Kennedy plays Vera Nightengale on Stalked. She’s a fan favorite, because she’s part of the cult and the scriptwriters are making it clear that she’s going to seize the leadership from Aaron soon. She’s dark haired, slender, and athletic, but she has a face made for the screen. It’s both deadly and seductive at the same time. I, on the other hand, was cast because the producers wanted the lead character to have the “girl-next-door” appeal. My curves and innocent face apparently had as much to do with me winning the part as my acting ability. Every time that particular thought skids across my consciousness, I find myself scowling.
The waiter approaches our table with a bottle of Chateau Lafite 1865. I look through the wine list to find the bottle as he drones on about its origins in the Abbey of so and so and the flavor profile that brings to mind lilacs and blah blah blah. Over four grand for one bottle. I huff a laugh, but Kennedy waves him off and motions for him to leave the bottle. He practically bows, backing away and making a fool of himself, probably slavering to think of what kind of tip he’ll get.
“So,” Kennedy starts, “did you hear Camillo is getting pressured by the police now? They’re saying one more murder and they will find a way to press charges. They’re saying as director of the show it’s his responsibility to put a stop to all this.”
I pour myself a glass as I wave off the possibility of a shutdown with a shake of my head. I swirl the wine and sip it, not tasting anything except the bittersweet aftertaste. “What would be the charge? I mean, it’s not like the news stations get sued when their coverage of Columbine inspired more school shootings.”
“Doesn’t all of this scare you even a little bit?” asks Kennedy.
“What? The stalkers? I think the media is just overplaying it to scare people. But hey, it’s good for ratings. Lilly says we will be able to push for a renegotiated contract if the ratings keep climbing.” As if on cue, I notice a man at the far end of the restaurant watching me suspiciously over his steak. He looks down when he notices me, but I catch him looking up again as soon as I look away. He just recognizes you from the show. Get over yourself, Makayla.
Kennedy leans forward, lowering her voice. “What good is all that money going to do when someone climbs through your window like fucking Jack Carpenter and rapes you while he whispers how big a fucking fan he is?”
I sputter, nearly spitting a mouthful of my wine when I see the way she’s grinning at me like an idiot. I know she’s kidding, but once my laughter fades I can’t get the image of someone climbing through my window while I sleep. I try not to show how much her words disturb me, and I try not to look at the man with the steak. “That’s just made up stuff from the show, Kennedy. It’s not real.”
She folds her arms, still grinning. “Yeah, well Susan Kieran would probably disagree with you there. You know, if you could talk to dead people, that is.” She grabs her glass and swills down a few hundred dollars worth of wine in three long gulps.
I screw up my lips in a way I know doesn’t have “screen appeal” as Camillo would say. “You sound like Hubert.” I say, spitting his name out of my mouth like it’s something foul.
“Ouch,” says Kennedy. “I know I’ve annoyed you when you compare me to the dreaded stepfather.”
I laugh. “No. The only thing annoying me is that I know you’re probably right. I should take this stuff more seriously. I just don’t want to be consumed by it. You know? Pretty soon I’d be seeing stalkers everywhere I looked. I’d be a trainwreck.” My eyes unconsciously dart to the guy who’s still staring.
Kennedy follows my line of sight and winces, shaking her head. “Creeper.”
The waiter brings our bill and I cringe. A little over five thousand dollars. For lunch. Kennedy and I split the bill as usual, giving me no tactful way to avoid paying for the ridiculously expensive wine she ordered.
Kennedy notices my face and wags a finger at me. “Don’t make that face. You could eat here three times a day and still be rolling in money. You need to stop hoarding your cash and enjoy it.”
“I know, I know…” I say, cringing to think how much of a tip I should leave. One of the reasons Kennedy likes to bring me here is because she thinks it will have some kind of shock value and get me to start spending more freely. So far, it hasn’t worked. I play her game while she’s here and then go back to counting pennies when she’s not watching. Old habits die hard, I guess.
“Seriously. You never let me take you--”
“Shopping or to do anything fun,” I interrupt. “I know. I’m trying to get better. It’s just not fun for me to spend the money. It stresses me out.”
She sighs. “I just don’t get it. Even if you suffered some horrific, disfiguring accident and lost that gorgeous face of yours, Hubert would never let you go without. He could buy you a personal skyscraper if you wanted it. I think he would, too.”
I laugh dryly. “That’s just what I need, Hubert having having more reasons to be overprotective of me.” I drop my credit card on top of the bill. It’s a rewards card, so at least I’ll get a few points for this disgusting waste of money. “Speaking of he-who-must-not-be-named...I need to get out of here. I’m supposed to meet Hubert and Linda for dinner. Or was it Maria? I honestly can’t remember anymore.” Linda-Maria is just the latest in a long list of gold-diggers my stepfather has courted since mom died. “Want to run through our lines tomorrow morning?”
She pffts dismissively. “I’ll figure them out on the fly. Organic acting. That’s a thing, right?”
I laugh, “If you say so.”
Kennedy grabs her Chanel bag and shoulders it, picking up her coat and getting ready to leave.
“Hey,” I say quickly. “Be careful, okay?”
She smiles, leaning in and squeezing my cheek and pressing her face close to mine. “I knew you’d come around.”
I slap her hands away. “Get off me you creep!” I laugh.
“Exactly. That’s what you say when Jack Carpenter sneaks up on you in a dark alley and pulls out The Mangler.”
“Oh God. Would you stop already!”
Kennedy quirks an eyebrow at me, turning to leave. “See you tomorrow!”
Once she leaves I gather my own things and stand to leave. I feel a tingle in my spine when I notice the man that was staring stands from his seat at the same time I do. He was probably just waiting to get an autograph and now that I’m done with my meal, he’s going ask me. That’s all. Stop freaking yourself out. I take my eyes off him to rummage through my purse for the Sharpie I had to start keeping with me for times like this. I look up, expecting to see him approaching but…
He’s gone.
I scan the restaurant, hating how hard my heart is pounding, hating how much Kennedy’s words are repeating in my head. I slowly put the Sharpie back in my bag and step outside. It’s the middle of the afternoon. Nothing is going to happen. I move along the crowded street, passing boutiques and trendy little restaurants and coffee shops. After a few minutes, I’ve almost completely pushed the man from my mind. It was just a fan who noticed me and happened to leave the restaurant at the same time. It’s not that strange.