“Your headache is about to get a whole lot worse,” I commented as I scooted my phone over to him. It was already open to the latest from gossip guru, Miles O'Rourke, whose news hounds had sniffed out some of Eli’s after-hours escapades the night before. He had been photographed going into one of the West L.A. apartment buildings where one of his exes lived, an older actress whose relationship with Eli had been well-publicized thanks to the differences in their ages. It was ridiculous, because she was only about seven years older. But that was the media. They were endlessly fascinated by anyone who would think an aging actress was attractive. It turned them all into virtual bloodhounds to sniff out any clue, verifying this anomaly. As a result, there was a time-stamp on the photo of Eli leaving a few hours later, with his clothes askew.
“IS THE HONEYMOON OVER?” the headline asked. The body of the article wasn’t much better.
“Pop star Eli Blake was seen making a late night visit to the penthouse of Olivia Guest, his notable ex. Sources tell me that there might have been a kerfuffle at FFF, the plus-size club where Eli and his new big-girl girlfriend, Carly Reynolds, were said to have spent their first Valentine’s Day. He was making time with some girls on the dance floor, which sent Carly into the arms of Caz Bixby, L.A.’s most eligible gigolo. This apparently made for an awkward car ride home. According to these time-stamped photos, home is where Eli left his new lady love, before taking off to lick his wounds with his svelte ex. Trouble in paradise? Or is the house of cards finally unraveling? It would seem a picture really is worth a thousand words.”
“What the fuckety fuck?” he muttered, before thrusting the phone away.
“Oh, nothing much. Just you, not being at fault for anything,” I said as I poured him a glass of the dark, thick, putrid liquid. He glared at me before he grabbed the drink to take a defiant sip.
One sip was all it took to send him running for the bathroom. I dumped out the rest of my hangover cure, which was basically anything gross I could fit into a blender, out into the sink. “Cheat on me again, motherfucker,” I grinned to myself.
Frank, however, was far less entertained. He bellowed at both of us through the phone, threatening me with an interview to sell our bogus relationship to the masses.
“Hey, it’s not my fault he can’t keep it in his pants,” I said. “If we neutered him like I suggested we wouldn’t be in this fix right now.”
“You’re such a bitch,” Eli mumbled, still nursing his hangover.
“Aw, I love you too, sugar dumplin’.’”
Frank, however, was over both of us. “I don’t care whose fault it is!” he yelled. “Fix it!”
Unfortunately for me, Eli had a plan to do exactly that. “We need to have a party here at the house. So people can see how crazy you still are for me.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t that good of an actress.”
“Who says you’ll be acting?” he wanted to know.
How I wanted to punch him when he said things like that. And I wasn’t a violent person. I couldn’t even kill bugs, preferring instead to relocate them with the gentle use of tissue paper. Yet one smart remark from Eli and it was like I was starring in my own Quentin Tarrantino movie.
“The Oscars are coming up in a couple of weeks,” he reminded, as if I had forgotten. Eli had helped write one of the songs nominated for an award, and it had been the talk of the office for months. For a guy who normally made pop tunes, his first serious ballad was slated to establish him as a true composer, and everyone knew it. Including me.
“We can do a big party before the ceremony, then, after I win, we can take a trip somewhere to celebrate. This will all blow over by the time we get back.”
His arrogance was staggering. “You have it all figured out, don’t you?”
“Usually,” he commented, before he got on the phone to work his magic.
As it turned out, my best buddy Clementine ended up being his one-stop shop for all things awesome. He called her to get the names of her party planner and her caterer, and she decided to fill the gap FFF had left between Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day with hosting the pre-awards party for us herself.
