Sweet Muse

by Ava Cummings

  “Good. We’re done here, then.” Bernie turns to her phone and starts dialing.

  As I walk back to my desk, I feel like I’m becoming a member of a club that I’m not sure I want to join.

  “You always take me to the best parties!” says Cari, over the din of the pulsating music at the Sugarlicious Shaggy premiere party. She raises her glass and we toast.

  “To us,” I say, leaning in to give her a hug, remembering our instantaneous bond in third grade when we discovered we were both left-handed and had the same birthday. “I needed a good girl’s night out.”

  As she says it back, I give her slim shoulders a squeeze and mutter a quiet thanks.

  “I know I say this all the time, but I couldn’t have moved to New York without a push from you.” I tell her again how I had poured so much energy into my vision of it over the years, that I figured it could never be what I had built it up to be—my savior, my future, the place where I would become the real me. Part of me wanted to keep it a dream forever—a beautiful, perfect place I could escape to in my mind.

  “‘Carpe diem, honey,’” Cari says, recounting her words to me that day, “‘You’re coming with me.’”

  “I hope it was the right move,” I say, part of me wanting to pack it in, give up, walk away. Maybe my mom was right, and I’m not cut out for this place.

  She puts her drink down, and opens her hand in front of my face, like she’s motioning for me to open my eyes.

  “Now. Here. New York. It’s about you. Put you first, for once. For the first time. It’s normal to make some bad decisions. But you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Give yourself a break and focus on you. Your needs. Who is Anna? What does she want? It’s your time now.”

  I start to feel moisture behind my eyelids and a pressure growing in my chest. Just like that, Cari tapped a well of emotions. My whole body could shudder with an enormous sob if I were to let it escape.

  “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know who I am,” I say, telling her what she already knows. She listens patiently as I talk for the zillionth time about how I’m scared of everything: of getting hurt, opening up, of facing all the messed-up emotions left in the wake of my dad’s departure. Sometimes, I feel like half of me walked out the door the day he left. The klutziness, the nerves—maybe that’s where they come from? My father’s a mystery; I know I have parts of him in me, but I don’t know which parts.

  Closing my eyes, I swallow the lump in my throat and take a deep breath, tucking the emotions back into the box from which they were released.

  “I want to know what it feels like to be in love. Real love, big love,” I say, flashing my hand in Cari’s face, like she did mine, but when I do it, it feels more like I’m waving a magic wand. “I have a hole in my heart, and I want to fill it in; find a man that will love me as I am, with all the good and bad. There, I said it out loud. That’s what I want.”

  “Listen, honey, I don’t want to sound like your mom, but maybe you’re not finding love because you’re not open to it,” she says. “You’re attracting guys who are good for sex but not for love, because there’s something in you that’s not ready.”

  Damien zooms front and center in my jumbled thoughts. I keep trying to push him, and that night, to the back. But he’s embedded in my brain and I can’t get him out. He keeps bubbling up, at odd times, in weird places. Those moments we had together come to me in the shower, in the morning meeting, like flashes. I toss my head to shake him off.

  “You’re right,” I manage to say. “In time.” And then I add, “I love you, sweetie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Me, too,” she says, and we hug again.

  The DJ starts playing “Better Off Alone.” We look at each other, fall over laughing, jump up onto the banquette, and start dancing like crazy, as Cari belts,

  “Do you think you’re better off alone?

  Do you think you’re better off alone?”

  I close my eyes and let the beat move me and the lyrics wash over me, as I process my thoughts, along with Cari’s words of wisdom. To love, I need to let love in. Opening up, making myself vulnerable—that’s the hard part.

  When I open my eyes, I lazily look over to Melvin Myers. I spot him in an embrace with…Keller Folsom. Frantically, I pull out my camera.

  “Cari, let me get a few snaps of you at the party.” I use her as my cover, pointing the camera at her but then moving it to the right and snapping shots of Keller Folsom and Melvin Myers in a close conversation, Keller Folsom with his hand on Melvin Myers’s neck. My hands shake with nerves, and I pray the shots aren’t blurry.

