The Boyfriend Plan

by J. S. Cooper

  “What do you mean?” I sat up and frowned at him. It certainly wasn’t a chivalrous of him to take this much delight in my hair.

  “I don’t know if you knew this, Maggie, but your hair is green.”

  “It’s meant to be blonde,” I sighed.

  “What?” He cocked his head at me. “Did you read the box wrong?”

  “No, but I think there may have been something wrong with the dye.” I paused. “Maybe we should sue.”

  Blake looked at me seriously. “Do you really think it was an issue with the dye, Mags?”

  I looked at him carefully and thought for a moment before answering softly, “Maybe not.” I sighed. “I guess it was user error.”

  “Oh, Maggie.” Blake burst out laughing again and took out his phone.

  “What are you doing?” I looked at him suspiciously.

  “I’m taking a photo.” He grinned as he clicked the shot. “This is too precious a moment to not be photographed.”

  “No, Blake, no,” I groaned and reached for the phone. He pulled it away from me, and I scrambled over him, trying to get the phone from his hands. “Blake, delete that photo now!”

  “Or what?” He pinned me down to the bed so I couldn’t move, and I wriggled against him.

  “I’ll get you back,” I snarled at him as my cheeks flushed at being so close to him.

  “Yeah?” He wriggled his eyebrows at me and leaned down to kiss me. “You and what army?”

  “Hmm,” I sighed with bliss as he continued kissing me and I felt him lift my T-shirt off.

  “That’s what I thought.” He grinned down at me as I pulled his T-shirt off.

  Then Blake proceeded to have his wicked way with me. I lay there afterwards in his arms feeling content and happy. Then I wailed, “I wanted to look like a blonde bombshell for our first time.”

  “Does it make you feel better to know that you are the bomb?” Blake smiled at me.

  “Huh?” I looked over at him in confusion.

  “You just rocked my world like only a bomb could do.”

  “You are soo corny, William Blake Connor.” I hit him in the shoulder and smiled as I relaxed into his arms once again. I was happy and content, and my Bradley Cooper drama was the furthest thing from my mind.

  8

  Dear Diary,

  Something big is going down. And it’s not big as in there was a coup in some western country or big like someone nominated me for a Nobel Peace Prize, though I expect that to happen at some point in my life. It’s big as in I am in a hell of a lot of trouble, and I’m not sure how to get out of it.

  I woke up feeling satiated and happy. Blake had been everything I could have hoped for and more in the bedroom. I stretched and realized that Blake wasn’t there and grabbed a sheet over me and walked to the bathroom to see if he was showering. He wasn’t there, and I wondered where he was. He hadn’t dined and dashed with me being the juicy meal, had he? I shook my head; that wasn’t Blake. He would never do something like that to me. I waited with my sexiest pose in the bed for about 15 minutes before I realized that he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Maybe he’d gone to get me breakfast in bed and had gotten distracted by a call from work.

  I decided to go and shower and frowned at my reflection in the mirror. My hair looked a hideous mess. I definitely had to go to the hairdresser. I was drying off when I heard Blake coming back into the room. I ran out in my towel and stopped at the look on his face. He looked madder than I had ever seen him in my life. And he was holding a paper in his hands. I swallowed hard. Please, God, don’t let that be what I think it is. Please please. I walked over to him slowly and tried to smile at him but he was looking at me with murder in his eyes.

  “Maggie Lane, do you know what I saw in the papers this morning?”

  “A good story?” I smiled at him winningly. He didn’t smile back.

  “I saw a very interesting article.” He paused. “And did you know, your name was mentioned. And get this, there was also a photograph.”

  “Oh.” I felt the color leave my face. I was in for it.

  “You don’t seem surprised, Maggie. Why is that?” He walked over to me and held up a cover of the paper. There was a photograph of me under the headline: “Is This the New Mrs. Bradley Cooper?”

  “Oh my.” I covered my face with my hands and gulped. I didn’t know what to tell him. I made a mental note of the author of the article, Holly Matthews. I was pretty sure that was Madeline from the plane’s mother.

