had Sheila tell them. They could look but never find me.”

  Interesting. It hadn’t occurred to me to feed the press fake stories. Why didn’t Sandie suggest that? I hate lying, but this is self-preservation.

  “Where did you go, then?” And with whom?

  “I told Sheila I was at my parents’ house in Sussex. But I stayed home for once. Home alone. No movie pun intended. My beach house in Malibu. I needed to get away from everything.”

  Because of me? Not.

  “Because of you,” he adds, his voice low.

  Now I’m hearing things. “What?”

  Naturally, our drinks choose that instant to arrive.

  I hold my breath and every muscle until the waiter leaves. “You were about to say?”

  “Nothing.” He takes a huge swig, then makes a face and works his jaw in a slow circle. “Am I black and blue?”

  “Not yet, but your face is red and swollen.” With my spoon, I scoop some ice from my water glass into a napkin and then wet it. I hand the napkin to him and he gently puts the cloth to his injury.

  “Thanks. Good idea.”

  “Scott, please. Will you tell me what you were going to say? Something brought us together again. I have to believe it was more than Frank the Stalker.”

  After another swallow, he shakes his head. “If only I hadn’t run into you. When I’m with you, I’m not myself. I want to tell you things I shouldn’t. Do things with you I shouldn’t. You make me feel—this is simply ridiculous. Why do I want you when I know I can’t trust you? That would make a great country song.

  “Common decency made me come to your aid when I saw you in trouble. But don’t think I’ve forgotten, or forgiven, what you’ve done.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I drink.

  Maybe we aren’t good for each other. He makes me feel good and bad about myself at the same time. No one should have that much power over another person. So why am I still so drawn to him? Because I haven’t found anyone else as interesting and attractive who treats me better, and even a few moments of romance and caring now and again are better than nothing?

  “Scott, for the record: I did not betray you. I just wanted to know more about you. Everybody Googles people these days. My sister investigates companies and people all the time. Due diligence is part of her job. So it’s not like I had to put forth much effort.”

  “But fortunately, you’re out of sight, out of mind,” he continues as if he hasn’t heard a word I’d said. “Back in L.A., I’m able to work again. I’m no longer distracted by thoughts of you.”

  My insides are in an uproar. It’s supremely strange to be talking with the world-famous director who has just taken a punch on my behalf about his mixed feelings for me. Thankfully I’m not in awe of him like when we first met and all I could do was gape. I’ve come to accept him for the man he is instead of putting him on a pedestal. Somehow that makes me want him even more.

  Which makes me brave enough to say what’s on my mind.

  “Maybe your work would be even better with someone you care about to share your ups and downs. Has it ever occurred to you that fighting against what you can’t help wanting might be what obstructs your muse when I’m around? That I’m not the distraction, your working so hard to forget me is?”

  “No, it hasn’t.” He takes in the restaurant, at the high ceilings, the tall windows with no curtains to block the view of passers-by. “But perhaps it should. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to you. Or why no other woman has interested me since we met. Or why I even tell you such things. You’re annoying. Nobody gets as much out of me as you do.” He slaps the table. “You see, there I go again. You’re truth serum in the flesh.”

  I swallow the laugh that threatens to burst forth, guessing he wouldn’t be amused by my humor at his expense. “I’m honored that you’re willing to talk to me and start to trust me again. Trust me with your thoughts. That means a lot.”

  Whether your words hurt me or not.

  “I won’t be the only one spilling my emotional guts. One of my favorite movie moments is from Excalibur. Nicol Williamson as Merlin talks to Gabriel Byrne as King Uther about one having given so the other is obliged to. Do you know it?”

  Another thing Scott and I have in common, applying movie moments to our everyday lives.

  “Of course. I’ve seen Excalibur at least a dozen times. King Uther gives up land.” I’m prepared to stall until Scott forgets what he asked me. I know almost the whole movie by heart. “And then the Duke of Cornwall says—”

  “Marla, tell me. How do you feel about me?”

  Chapter 21

  DT.bloggingplace.net

  Hey everybody! Check out these awesome pics of actress Marla Goldberg and me. For a cougar, she’s kinda hot.

  She took me to a bar. We came back to my place and…well, you get the idea.

  At least now I can check off my things to do before I’m 30 list: have a celebrity in my bed.

  Listen to Marla telling me, “We’d have a great time.”

  Now I’ve done it. I encouraged Scott to open up and he expects the same in return. My throat goes dry. I take a huge swallow of my vodka cranberry.

  Do I give him a detailed spiel or just the basics?

  His gaze pierces. The fact that he wants to know how I feel about him makes me hot. As in overheated. He’s as relaxed as James Bond in any movie portrayed by any actor.

  “I’m glad that I interest you. But not so glad your attraction to me makes you unhappy.”

  “Is that all?”
He looks offended.

  Of course not. But my churning stomach keeps my head from forming long sentences. “I want you.”

  Those three little words were very hard to say.

  “Is that all?”

  “To me ‘I want you’ is a big deal in any meaning. But I want you in all ways. To spend time with you, share things with you. I want cozy Sunday mornings reading the paper and drinking coffee together, then going to brunch. Binge watching on the couch.” To make love and hold each other all night. “But I’m afraid.”

  That last part wasn’t supposed to slip out.

  “Afraid? Of me? Why?” He leans closer, as if to catch every nuance of my reply.

  In for a penny…. “Not of you,” I whisper. “That I want too much from you. And of how I hurt when things go wrong between us. Like after the premiere. We’d spent such a great night together. Well, it was great for me, anyway. And then you saw that email from my sister, jumped to all the wrong conclusions, ordered me to leave and said we’d never speak again.

  “I can’t stop reliving that moment. I missed you despite everything. If we hadn’t run into each other, if Fate hadn’t intervened, I might never have been alone with you again. We might never have had this conversation. Because you were so quick to judge and wouldn’t listen.”

  Now that I’ve started I can’t seem to stop. And the end of my speech sounded a bit whiny.

  “Marla, I thought our night together was amazing, too. Waking up with you, holding you, felt so…right.” His smile is brief. “I wish I could be more eloquent. Seeing that email was a slap in the face. And it impacted me far more than Frank’s punch.”

  “I’m so, so sorry for that. I swear I honestly believed if I knew more about your past, I could examine your situation objectively and find a way to help that episode with Nina be less of a burden. We all let things weigh us down that others can easily see shouldn’t.”

  “Do we? What weighs you down? You don’t seem burdened to me. I can tell you’ve lost those extra pounds.”