“And the winner is…,” the presenter said, pausing dramatically for effect. “Eli Blake for “Never Too Far”! Co-producer was Warren Yen…”
The words all disappeared in a hum as I turned to Eli. He appeared stunned, as if he couldn’t believe they really called his name after all. He took my face in both of his hands, delivering a slow kiss in between gasps of, “Oh my God!” and “What the fuck?”
I laughed as I hugged him tight, clapping for him as he ran down the aisle to get the first award of his career. I felt my phone buzz in my purse and I knew that was Frank, blowing up my cell to tell the world his client was now an award-winning composer. I ignored it and focused on Eli, who had taken the stage.
“Wow. Thank you. So much. I really didn’t think I’d win. I mean, my God. Look at my category.” He went on to sing the praises of his co-nominees. “You know, I wrote this song for someone I love very much. I wanted her to know that I would be there for her, no matter what. It’s one of the only promises I’ve ever been able to keep. That she could love someone like me is the reason why. To my angel, you know who you are,” he said, blowing a kiss to the crowd.
Of course the camera panned towards me, assuming I was the muse for this particular song. But this was a song he had written way before he had met me, so I knew he wasn’t bullshitting about our relationship. He had written it for someone special, and meant every word. This was why he was able to sing it so convincingly and so poignantly.
It was a lot deeper than Big Girl/Big Heart or More than a Mouthful, and of course it only deepened the mystery of who Eli Blake really was. I wasn’t sure if anyone knew.
I didn’t care who won or lost after that, but we stayed till the bitter end anyway. After the broadcast was over, we slowly made our way back out to the waiting limos, which were poised to take us around town to the various parties we simply couldn’t miss.
When the door finally shut behind us, I turned to Eli. “Congratulations, Eli. I mean it.”
“Thanks,” he said, with yet another genuine smile. “I totally didn’t expect it.”
I cocked my head to one side. “Really? You seemed so convinced.”
He laughed. “Haven’t you ever played poker, Carly? In order to win, you always have to act like you’re holding pocket aces.” He looked down at his award in awe. “It was a little no-nothing of a song. I wasn’t even going to release it, but I needed filler for the first CD. I must have sold maybe a few hundred copies of that thing, and one of them ended up in the screenwriter’s hands. He loved it. Wanted to use it. And now this,” he murmured. “Life is funny.”
I wanted to point out that this was the kind of thing that he could have been doing all along if he hadn’t decided to plumb the depths of niche pop songs, but I kept that to myself. He was having a good night, and he really did deserve it. The song was good. His performance was brilliant. That kind of thing deserved to be rewarded, even if it was Eli.
“Everyone thinks it’s about me,” I commented casually. He merely shrugged.
“Probably best that way. No one needs to know who really inspired it.”
“So it was about a real person?”
His eyes met mine. “Of course. I’m not all fake, Carly.”
I had nothing to say to that, so instead I decided to enjoy the rest of our evening. We were in and out of so many different parties, meeting all kinds of famous and important people. I could barely keep up with it all. There were photos taken, which Eli uploaded to his social media. One of the most popular ones? His kissing me while holding Oscar, captioned, “Looks like I won two prizes. How’d I get so lucky?”
He was in such good spirits that I let him have his fun, but by three o’clock I was ready for bed. He was still raring to go by the time we reached the house in Malibu. He pulled me towards the patio. “Let’s go for a walk on the beach.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” I protested, but he was insistent.
“So? Come on. I never want this night to end.”
I sighed then and allowed him to grab a bottle of champagne and some glasses before we headed out onto his private beach.
Of course, it was supposed to be private but who knew how many of the PING vultures were lying in wait for their favorite subjects. Eli didn’t even seem to care about that. He walked us along the shore until we found a secluded little dune where he laid his tuxedo jacket out for us to sit upon. He assisted me first, then sat next to me. He poured us a glass of celebratory bubbly, before cuddling me to brace against the cool sea air as we toasted. “To destiny,” he offered.