  “Is that all you have to say, Maggie?”

  “No.”

  “Or are you going to tell me that my girlfriend is actually married to a famous movie star?”

  “No.” At least he still called me his girlfriend, I thought to myself. I quite liked it when he said that. I didn’t think that this was the time to tell him that, though.

  “Is that all you are going to say, Maggie?” He frowned at me. “What is going on? I had a normal life before I met you.”

  “It was a mistake.” I made a face at him. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I swear.”

  “You never mean it.” Blake looked away from me. “I can’t deal with this, Maggie. When are you going to grow up?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I was defensive and scared.

  “You act as childish as you did at 14. I can’t date a kid, Maggie.” He sighed. “I can’t keep bailing you out of one outlandish scenario after another.”

  “I see.” My voice sounded raspy. I knew tears were about to fall, and there was no way I wanted him to see me crying.

  “Do you?” He grabbed my hands and pulled me close to him. His eyes were full of sadness. “You are really special to me, Maggie. I just don’t think I can be your guardian and boyfriend.”

  “Who asked you to be my guardian?” My voice rose as my heart started thumping uncontrollably. I could feel impending doom.

  “Maggie, I’ve always had to be that person. Whether you asked me or not. Bad dates. Bad bosses. Bad decisions.”

  “What bad decisions?”

  “Signing up for a marathon?”

  “Oh.” I kept my mouth shut. What could I say to all that? It was true. He was right; he had bailed me out on several occasions.

  “Maggie, I’ve known you a long time. I want you to be in my life forever.” He paused.

  OMG, he’s going to propose, I thought. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe my luck was really changing.

  He continued, “But I don’t know if a relationship is going to work out between us.”

  “Yes,” I spat out eagerly. “Wait, what?” I frowned at him and felt my body start to shake. “You want to break up with me?” I cried out.

  “I don’t want to, Maggie. I just don’t think you and me is going to work.” His eyes were pleading with me.

  “But we just started dating. We just had sex.” I heard the words coming out of my mouth but they didn’t seem like me.

  “I’m sorry.” He looked agitated. “I have to do some work, Maggie. I can’t deal with this right now. This is meant to be a business trip for me,” he sighed. “Can we talk about this later?”

  “So you are telling me we are not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore?” I ignored his question.

  “Well, I don’t generally date married women.” His voice was dry.

  “But you know I’m not married,” I cried out.

  “But no one else in England does.” He raised his eyebrows and me, and I felt an overwhelming urge to punch him.

  “I was tricked.”

  “Really?”

  “Kind of,” I sighed. In all honesty I had seen something like this coming. I only had myself to blame I guess. “Fine. Go. Do whatever.” I walked away from him.

  “I’m not going to hang out, Mags.” He grabbed me and turned me around to face him. “I’m going to work. On a multimillion dollar case. A case that was able to pay for this trip.”

  “Oh well thank you, sire.” I curtsied at him.

  “
Oh, Moo-moo.” He pulled me into his arms and hugged me. “Let’s talk about this later, please?”

  “Are we no longer boyfriend and girlfriend?” I asked again, needing to know our ‘official’ status.

  He sighed. “I don’t know, Maggie. Give me time to think.”

  “Okay.” I bit my lip to stop myself from begging him to give me another chance. I knew that words meant nothing at this time. If anything, he might dump me faster if I seemed too whiney. Typical guy. “Have fun at work.” I beamed at him and walked back to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

  “I’ll see you later, Maggie.” Blake called out to me as he left the hotel room.

