A-List Kiss: A Laugh-Out-Loud Romantic Comedy

by Brenda Lowder

  His smile reached his eyes. “Great!” He sounded sincere. Or was that wishful thinking? How would I ever know when he was pretending?

  “I’ll just get my jacket.” I jumped up from the couch and ran to get it. Couldn’t keep the movie star waiting.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gavin had his hand on his chin, regarding the provincial farmhouse kitchen with a jaded eye. I was jaded by this point as well. Seven properties in four hours and nothing had met with his approval. Farmhouses, villas, chateaux galore, and yet nothing would suit him. Never mind that this wasn’t even the first time the properties had been seen. They’d all been vetted for Gavin by the very efficient real estate agent who’d been working on the listings for weeks. When I asked Gavin about it, he said he’d had the agent prepare a list of properties to show him when he was next in town, not knowing exactly when that would be. And this was convenient.

  Some impulsive romantic getaway this was turning out to be. I was starting to feel like just another staff member on the Gavin payroll.

  “I don’t think there’s sufficient ventilation for the Viking stove here,” Gavin was saying. Of course. How important. Because he’d personally cook for hordes of people himself and need a well-ventilated Viking. Come on! The man had only eaten food-like substances since last night’s dinner. A protein shake this morning and a power bar in the car. How long ago was it that we were eating In-N-Out in the limo? It seemed like another lifetime. And another Gavin.

  “What do you think, Eden?” Gavin turned to me. I tried to muster a smile. I made a noncommittal shrug, and Gavin went back to discussing things with the real estate agent.

  Gavin had asked my opinion at every stop, which really chafed me because he asked it in the same way and in the same tone that he asked the real estate agent, two security guards, and sometimes even his driver. He didn’t care about my answer. He wasn’t selecting a dream house for us to live in together. This was his object in coming to Paris. I just happened to come along for the ride. What do I think? I asked myself. I think it’s Day Four of knowing you, and already I want more than you’re ever going to give. Gavin was a much bigger part of my life than I’d ever be of his.

  So, I hated the houses with their stupid, gorgeous, old-world charm. Their private, winding, tree-lined drives. Their hardwood floors and stone fireplaces. I hated getting out of and then back into the car at every stop because the property was missing some ineffable quality he'd know when he saw it.

  And with every new place I imagined him in residence there—shacked up with his hussy du jour, padding around in the kitchen late at night, she in one of his shirts that could be a dress on her petite form, he in black yoga pants slung low on his hips, revealing his washboard abs and ever-so-sexy hip bone. They’d be sharing a cheesecake with no plates and two forks, in the perfectly appointed farmhouse kitchen with the well-ventilated Viking stove. I don’t know why he was eating cheesecake in this vision. My fantasies always seemed to involve cheesecake, even when they were about other people. Real Gavin wouldn’t eat it unless it was just a protein shake frozen in the shape of a cheesecake.

  We returned to the hotel tired and frustrated. Gavin hadn’t found anything he liked, and I was not having the Paris experience I’d dreamed about. Gavin sought to make it up to me by stopping for a late lunch in a small French village on our way back to Paris. I was almost mollified.

  All the food was delicious in France—even my quick ham and cheese sandwich for lunch was outstanding. The bread was thick and crusty, and the cheese was Gruyère. Heavenly! But the late afternoon meal was by far the best part of the day. It really says something about a girl—or her guy—when eating her croque monsieur is more exciting than doing anything with her real monsieur.

  I kicked off my shoes and sat on the couch to watch some incomprehensible French TV while Gavin was checking his email when PR lady came running in clutching her iPad.

  “Did you read this?” She thrust the screen in front of Gavin.

  “No,” he said and took it from her.

  I leaned over his arm to see what it said and immediately did a double take. It was me! I was the news! Well, it was a huge picture of Gavin and me getting off the Eiffel Tower elevator last night. In the picture I was draped over Gavin’s arm, staring at him with undisguised adoration, while he smiled widely for the crowd.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  “It says that we eloped and are spending our honeymoon in Paris,” Gavin said.