“To Oscar,” I said, tapping my glass to his.
We drank. He stole another glance at me in the darkness. “I saw the playback, by the way. I know that the song made you cry.”
I rolled my eyes. This was where Eli turned back into Eli. “It’s a good song,” was all I said.
“You really think so?” he asked softly.
I nodded. “You put your heart into it. We could tell. That’s true success as a creator, Eli. I hope you can see that now.”
“I see a lot of things now,” he said as brushed my hair from my face. “And you’re right, OGWO,” he added with a smile. “It’s got to have heart in it.” He pulled me tighter and began to hum the song that he had been creating most recently. No words yet, just a melody, but I could tell where he was going with it. I could also tell that it might just blow “Never Too Far” right out of the water.
Which reminded me…
“Who is the other song for, Eli?”
He turned back to face me. “I wish I could tell you, but you have to pay the toll.”
“What toll?” I asked, peering at him suspiciously.
“A kiss,” he said softly.
“We kiss all the time,” I reminded.
“Do we?” he challenged. “Or do our lips just meet? It’s this physical thing, my mouth on yours, but does it ever mean anything?”
“What do you want it to mean?” I asked.
“What do we want any kiss to mean?” he repeated back. “That you want to kiss me. That you were proud to be there with me tonight, the girl on my arm. That you respect what I was able to do, and kind of liked it even if you hated yourself for it.” I mirrored his smile. “Kiss me because it’s a perfect night and all perfect nights end with kisses.”
I figured it out then that he was probably playing a part for any lingering paparazzi. Of course he was. He was still Eli deep down, someone who seized every opportunity that presented itself.
But he was right. It was a perfect night, and I was proud of him for his accomplishment, most notably that a song that meant something to him brought him closer to that worldwide acclaim he had been seeking. He got it by being himself, and there was nothing more honorable. So I cupped his cheek with my hand and leaned forward, kissing him softly on the mouth. It was one long sweet peck that he didn’t bother deepening. “Perfect,” he smiled as he pulled away. He rested his head on mine.
True to his word, he answered my question. “I wrote that song for my sister, Gabby,” he said softly. “She was born the year I graduated high school. I took one look in her face and I knew that this was one person I had to make some promises to and keep them. I couldn’t half-ass it. I was someone’s big brother. That was huge,” he said, nostalgic as he reminisced. “But there I was, leaving, going away to college, starting a whole new chapter of my life. It was like I was doomed to break the promise the second I made it. So I did what I always did. I put it to music. You put a promise to music and it’s sacred. Unbreakable. Eternal.”
I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. It made the song even more powerful. My voice was soft when I said, “I really was proud of you tonight, Eli.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I was proud of me, too.”
“And for once you had a right to be,” I grinned, and he laughed.
We watched the foam-capped tides tumble over themselves in the darkness, as Eli hummed his new song to himself. Dawn peeked over
the horizon behind us before we headed back to the house. By that time I had fallen asleep against his shoulder, and he carried me home. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
I didn’t wake up again until I heard his voice the next morning.
“Am I a genius, or am I a genius?” Eli wanted to know as he brought me breakfast in bed.
I blinked awake as I pulled myself into a sitting position. “What’s all this?” I asked, looking at the tray laden with breakfast goodies like bagels, cream cheese and fresh fruit.
“Gotta love it when a plan comes together,” he grinned as he showed me a printout of the morning’s entertainment headlines. Lo and behold there was a picture of the kiss we shared on the beach, with a big bold headline proclaiming ELI BLAKE’S PERFECT NIGHT.
My heart fell a little to see it. I had so wanted to believe some of the Eli I saw the day before was a real person.
“They loved you, too,” he said, as he referred to Miles’s blog, where he begrudgingly placed me on the Best Dressed List, hinting that I may have found a new career as a plus-sized model. I suddenly understood why Darcy hated the term. It meant we were separate and in no way equal, tossing us a bone from the main table where we’d never be truly welcomed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
I just shook my head. “Late night. Early morning.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can catch up on sleep on the plane.”