  Quickly, I stash my camera back in my bag and tell Cari.

  “I just saw Melvin Myers embracing Keller Folsom. I missed the embrace, but I got them touching each other, with Keller’s hand on Melvin’s neck. This could be huge! Hollywood’s latest leading man is not only gay, but in a relationship with Keller Folsom. Crazy!”

  “Did you use me as your cover?” she says with just a touch of attitude.

  “Maybe?” I say, cringing. God, I’m becoming one of them. “Blame it on Bernie. She made me do it. I had no choice! You know how she gets.”

  “Don’t lose yourself in that place, okay?”

  As I feel for the camera tucked safely in my bag, I know she’s right. But where’s the line between pursuing your career and holding onto your values?

  Cari pokes me. “That guy is totally checking you out,” she says, as she looks over at a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed creature in a suit, sipping Scotch with a feral intensity on the banquette across from us. When I look over, we make eye contact. I feel an electric pulse fire between us.

  “Who is he?” I say, turning to Cari.

  “I don’t know, but he’s heading over here right this second,” she says.

  “Alec Conrad,” says a voice behind me. I turn my head and look up at him, into piercing ice blue eyes.

  “Hi. Anna…Anna Starr,” I manage to force out.

  “Can I sit?” he says, pointing to a spot next to me.

  “Sure.” I smile, covertly swiping the sweat off my forehead as I make a fake play at fixing my hair.

  “When we made eye contact,” he says, with a devastating half smile. “I felt something. I know this is sounding like a bad pickup line, but I had to come and say hi.”

  I feel a flush of heat of embarrassment bloom in my cheeks, finding it hard to believe that this guy likes me. I try to recover with something witty. “Well, if you ended up being a stalker, I could dig up all kinds of dirt on you, and it could get ugly fast.” Cringe. I don’t think that came off the way I intended. “I’m a reporter,” I try to explain, backtracking, “we’re good at that kind of thing.”

  He smiles and nods as if evaluating me. “And which publication gets to be the lucky beneficiary of your tracking talents?”

  “Celeb,” I say, giving him the rundown of what it’s like to work for Bernie.

  He nods again, as if taking mental notes and then fires off another question. “What’d you think of Sugarlicious Shaggy?”

  “Actually…I haven’t seen it yet,” I say sheepishly. I hadn’t had time to go to the screening before the party. Bernie had kept me at the office updating the writers’ database. “Just covering the event for the magazine. You?”

  “Me, neither.” We both look at each other and laugh. “It’ll be our little secret,” he says.

  He tells me he’s a money guy and works for Goldman Sachs.

  “Not glamorous,” he says.

  “But it certainly pays better.”

  “This is going to sound corny, but I actually love what I do,” he says. “You’ve got to do what moves you, feeds your mind. Otherwise, it’s all just too hard.”

  His comment hits me in the pit of my stomach. After tonight in particular, I’m not sure the celebrity news business is for me. Taking people down to sell magazines makes me feel awful…and guilty. Maybe I am just a wholesome girl at heart, eve
n though I’ve been running from it my entire life.

  “Wise words, Alec Conrad, wise words,” I say, nodding my head, taking in this handsome creature, who simply oozes masculinity from every inch of his body. “So, what do you love about your job? What about it feeds your mind? Making a killing in the market so you can retire before the age of thirty with millions in the bank?”

  “It’s not about the money,” he says, explaining that he does financial predictive modeling, using data to decide which stocks will perform and how well. “I love the numbers part of it, because I’m wired that way. And playing with data to predict the future is, well, pretty fucking cool.”

  “That is cool,” I say. As I nod my head, I spot Alec looking over at his friends across the way. I’m enjoying talking to him and don’t want him to leave just yet.

  “Listen, I’m out with my buddies tonight. One of them is the producer’s investment manager; that’s how we got in, in case you were wondering,” he adds teasingly. “But they want to move on to a new place.”