  “Bye,” I shouted. “Asshole,” I whispered under my breath before I burst into tears and sank to the bathroom floor, leaning back into the door. “I hate you, Holly and Madeline Matthews,” I muttered under my breath, only feeling slightly bad that I was hating a kid. I was only trying to be nice on the plane, and they went and took my kindness and twisted it so that now my boyfriend hated me. After I cried for a good ten minutes, I jumped up, determined to fix the root of the problem. I was mad that Blake was acting so funky towards me, but I was actually motivated by something else. If the tabloids kept it up, I was on my way to being sued for libel, or defamation, or whatever it is big stars sue for when someone lies about them. I didn’t have any money to pay a big lawsuit. Shoot, I barely had enough money to buy the lingerie I likely wouldn’t even get to wear.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and rushed out of the hotel. I needed to find a yellow pages and then I could go from there. I was going to find Holly Matthews and let her know in no uncertain words what would happen to her if she didn’t print a retraction in the newspaper.

  9

  Dear Diary,

  Do you know how much a Chanel handbag costs? The cheapest one costs thousands. I should know; I’ve been searching eBay for years for a real one. Years, I tell you. So, I mean, what would you expect me to do if I came across a huge sale and Chanel handbags were included? I mean, how could I resist? Though it seems that I may have a Chanel handbag and no boyfriend now. Sigh.

  The lobby had several yellow pages, and I was lucky because the front desk clerk helped me write down the names and addresses of all the Holly Matthews in London. And let me tell you, there were quite a few. I was able to scratch off quite a few names, though, because I called and put on a kid’s voice and asked to speak to Madeline. Of the people who answered the phone, none of them knew a Madeline. I also crossed off the addresses of those with voicemails who sounded old or single, or whose recordings included names of every family member and excluded a Madeline. I had five Holly Matthews’ addresses to visit, consisting of three phones that just rang out, and two whose voicemail was the standard phone company greeting. I never understood why some people never personalized their voicemails. I mean, my current voicemail was a duet between myself and Michael Jackson singing, “We Are the World.” I figured that anyone who knew me would recognize my voice and know they had the right number, and in the off chance that a record producer called, well, he’d hear me and offer me a deal. Not that it had happened yet, but you never know.

  I ran out of the hotel feeling energized and excited. I even had my iPad with me so I could write on the bus to each house. Blake would be proud of me, taking advantage of every opportunity to write. I looked at the first address on my list; it was in a place called Herne Hill. It sounded quaint, but I sure hoped that the house wasn’t situated on the top of a hill. That would suck. I hadn’t been to the gym in a while, and I wasn’t really feeling up to hiking up any hills.

  “Hi, excuse me please.” I walked up to an old man at the bus stop. “Do you know what bus I take to get to Herne Hill?”

  “Where?” He looked at me in confusion; he had a deep accent from somewhere like New Zealand.

  “Herne Hill?” I smiled at him winningly.

  “Where, mon?” He frowned and scratched his scalp. I watched him, mesmerized by the length of his dreadlocks.

  “Herne Hill?” I paused. “Perhaps it’s near the hilly part of London?”

  “Me no know what’cha saying, mon.” He shook his head at me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m from America. I guess it’s hard for us foreigners to be understood.” I laughed at him. He just looked at me blankly. Maybe he’s a bit slow, I thought to myself.

  “How long have you been in London?” I spoke slowly. “I guess you must be missing New Zealand right now?”

  “Carry your rass.” The man turned to his friend. “Who dis girl tink she is?”

  I thought that it was quite rude of him to talk as if I wasn’t there, but I figured I would try one more time. “Do you know where the visitor’s center is?” This time I addressed his friend, who was looking at me with laughter in his eyes.

  “Girl, me no know what’cha talking ‘bout.” He had the same accent as the other man but was wearing a ‘Made in Jamaica’ T-shirt.

  “Forget about it.” I sighed and walked away from them. This was going to be a long day if I couldn’t even get to the first house. I walked into a store and decided to approach a young lady this time.

  “Excuse me?” I waited for her to look at me and I smiled. “Do you know where a village called Herne Hill is?”

  “Huh?” She looked at me, baffled. “What top are you looking for?”

  “I’m not looking for a top. I’m looking for a house in Half Moon Lane, Herne Hill.”