  A thrill went through me. If only that were true! How awesome would that be? My mind skipped over my recent discontentment and began a slide show of my fairy-tale wedding to my rich superstar lover that I’d worshipped for a lifetime. I peered at Gavin to see if he was likewise enraptured by the thought, but his beautiful brow was furrowed, and his kissable lips were turned down. No, “elated” was not the word.

  “What does this mean for us, Lydia?” Gavin asked.

  “Well, it’s kind of a mixed bag,” she answered. “On one hand, you getting married alienates your teen and young adult female demographic. On the other hand, it helps quell those gay rumors.”

  Gay rumors. Corey was right. Well, not right about Gavin being gay, because he most certainly was not, but right about the question of his sexual orientation being out there even though, super fan that I was, I’d never questioned it.

  “It could be a good thing,” Lydia continued. “When the public finds out that it’s not true, there could be a resurgence in your fan base—a fantasy fulfillment of you as free and available so they still have an imaginary shot with you.”

  Was I invisible? Did they not care that I was in the room as they discussed me like an inanimate object affecting Gavin’s career?

  “Good,” he said, and handed her back the iPad. He smiled at me and held his arms out for a hug. Not invisible after all. “Nothing to worry about! It might even be a good thing.”

  I let him hug me, but my stomach twisted with a sudden empty feeling. I was beginning to recognize the sudden emptiness as being part of the dating-Gavin package. This package also included sharp stabs of realization that the dream I was trying to live in was being pierced by reality and was accompanied by a variety of aches and pains at how reality was failing to meet my expectations.

  Gavin hadn’t asked me what I thought of it, even though I was in the picture too. Apparently whether it bothered me or not was immaterial—not something he even considered. With sudden realization, it hit me.

  I was a prop.

  ∞∞∞

  The next day I decided to have some fun on my own since when I’d gotten up that morning, Gavin was nowhere to be found. Again. I left a note for him saying I’d gone shopping taped to the mirror—the one place I was sure he’d see it.

  I took the Metro, which was surprisingly easy to navigate, to what my newly purchased guidebook said was the best shopping in Paris, the Faubourg Saint-Honoré district. The gorgeous high-end shops exceeded even Rodeo Drive in fabulousness. And once I reached the Paris Opera House, Opera Garnier, there was really no comparison possible.

  The historic opera house was the setting for The Phantom of the Opera, and it appeared before me with ornate white columns and gold-leaf detailing like a storybook palace. I imagined myself in a burgundy velvet ball gown complete with cloak, my neck dripping with jewels, gliding up the front steps on the arm of a handsome gentleman, circa 1880, to see a grand production. What would my life have been like if I’d really lived then? It would have been wonderful, I decided, until I died of consumption at twenty-seven.

  I turned away from the stunning exterior of Opera Garnier and started shopping in earnest, wishing Sophie and Corey were with me to help me decide what to buy. And to make the shopping trip more fun. I’d felt so alone since getting to Paris. Even being with Gavin had begun to feel like being alone.

  I was crossing the street to get to Bulgari when I was yanked from behind into a narrow side alley.

  “Argh!” I didn’
t holler for long because the man who was standing in front of me, shushing me and frantically waving his hands, was Special Agent Matthew.

  “Holy crap, you scared me!” I yelled when I could get enough air into my lungs to make words.

  He shushed me again. “Not so loud. Keep it down.” His eyes darted to the street.

  “Is there somebody out there?” I whispered. “Is somebody following me?” Ridiculous that anyone would follow me, I know, but maybe Gavin really was Spider-Man.

  Matthew huffed. “Gavin’s too old to be Spider-Man.”

  Oh, I must have said that out loud.

  “Let me see.” I hunched down and peeped my head around the corner, looking for bad guys. Anyone who was in that Pasadena hotel room where I’d met Matthew.