She was in the house more than usual, and thick as thieves with Eli, who hung on every word she said. I no longer thought that he was being nice to her for fear of his manhood, which I had threatened to sever with a twig trimmer if he mistreated her. He had come to respect Clementine in ways that surprised even me. He hugged her freely and even flirted with her, treating her with every bit as much consideration as he did any other woman he considered worthy of his time and respect. He hired the caterers she suggested, a family full of transplants from Texas. The two couples behind Bravo Catering were all too happy to bring a little Tex-Mex to the party, their mixed heritage adding a little authenticity to the shindig.
The party came together with very little input from me, which I preferred. I had enough on my plate trying to figure out what I was going to wear to the awards ceremony itself. At first this didn’t seem like such a big deal. I mean, it was a dress, right? But between Frank, Eli and especially Clementine, I realized exactly how much attention would be on me at this particular event. No one, especially Miles O’Rourke, expected me to step into the role of Eli’s arm candy where it mattered—in front of a camera. Posing. On purpose. Like I was somebody.
While I certainly wasn’t a ‘somebody,’ I was no longer a safe, anonymous nobody either. Miles dedicated an entire web segment on what I might be wearing, though it became very clear very quickly that he thought I was a bumpkin that would never fit in. To prove this point, he used a cropped picture of me, which he edited with photo software to stuff my bigger body inside tiny designer haute couture, ending every single one with me getting tackled.
Har, har.
“They all expect you to be the joke,” Clem told me one afternoon. “If ever you wanted the opportunity to change the conversation on size and fashion and being treated the same as everyone else… this is it.”
Granted I didn’t have a whole lot of designers clamoring for me to wear their designs on the red carpet. But even if I did, I would have turned them all down in favor of Darcy Masters. She had been the first person I called when I realized that going with Eli to such events was going to be part of my new “job.”
As a result, I spent the next ten days going back and forth to downtown Los Angeles for fittings and consultations. I needed two spectacular dresses, one for the awards ceremony/red carpet, and one for our party.
The boot I still wore for my foot presented some challenges with these fittings. Though the doctor expected I could abandon the boot entirely by the awards show, heels were out of the question. Darcy was undaunted as she put together look after look for me to try. This was a chance for some of her expanded sizes (she refused to call them “plus”,) to end up on a major red carpet at a significant event, and she was just as dedicated as I was ensuring it wasn’t treated as some “joke.”
I even refused for Eli to see either of my final choices, which he found particularly amusing. “It’s not like we’re getting married. Yet,” he added with that punchable smile.
“There’s not enough money in the world for that,” I assured him.
“Why not?” he shot back. “We already fight non-stop, we never fuck, and yet still make appearances for everyone else like we’re happy and in love. Sounds like marriage to me.”
“Aw, so romantic. How could any woman say no to a proposal like that?”
He popped an apple in his mouth. “I have no idea,” he said as he munched away, his mouth full of food.
As much as I hated to admit it, he wasn’t far wrong. We lived very much like an old married couple. We ate together, watched TV together; we even still slept together, despite that by mid-February I was much more mobile. After Eli’s Valentine’s Day blunder, neither of us wanted to risk rumors that we were sleeping in separate rooms, which would be pretty obvious now to the paparazzi who stalked us. We never went to the u
pstairs bedrooms at night, so any lights going on or off would be a dead giveaway.
At least… that was Eli’s argument.
After seeing all the photos they managed to sneak of us on or around the property, I could hardly disagree. Eli’s room had the blackout curtains, which offered some privacy. The only other room with such painstaking precautions taken was the purple princess room upstairs that I had stumbled upon when I went to the gym one afternoon to work on the treadmill.
Eli’s house had five bedrooms in all. There was the master suite on the main level, which Eli had claimed. Two of the four upstairs had been converted, one to a studio and one to a gym with an amazing ocean view. The other was a guest room, which I had hoped would one day be my quarters, as soon as PING found something new to talk about.
The last room was a purple paradise, with lavender walls and a four poster, canopy bed that included tiny little purple lights in the dark purple gauzy material that hung all around it like a cloud. The furniture was mostly white, with dozens of book shelves filled with books, framed photos and stuffed animals.
