This was the worst day of the rest of my life.
I decided I was too poor for Starbucks, then remembered the Keurig Frankie had bought me early on. I’d never used it. I opened a cabinet and pulled out the box. After several minutes of fumbling with packaging, I had it plugged in and the first cute container of breakfast blend percolating. Or whatever it was a Keurig did. Magic, maybe.
I plopped onto a fuzzy yellow chair and pulled my phone off the wall charger. I had sixteen text messages. What the hell? When had I gotten so popular?
A sense of unease spread through me as I read through the first page, all from Tina and Corabelle with varying versions of “Call us right away!”
Then one from Frankie, saying, “You got ’er done, all right. Call me if you feel panic. I can put some people on it.”
God. What were they talking about?
I couldn’t squint at the phone any longer, so I switched to my pink-jeweled laptop. I felt irritated at the bling and wanted to scrape it all off. This was what I got for drawing attention in every way possible.
I knew the news of my kiss and betrayal was bound to be on the gossip sites, or in the tabloids, or both. They had some pictures. How they put it all together was the real question.
I opened the laptop and waited for it to power up. Then for the wireless to kick in. Then to examine my nail polish for chips. Then to situate myself more comfortably in my fuzzy chair, which Tina affectionately called “The Baby Chick Hole.”
Procrastination. Did I really want to see what I had done?
I ran my hand along the yellow fur stretched over the papasan base. This wasn’t a Frankie gift, but something my mother had picked out for my bedroom long ago. I thought about her for a minute, remembering my squeals when I opened my bedroom door at home and saw it. She understood me. A good thing in a mother, maybe.
Sigh. I supposed I did have to look eventually. Face the music.
I didn’t have to go far. Yahoo was my home screen and there I was, mugging out with Chance, right there on one of the slider photos on the celebrity news. Below us, the caption read “Movie director’s heart in shambles after tawdry display at premiere.”
“After the premiere,” I corrected. This was about what I’d expected to happen. I guess my friends didn’t think they’d run a picture of an actual kiss.
Feeling a heck of a lot calmer, I got up to fetch my coffee. This was nothing. I could handle it. Frankie was the one who had to deal with people thinking he’d been a fool.
I blew on the coffee and settled back in my chair. The steam opened my pores. I relaxed. This was okay. Weird about Frankie, though. He normally didn’t spook easily. He should have anticipated what would happen, and yet he’d written me offering some help as if we’d done something unexpected.
I clicked over to my favorite gossip site, one that had actually put up a few solo pictures of me now and then when I wore something particularly fabulous. I had a bit of a fetish for five-inch platforms and short skirts. At one point, they’d done a little spread on Frankie’s pink-haired plaything, showing my skirts shrinking and my boot height growing. I had printed it out and put it in my scrapbook.
I didn’t see anything obvious on the home page, although there was a “stars get wild” montage that was new. I shouldn’t have made that, since I wasn’t an actress myself. But I clicked anyway, to see what I was up against for click bait.
I felt startled when I realized the first image was of Chance, but not with me. He was talking to Vanessa Price, and she had her claws on him. They were still at the party. The caption said, “Copper Field star paws pretty boy at Hollywood soirée.”
Was it taken before or after Chance had been with me on the beach? I peered in closely. He was holding a drum. So they were packing to leave. No way Vanessa would have been there when they set up.
My stomach fell. He hooked up with yet another woman after me?
I felt seriously sick. I’d picked a real winner. No condom either. Crap. I’d have to get a VD screen.
Stupid.
I clicked to the next picture and realized this whole “gone wild” montage was from the party. The couple who had cozied up in the sunroom when I arrived apparently got a lot more daring out in the gardens. The actress hopeful was naked and holding on to a tree, black bars covering the strategic areas, and the man was behind her.
So I was definitely not going to be the hottest click from that photo shoot, if I was in it at all.
The next one was Avery Klaus, an actress who had gone for Chance when he came offstage. Her dress could scarcely be called clothing, with its outrageous cutouts. It barely covered her nipples. The angle of the shot accentuated this as she lifted her arms to the stage.