  “Let me guess, strip club,” I say.

  “I think you might be right,” he says, eyes cast down like he’s been caught, acknowledging that we all know Wall Streeters frequent them, “although I have no interest.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s what they all say.”

  “Seriously. This kind of thing,” he says, motioning up and down with his hands, “the fake boobs, fake tan, fake everything, doesn’t turn me on.”

  “What does?” I ask boldly, the cosmo loosening my tongue a tinge.

  He leans in and looks me directly in the eyes, unblinking, and without missing a beat says, “You’ll have to go out on a date with me to even begin to find out.”

  I think back to what Cari said about opening myself up, letting someone in. And then love will come. The right person will be there.

  “Well, if you’re so good at predicting the future, what’s my answer?”

  He leans in with a sexy half smile and says quietly, “Looking at the probability distribution, I’d say there’s a 95 percent chance you’ll say yes.”

  “You’re good,” I say, smiling. He’s like a sexy nerd, and I find his smarts are just as engaging as the rest of him.

  “Then, it’s a deal,” he says with a look of satisfaction, as if he’s banked another winner. “It’s been amazing meeting you, Celeb stalker-reporter Anna Starr.”

  “And you, too, Mr. All-Powerful Future Predictor.”

  “I’m so glad my cheesy pickup line worked,” he says, as he winks, gets up, and walks out with his buddies.

  I turn to Cari to say that she was right. I just needed to open myself up.

  And then I realize that he didn’t get my number.

  The next day at the office, I work my way through a pile of mail for Bernie—invitations, press releases, more freebies. I categorize everything into must read, needs response, maybe interested, or recycle—always the biggest pile. When the phone rings, I pick it up lazily—for once, it’s my line, not Bernie’s.

  “Celeb, this is Anna Starr.”

  “Hi, Anna. It’s Alec.”

  I pause in a moment of confusion.

  “Alec Conrad. From last night,” he says, filling up my awkward silence.

  “How’d you get my number?”

  “Well, I do have an MBA and a PhD…they come in handy sometimes. Especially when dialing 411 to track down the main number for Celeb,” he teases.

  “Ha-ha,” I say.

  “Listen, I can’t talk long, but I want to take you out. On a date. Dinner and a movie.”

  A real guy, with a great job, wants to take me on a real date. I had lost hope that it would ever happen. “Dinner and a movie. How old-fashioned,” I say, my heart soaring.

  “How about Thursday? I’ll pick you up at your office after work. Around 7.”

  “Anna, I need you now!” Bernie yells from her office.

  “Sure, sounds perfect. Gotta go,” I say, throwing the phone down and running to Bernie’s office.

  She’s standing at her desk with Brendan, looking over my pictures from last night. I had dropped off my camera to Brendan first thing in the morning and sent my reporting file to both of them. I’d been surprised when neither Laura nor Bernie ran through it at the morning meeting.

  “We’ve got to talk,” says Bernie.

  “Okay,” I say, sweat from my palms dampening the print-out of the papers in my hands.

  “Now, tell me again what you saw.”

  “I saw Keller Folsom and Melvin Myers in an embrace. I quickly got the camera out and got that shot with Keller’s palm at the back of Melvin Myers’s neck. It’s all in the file, every detail.”

  “But what you failed to do is get the money shot. If we had the actual embrace we’d be golden, but this picture…” She throws it to the side with a look of disgust.

  “Easy, Bernie, it was her first time out,” says Brendan.

  “It doesn’t tell enough. They could just be in a deep discussion. Myers’s people will come after me if we go with it, and I can’t take that risk right now, with Sugarlicious doing so well.”

  “Bernie, let’s just keep trying, and we’ll get him. Put the West Coast bureau on it; we’ll dig something up in the next couple of weeks. We always do. And no one else has this tip. We’ll own the story,” says Brendan.