At first the room had taken me aback, it was so out of character with the rest of Eli’s lair. It looked, for lack of a better term, “normal.” Kind of like a set from some family-friendly TV drama written for teens. Upon closer inspection of the photos, however, I realized that the room clearly belonged to someone in particular.
This was Eli’s sister’s room.
Gabrielle Huntington was much, much younger than Eli. She was born to Eli’s mother and her second husband the year Eli turned eighteen. But it was clear that Eli was both incredibly smitten with her and extraordinarily protective of her. He did everything he could to prevent her being photographed for the public and staunchly refused to take her to events that would make her identity known. Since she and her folks lived in Colorado, she had a pretty normal life away from the spotlight. That was how Eli wanted to keep it, hence why this sanctuary came with its own blackout drapes.
Just between you and me, I spent more than one afternoon in that bedroom. It nearly melted my brain trying to reconcile the smiling guy in the candid photographs with the smirking asshole I had always known. Whether he was carrying her on his shoulders in the ocean, or dressed in a wig and makeup for a tea party with her fort of stuffed animals, clearly Gabby brought out something human in Eli.
Obviously she really was the fairy princess her purple room suggested she’d be.
As time sped towards our debut party, I had my own fairy godmother to deal with. With Clem’s help, I finally settled on two dresses. Both were elegant formal wear, but the one for the red carpet actually looked like it belonged on a red carpet.
The one for the party was a tad more casual, with a vibrant purple print skirt and an off-shoulder black bodice. She put my hair in an up do’, while giving me a dramatic purple makeup fit for any glamorous occasion. When I went downstairs and the devastatingly handsome caterer, Mateo Bravo, swept a warm, appreciative glance over me, I knew we had hit the bulls’ eye.
Eli, who wore black on black with a matching purple pocket square for his tuxedo, swept me into a hug. “Now that was worth the wait,” he murmured, if only for the cooking staff to hear. I let him kiss me, deep and slow.
After that, we had nothing to do but wait for the guests. We had invited everyone, from media mogul Graham Baxter and his main squeeze, Maggie, to Julie, the mail clerk/executive assistant stand-in at Frank’s office.
Eli treated both with the same kind of respect, but I knew that was mostly because he had an agenda as far as Julie was concerned. He had been trying to get into her size-2 pants since the day I met him.
He walked her through the hallway towards the living room which had begun to fill with all kinds of important people. He linked her arm in his, leaning into her with that charming smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever been to my house before,” he murmured, and she blushed.
I tried not to vomit as I trailed behind.
She shook her head and he made it a point to talk about the designer wallpaper on the wall, or the polished wood beneath our feet. “That’s lapacho,” he said, and watched to see her fawn appropriately. “I thought about going with a Brazilian walnut, but this was just a tad lighter, and look,” he said, pointing to the polished wood under the light. “See how it catches all the green from the wallpaper?”
It made me think of the very first time I set foot in his house, and how he had forgotten I was there. He didn’t brag or try to impress. Why would he? He never wanted to get into my pants, and it filtered throughout everything he said or did.
Yet he thought I should be ever so grateful when he decided he wanted to fuck me, just because it was convenient now.
By the time we reached the living room, Eli remembered suddenly that I, in fact, was his date for the evening, and took his place beside me. I still fumed, of course. He was every bit the jerk I always thought he was, and nights like this offered another window into that.
Had I really been taken in by a stupid purple room? Pfft.
I might not have cheered up at all had Clem not showed up with her handsome date on her arm, one Caz Bixby. I noted how his gaze scanned the joint until it finally came to rest on me, which resulted in a bigger smile.
I smiled back.
Whether this guy was gunning for another “customer” or not was irrelevant. He saw me because it was his job to see me. He knew how to spot the hungriest woman in the joint, and he knew how to satiate that hunger in such a way she’d always call him back, and call him first, if she needed to remember that she was sexy and important. I knew it wasn’t a happily ever after, wine and roses kind of romance, but if I ever got in between the sheets with someone like Caz, at least he would know what to do with me.