  I was yanked backward again.

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t stick your head out there!”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s suspicious.”

  “I hunched down.”

  “A disembodied head at a low level is still suspicious.”

  “I can stand up.”

  “Don’t bother. They’ve already passed.”

  I stood up fast, the top of my head connecting with Matthew’s chin.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry.” His chin looked like it would survive. “So there really is a ‘they’ following me.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Maybe.”

  I put my hands on my hips and tilted my head at him. “Either you saw somebody or you didn’t. Which means you’re not on vacation. Why’d you pull me in here?”

  He exhaled heavily. “So they’d keep walking and lose you. Wonder where you went. Have to regroup. Maybe I could pick something up in their chatter.”

  “How scared should I be?”

  He shook his head. “Not scared at all. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Funny how his assurances didn’t make me feel any better.

  “How worried should Gavin be?”

  “Not at all.” His eyes looked different when he said it this time, and I felt in my bones everything he wasn’t saying—Gavin was in this, whatever it was, and I was totally Spider-Man’s girlfriend.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a couple of hours of shopping while not being followed, I’d acquired a modest collection of new Parisian clothes to augment my wardrobe, which I paid for myself. If I had the money, I could buy as much as I liked as long as Gavin didn’t ditch me in Paris. On Gavin’s plane, paying to check additional luggage and finding space in the overhead compartment were not problems. The thought of Gavin’s private plane lightened my heart. Things were good on the plane. Despite the celebrity weirdness, I really did love Gavin and his plane. After I finished shopping for myself, I’d shop for some fresh ingredients and make Gavin a home-cooked—hotel-cooked—meal in the almost-completely-superfluous-but-well-appointed kitchen in our opulent suite.

  I bought fresh fruits and vegetables, choosing a wide variety since I wasn’t sure yet what I’d make. I was waiting for inspiration. I also bought some chicken breasts and an excellent bottle of white Burgundy that the shopkeeper assured me would pair well with the chicken. At least I thought that’s what he was saying.

  When I got back to our suite, there was no sign of Gavin or any of his staff. I was starting to feel like I’d gone on vacation by myself.

  I read a novel for a while until I was too frustrated with the dewy hopefulness of the heroine to read any further. I checked my email and one email in particular grabbed my attention. It was from the US Department of Justice. Was I in trouble? I opened the message.

  From: Matthew Decker

  To: Eden Perry

  Subject: Required Paperwork

  Ms. Perry,

  Attached please find the Victim/Witness Form required by the US Department of Justice to be entered into the Victim Notification System. Also attached is an electronic pamphlet explaining your rights as a victim or witness.

  Please fill out the basic biographical information required on the form so that you may be identified as a victim or witness and called by the court in conjunction with a federal investigation.

  Thank you in advance for your cooperation and timely completion of the required form.

  Sincerely,

  Matthew Decker, Special Agent

  Federal Bureau of Investigation

  United States Department of Justice

  Los Angeles Field Office

  I laughed and reread it to see if I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing. Yep, I was right. In his stilted, tough, bureaucratic, professional stiff-armed way, Special Agent Matthew Decker was asking for my info. I filled out his form and, in a surge of mischief, added hearts around the area code.

  I dashed off a quick note to my mom while I had my email up and then disconnected from the in-room internet entertainment system. It was time to start dinner.

  The kitchen in our suite was small compared to real kitchens, but for a kitchen in a hotel suite, it was as fabulous as everything else at the George V. And since my kitchen in Pasadena was tiny, I was used to cooking in a small space. I happily chopped vegetables and started on the chicken and dessert. I had decided to make a meal appropriate to Gavin’s fitness regimen, and it was going pretty well. The delicious aroma of sautéed chicken and vegetables filled the air. I was juicing a lemon for the sauce when I heard the door to the suite open.

  Gavin strode into the room. “Something smells great.”