  Bernie says nothing. Beat after beat of silence, and she just sits there, staring out the window. I feel the prickly heat from the hives breaking out on my neck.

  “Get me a double skim latte,” she barks, without looking at me.

  I turn and pad out of her office without making a sound.

  “Oh, and one of those chocolate-dipped graham crackers, too. Anna, did you hear me?”

  I turn and nod, and move to check my watch. It’s exactly 3:23 p.m., right on time. Every morning at 10:30 and every afternoon around 3:30, she asks me to get her a double skim latte at Starbucks. Brendan comes out moments later.

  “Hey, you did good last night. She knows it, too. That’s just Bernie being Bernie.”

  I nod.

  “Seriously. It may not be a story yet, but we’re onto something good. Bernie is just impatient. About everything.”

  Before treading my well-worn path to Starbucks, I ask, “Hey, just curious: Why didn’t we go through it at the meeting?”

  Brendan pauses, looks around, and then leans in. “No reason. Some things are more like…special projects. That’s all,” he says quietly.

  “Coffee! Now!” Bernie hollers from her desk.

  I grab a wad of petty cash. Brendan and I roll our eyes, as I mutter—softly, so Bernie doesn’t hear—“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho. Off to Starbucks I go.”

  10

  Starr-Crossed Lovers

  A gleaming black Lincoln Town Car pulls up to the curb, and Alec emerges from the back door, striding toward me with a smooth, confident gait. A lock of his black-brown hair falls in front of his cool blue eyes. He swipes his hand through it, moving the errant strands back into place. As he flashes me a seductive smile, I try to keep my eyes engaged with his and not inspect him like a side of prime beef.

  Well, hell, I slipped…my eyes rove down and I take him in—how his slim, ink-black suit hangs from broad, strong shoulders and well-cut dress pants gently outline athletic-looking thighs. Yum. He looks every inch the Wall Street financier. His self-assuredness casts a glow around him, like a force field of power. I don’t know if it’s nerves or lust or something else, but I want to fall under his spell.

  He walks up to me with his hands out. Grabbing both of mine and leaning in, he gives me a kiss on each cheek. Feeling his firm, warm lips pressed against my skin makes my stomach jump, a tight mix of pleasure and nerves.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, as he pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, taking me in.

  I smile, trying like crazy not to get self-conscious.

  “Great to see you again.”

  “You too.” Deep breaths. Keep breathing. Insec
urities waft in and out. My stomach clenches. I want to jam my fingers into my mouth.

  “Come,” he says, taking my hand and leading me. “We’re going to see Sugarlicious Shaggy. Since neither of us have, and we were both celebrating its premier the other night, I thought it would be…appropriate.” He raises an eyebrow just a little bit, as his mouth curves into a mischievous grin.

  His eyelids lower slightly as he looks me up and down. Feeling his gaze creates a surge of warmth that cascades through my body. “Then, I’m taking you to one of my favorite restaurants.”

  I try to play it cool, like I get picked up in town cars and whisked around the city all the time. I can’t think of what I’m supposed to say, so I just keep smiling.

  “It’s a surprise,” he says, holding his finger up and wagging it a little.

  As we walk to his car, he moves ahead and opens the door for me, escorting me safely in, before striding around to the other side. As the car takes off, shooting downtown, I feel so…so…taken care of.

  At the theater, Alec gets popcorn and Twizzlers, and as we settle into our seats, he takes hold of my hand, stroking the top and forearm with his fingers. It’s sensual and intimate. It feels like he knows what he’s doing. My skin responds with goose bumps and tingles, and I return the favor and glide my hand over his.

  I cozy up to his arm. His hand reaches down and grabs my thigh. He starts to caress it gently. My breath shortens and a rush of heat fills my body, making me dizzy. We turn and look at each other. A slow, simmering passion blazes in his eyes.

  He moves his hand back to mine and squeezes it, keeping it there, slowing us down.

  “Good things come to those who wait,” he whispers close to my ear, as his warm breath brushes my neck.