My eyes widened. “Plane?”
“Yeah. Remember? Party, awards, trip? It is a three-part strategy, and we’re only two-thirds of the way there.”
“You were serious?” I said. “I thought you were talking out of your ass. I mean, you are so good at that.” He gave me a look, so I added, “I can’t leave now. FFF opens in two weeks.”
“We’ll be back in plenty of time,” he assured. “And besides, Clementine is in charge. She does the work of ten people combined. Best to stay out of her way. Trust me. I speak from experience.”
“You ever think maybe I want to be a part of it? It’s my baby too. I really want to be involved.” In fact, it meant more to me by the day.
“And you will be,” he assured again. “By Saturday. Now eat up and get dressed. We have a plane to catch.”
He left me sputtering and speechless behind him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Though I had seen my fair share of romantic movies where a young girl was “whisked away” by a handsome millionaire, I had never entertained such a fantasy for myself. This was the 21st century. We weren’t waiting on someone to make our dreams come true. We were perfectly capable of making our own dreams come true, thank you very much.
Well the first day of March, I was as whisked away as Doris Day herself had been in the 1962 classic, “That Touch of Mink.” I barely got a chance to finish breakfast and shower before the car arrived to take us to the airport, where we boarded a chartered jet. Fuck if I knew where we were going. I didn’t even get a chance to pack. Eli handed me an oversized bag that had only two items in it: a big floppy hat and huge sunglasses.
This, I assumed, was my costume for our grand getaway.
There was only one directive I was given, and that was in the car on the way to the airport. “Just a heads up,” Eli warned. “You can’t trust anyone. You may think it’s insignificant with a maid or a valet or a driver or flight attendant, but PING pays very well for information. They’ve broken some of their biggest stories courtesy of the ordinary people who surround the rich and famous.”
I scowled at him. “Elitist, much?”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But we have a lot on the line. The plan is working. You’re one convincing romantic weekend away from getting out from under the microscope for a while. You really want to risk that?”
I pursed my lips. No, I didn’t want to risk that.
I also worried, exceedingly, what he meant by a “convincing” romantic weekend. It was clear I had a part now to play, but just how far did he want us to go?
Given we now had a secondary wager, where I’d lose everything if I ended up in bed with him, I had a sneaking suspicion he was going to gleefully push us right to the line in that annoying Eli way of his. And there wasn’t really anything I could do about it, since I had signed on to play the part of his doting girlfriend. All PDAs were on the table as long as there was a public to witness the display of affection.
To his credit, Eli threw me a few bones on occasion. He was playing his part of thoughtful boyfriend to a T. He was the one who made a pit stop on the way to the airport that morning, so I could stop in and see Ling one last time. The shop was effectively closed to the public, but when Ling saw us approach, he unlocked the door to let us in. The kitchen was scrubbed clean and the whole place was ready for the wrecking ball, but he had one last order to deliver.
It was my favorite, the #2 with vegetable egg roll and brown rice. Immediately the aromas made me nostalgic for that crappy studio apartment that had been my first home in Los Angeles. Maybe my first real home… anywhere. I threw my arms around my old friend. “I’m going to miss you, Ling. What am I going to do when you move across the world to China?”
He chuckled as he hugged me back. “It’s no big deal. We’ll Facebook.”
There were tears in my eyes as I laughed. He stole a glance at Eli, which made him scowl. He leaned close. “I do not trust this man, Carly. Are you sure you know what you are doing?”
I nodded. “I’ll be fine. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll just come live with you in China.” I leaned close and whispered loudly. “Leave a room open, just in case.”
He smiled warmly as he took both of my hands in his. “You don’t need a Plan B. Follow your dream, Carly,” he advised. “Like I did. When you’re looking back, it’s the only thing that matters.”