  “Hey!” I smiled, my pulse still surging at the sight of him, despite being left alone all day. Oh, no. Was I his cocker spaniel?

  “Hey yourself,” he said with a wide grin. “Are you cooking?”

  “I am.”

  He put his arms around me and buried his head in my hair. “It smells terrific in here. So do you, by the way. So delicious.” He nibbled on my neck until it tickled so much that I giggled and broke away.

  “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, if you’re hungry.”

  “Starving!” He grabbed a stray carrot slice off the cutting board and tossed it into his mouth. “Lemme get changed.”

  He returned as I was lighting the candles on the table. His staff members were noticeably absent.

  “Where’s the entourage?”

  “Security is next door, but everyone else has the night off.” He leaned against the wall and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I loved him in jeans.

  “Nice.” I relished the idea of being alone with him, unjudged and uninterrupted.

  He leaned past my shoulder and peered at the dinner preparations. “How much longer?”

  “It’s ready.”

  “Great!” He took a seat at the highly polished table and rubbed his hands together.

  I finished plating the chicken with lemon sauce and the mixed vegetables. I wiped a bit of sauce from the edge of his plate and placed his dinner in front of him with a flourish.

  “This looks fantastic!”

  “It’s good for you too. Gluten-free, organic, paleo, low-fat, full of macronutrients, with added probiotics.” I wasn’t sure what health regimen Gavin was following, so I’d covered all my bases.

  “Wonderful!” He opened the wine and poured us each a glass.

  When I was seated across from him, he dug in and tasted his first bite. I held my breath.

  “Delicious!” he declared, waving his fork in the air. He attacked the rest of his food with enthusiasm, making me smile. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy since we got here,” he said between mouthfuls.

  I took a sip of my wine. “No problem,” I lied. I poked at my chicken. Personally, I’d have preferred a cream sauce and a baguette slathered with butter.

  “Thanks.” He put his fork down and smiled at me across the table, his trademark intensity taking the place of his boyish charm. “I really hope you’ve been having fun even though I’ve been busy. Your happiness is important to me.” He took a sip of wine and gestured with his wine glass. “This dinner is
making me realize how much I’ve missed being with you.”

  “I’ve missed being with you too.” I had. Gavin and I had hardly been on the same vacation. Finally we were connecting outside of the bedroom.

  He raised his glass to me, his ocean eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Here’s to doing more things together.”

  “Hear, hear.” I clinked glasses with him and downed the rest of my wine.

  After completely clearing his plate, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “Mmm…that was delicious.”

  “There’s still dessert.”

  Gavin opened his eyes and smiled, nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Dessert, huh? I’m game.”

  I froze halfway out of the chair. “No, I mean actual dessert. I made a low-sugar, gluten-free strawberry tart.”

  He rose and came around to my side of the table. He grasped my hand and pulled me to him, guiding my arms around him. He nuzzled my neck. “You may be a tart, but your hair is more lemon than strawberry.”

  “Very funny. I was talking about dessert.” Were our few moments of connecting over already? Could we not even have a whole conversation without heading to bed? Not that I was complaining about bed, even to myself, just everything that was lacking outside of it. I let my arms fall back down to my sides.

  “I was talking about dessert too. Mmm…” Gavin put my arms back around him and nibbled my ear. A delicious shiver ran through me and against my will, I giggled. He pulled me closer and I gave in, hugging him back. He edged us toward the bedroom.

  “Wait! If we’re not going to eat it, I have to put the strawberry tart away.”

  “Oh, we’ll eat it. I’m in the mood for lots of dessert tonight.” He let me go and grabbed the dessert from the counter.

  More togetherness started right away as he led me into our bedroom for what turned out to be lots of dessert.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next day, I woke up alone. Again. Maybe I should have been used to it by now, but I couldn’t help feeling cheated out of quality cuddling time. I know women like cuddling more than men do, but still—the cuddly slow wake-up is the best part of vacation, or so I imagined.