  “Oh, hold on.” She turned around. “Nick, can you come and help this lady?” And with that she walked away. I had half a mind to ask her if she knew who I was. If she knew I was Bradley Cooper’s kind-of wife, well then she’d be much nicer to me.

  “Hi, can I help you, ma’am?” A handsome young man, who I assumed was Nick, addressed me.

  “Yes, is it possible for you to tell me how to get to Herne Hill?” I smiled politely and crossed my fingers.

  “Oh sure,” he said pompously. “I’m from Dulwich.”

  “Oh okay.” I paused, having no clue where Dulwich was.

  “Let me think.” He whipped out his phone. “I think you’d be best served going down to Brixton first. Yeah, so take the tube to Brixton on the Victoria Line and then take the number three bus to Herne Hill and get off by the park.”

  “The park?”

  “Brockwell Park.” He looked at me like he thought I was stupid. “Try not to skiv off and go to the Lido, though.” He laughed. “Though I don’t know if it’s open right now.”

  “Um, okay,” I smiled quickly. “Thanks. I’ll try not to go to the library.” What sort of people were these Brits that they went to the library instead of doing their jobs?

  “The library?” He looked at me in confusion.

  “Nothing.” I walked to the front of the store quickly. “Thanks again.”

  I walked quickly to a subway station, thinking it shouldn’t be too hard to find the Victoria line. I knew my way around subway stations. This, I could make work. I got to the subway station and looked at the map. There were colors all over. Which one was the Victoria line? Finally, I figured out it was the blue one and looked for Brixton. It took me about five minutes, but I found it. I went and bought a one-day travel card and hopped onto the subway. I whipped out my iPad and started typing. I couldn’t think of anything to write about in my YA fantasy novel, so instead started writing down what I was going to say to Holly when I saw her. I had a few choice words for Madeline as well, but didn’t really think it would be proper to go off on a little kid.

  Getting off the subway at Brixton was like entering another world. This was not the London I had become accustomed to in the west end. South East London, according to the map, was a lot more urban and boisterous. It reminded me of my apartment in Los Angeles. This was where the real folks lived, away from the glitz and glamor. I walked up the steps out of the station and looked around. There were hundreds of people walking around, and I quickly had to get out of the way so I wasn’t hit
. Okay, I’m looking for the number three bus, I thought to myself. There were at least three different bus stops right outside the station, so I went to check them out first.

  I wasn’t planning on shopping, but the huge red “SALE” signs beckoned to me from across the street. It didn’t hurt that the brands that were on sale were luxury brands like Louis Vuitton, Michael Kors, and my beloved Chanel. I figured I didn’t have much to lose. I could just cross the street, check the sales out quickly, and then run back across the street and head to Herne Hill. It seemed like the perfect plan.

  I’d never heard of Morley’s before, but it looked like a bigger “Ross.” I walked in expecting to be spritzed with perfume and greeted by well-coiffed women, but there was no one at the door waiting to greet me, and frankly, the place looked a little unkempt. But I figured that was how they had to have sales on items like LV and Chanel.

  I ran up to a sales clerk. “Where are the Chanel bags?” I was gasping, worried that all the bags would have been sold out.

  “Chanel?”

  “Yes, the ones in the sale?” Was everyone in England dumb?

  “Oh, the Chunnel?” She pointed into the corner. “They’re over there.”

  I didn’t even bother saying thank you. I just ran and ran until I got to the bags and then I searched through the bargain bin like the police were after me. It did pass my mind that it was a bit odd for LV, MK, and Chanel handbags to be in a bargain bin, but who was I to second-guess the English? I finally unearthed two Chunnel bags. I did wonder why they said Chunnel instead of Chanel, but I figured they had a different trademark in England. But I was getting them for a deal. They were only one hundred pounds each, way less than the $1,500 they were asking for in the States.

  I bit my lip as I studied the bags. I didn’t have much money in my bank account, and I didn’t have any income coming in anytime soon, but I just felt like the bags were such a steal. I looked at the Macy’s card in my wallet and sighed. I doubted Morley’s was going to accept my store credit card from Macy’s.