I nodded and hugged him again. When Eli nudged me slightly, telling me it was time for us to go, I shook my head and held on. Ling was one of my first friends in California. I felt like I was losing my grandfather all over again.
The chapter on that part of my life officially closed as Ling locked the door behind us, and I sent one last glance upward at my old window. Eli took the bag of food from my hands before leading me back towards the limousine.
Within an hour we were settled on the plane. The flight attendant gave us our pre-flight safety instructions and then served us mimosas before leaving us to basic privacy. Eli curled an arm around me and bent close for a kiss. I indulged him, but remained wary. He could sense my reserve and pulled back, caressing my face with his palm, and brushing his thumb gently over my bottom lip.
“We had a shaky start,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “But we have a lot to celebrate. If you trust me, I’ll show you the time of your life. Someone should,” he added softly. “Let it be me.”
I sighed, before offering a barely perceptible nod. He bent for another kiss, and this time I tried to throw myself into the fantasy, if only to make it easier. This was my job, after all. I had to find some way to make it bearable. We still had a little over ten months to go.
So I decided that I was Doris Day. I could be the plucky ingénue cast in this romantic farce. Since I was stuck with him, Eli could play Cary Grant. He wasn’t hard on the eyes, and he was a pretty good kisser. I had faked a lot more for a lot less. These were our parts to play and we were actors dedicated to selling our performance to an unwitting audience—which included every single person outside of the two of us. And Frank.
That’s how actors did it, right? They embodied the character. They separated themselves out and lived in the skin of someone else for a while. For one week, I could experience that touch of mink, being wined and dined and “whisked” away by a wealthy, seductive man who lived life with few limitations.
And, with the added benefit of it being a 60s movie in my head, there would be no hanky panky.
I’d make sure.
Although I’ll be honest, it was a little easier to make out with him once I was picturing Eli as
Cary Grant. The flight attendant kept our glasses refilled, taking note of how we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other with a knowing smile.
We were very convincing, especially the more mimosas we drank. It only took a few hours to get to our tropical paradise. I stepped off the plane into the brilliant sunshine of Hawaii, where I was greeted by a Polynesian woman in a grass skirt, who presented a lei around my neck as she welcomed me.
A private car took us to our luxury hotel right on the beach in Waikiki, where we were personally ushered up to our two-bedroom suite with an ocean view from its private terrace. Everything was handled. There were no lines to check in, just a VIP concierge named Donna who greeted us when we arrived and escorted us directly to our room, where champagne and flowers waited for us. These gifts came from benefactors named Frank Abruzzo and Graham Baxter, who knew more about this trip than I apparently did. They weren’t Eli’s only co-conspirators, either. When Donna opened the massive closet of the master bedroom, it was filled with all kinds of clothes one might need for a week in Hawaii. My bestie’s fingerprints were all over each article of clothing, from swimwear and beachwear to a couple of cocktail dresses, which all had an alternative edge.
I decided to change into something lighter and more appropriate, while Eli escorted Donna into the other part of the suite. I was just finishing up when he walked back into the bedroom. “Don’t bother with makeup,” he instructed. “We’re going to the spa first.”
I employed the big floppy hat and sunglasses I had been given as we went downstairs to the hotel spa for some extra pampering. Like in Los Angeles, we were given the full couple treatment, and I figured it was too late to get shy now. I stripped down for the massage, and Eli watched unabashed. He didn’t say much, which was unusual. I figured it was because he wanted to stay in character, and he was afraid his mouth would trip him up.
For once he decided to remain silent.
By that afternoon we were ready for the beach. I donned the swimwear that she had packed for me, a flirty little swim skirt and halter, which gave a little retro flair to the outfit. I dropped my cover-up the second we reached our private cabana. I couldn’t wait to feel the tropical sun beat down upon my skin. I was smiling as I rubbed sunscreen onto my arms and my legs. Eli was quiet as he did the same, baring most of his body except for whatever the swim trunks he wore happened to cover.
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