After four months, two of which I had spent with Eli Blake of all people, that sounded pretty damned good to me.
My smile widened as they approached, mostly because I knew it took a little wind out of Eli’s sails.
“The party looks like it’s a huge success,” Clem complimented Eli as they reached us. “You should be very proud.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, and for once I knew he meant it.
“True story,” she grinned, which made us all laugh. “This is my other boss, Caz Bixby.”
Eli shook his hand, though I knew it killed him to do so. “We met before,” he told her, his eyes locking with Eli’s in instant defiance. “On Valentine’s Day.” Eli’s jaw clenched but he didn’t say anything, so Caz filled the silence.
“My Clementine is a firecracker,” Caz smiled as he cuddled her close. “A wiz at everything she does. Which is why I can say congrats on your fab party, but I’m glad to have her back at the ranch come Monday morning.”
“I figured you didn’t mind sharing,” Eli commented coolly.
“Not at all,” Caz replied as his gaze fell on me. “When you have a good thing, why be selfish?” He reached for my hand, which he made it a point to kiss as he bowed.
“My Texas Rose… or is that a blue bonnet?”
I laughed. “Just Carly.”
“Oh, no,” Caz corrected, spinning me around to appraise me in my fancy duds. “You couldn’t be ‘just Carly’ if you tried.” He turned back to Eli. “You don’t mind if I borrow your best girl for a dance, do you, brother?”
Eli stepped closer to Clem. “Not if you don’t mind returning the favor.”
The twinkle in Caz’s eyes brightened. “Of course not. We’re all friends here. Right?” He spun me away towards the makeshift dance floor.
“You are incorrigible,” I told him with a chuckle.
“I idle at incorrigible,” he grinned. “Wait till you see me revved up and up to absolutely no good.”
“I haven’t seen that yet?” I teased.
“Nope, but you could. You still have my card, right?”
“I do,” I admitted. “Was thinking maybe it is time to hire a trainer for some physical therapy.”
<
br /> He laughed. “Well, I see you are already up on your feet. What other positions might you be interested in?”
He was completely irrepressible. Yet somehow I liked it. Why should Julie be the only one with an admirer? “I haven’t given it much thought. I figured my trainer would know what is best for me.”
He squeezed me tighter, using a commanding embrace as his reply. “Smart girl. I knew I liked you, sunshine.”
I tipped my head back and laughed, catching sight of Eli across the room as I did so. He wasn’t pleased, but why would he be? I was breaking the rules. He got to flirt with the likes of Julie, but I had a part to play.
Granted I was the only one who was getting paid to keep up the farce. But after the last several weeks I felt like it was my turn to have a good time. I danced. I laughed. I flirted.
I got to be Carly again, if only for a few hours. It was fucking fantastic.
In fact, everyone had a great time. The party raged on into the night, finally dispersing around one-thirty. The next day was the biggest day in Hollywood, and no one wanted to carry bags under their eyes as they walked one of the most important red carpets of the year.
I took over the bathroom first, converting back into a pumpkin with some makeup remover, a facial scrub and a hot shower. I went in looking like a runway model. I walked out in my comfy PJs, my face scrubbed clean and my hair combed in long damp tendrils around my shoulders.
I passed by Eli, who had stripped out of his jacket and had opened his shirt down to the third button. “Bathroom is ready for you, dear,” I smiled.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me close, inspecting my face, searching for some kind of clue. “Enjoy your shower, honey?”
I smiled wider then. “Immensely. That third setting on the showerhead. I mean, wow!”
He just clutched me tighter, his eyes like jagged pieces of ice as he stared down at me.
“Problem?” I finally asked.
“How the fuck are you going to flirt with that asshole right in front of everyone?”
Glitter on the Web Page 14