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“See you at nine,” she responded with a shy smile.
I didn’t make it to the doorway before Meryl started her inquisition.
Chapter 9
Jake
Portland
After ending theday with an autograph session, my hand felt cramped. There were so many people waiting to get my John Hancock that I went through four different Sharpie’s.
I could still smell the tang of the pen as I stepped into the shower. It was burned into my nose. As much as I was sincerely appreciative of the fans and more than happy to fulfill their goals whether it was from a hug or a staged pose where we touched, at the end of the day, it proved to be a lot of physical contact.
I scrubbed at my skin. It helped to erase some of the pressure in my shoulders, but it made me feel a little better—a little cleaner.
These gatherings were always the cause of a cold or other such bug, but I made sure to take preventative measures with Emergen-C and I got vitamin C injections between cities.
It was half past eight by the time I toweled off and got dressed. Even though it was the middle of summer, the restaurants were always notorious for blasting the AC. At the last minute I grabbed a thin flannel, leaving the top few buttons undone over my tee.
I was meeting Lucy downstairs in a half hour and wanted to get there before she did in case she was the type that showed up ten minutes early to everything.
She was hesitant when I asked her to join me, and despite the fact that several others would be there as well, I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable.
That is, if she actually showed. I hated to think that Lucy was reluctant, but there was something that flashed across her face for a split second like whatever she was saying to me was only so the conversation could end quickly.
Then I thought back to San Diego and how carefree she was. How funny she was. How at ease she was. But that was before she knew that I was famous. I simultaneously loved and hated my status. Sometimes I wondered if being financially set for the rest of my life was worth the price I paid for failed relationships.
Upon seeing me walk through the door of the restaurant, the hostess took a menu from the side of the podium. The action was done completely out of habit but when she did a double take, she put it back, addressing me with a stutter.
I hated it. I was a normal guy. It was hard when the majority of women I was around treated me differently just because I’d been in a few movies.
“Oh, um, Mr. Stanley, right this way.” She was probably no more than twenty-one, perhaps working here while attending college during the day. She turned on her heel and I followed her until we were in the banquet room.
“Ah, there he is! I was wondering when you were going to make it down here.” That came from Lauren Seidel, my costar in the Koil films. She played Peyton Powell, a brilliant scientist whom Koil falls for.
The tabloids loved to materialize stories about us hooking up behind the scenes and dating in real life. There was even a rumor one time that we had been secretly married for years.
The truth was that Lauren was actually like an older sister. The three-year age difference didn’t matter much, but she and I had formed a bond.
It was hard not to when you spent fourteen-hour days together over five or six months. Your coworkers became your family. It could be an isolating job sometimes. I was lucky that she and I clicked from the get go, and it was obvious that Liam and I were thick as thieves as well.
“Hey, hey,” I greeted her casually. I looked around the room and I was surprised that there were only a few people. This time of night wasn’t that late and usually, like the green room, it was a mecca for socializing and recouping from the day’s events. “Where is everyone?”
She tipped back the rest of her drink. Dirty martini. It was her favorite so long as it was mixed with Martini & Rossi extra dry vermouth. The fact that it was a bottom shelf mixer made me like her even more.
She tossed an olive in her mouth and spoke around it. “Everyone left. They’re doing BrewCycle.” When I gave her a confused look, she explained. “You know, it’s those brewpub crawls on a fifteen-seater bike/trolley thing.”
I took a seat across from her, perusing the buffet style snacks down the center of the table. Several delicious aromas tantalized me. There were charcuterie boards, antipasti, appetizers and spreads. Behind me were the main courses all housed neatly in shiny warming dishes.
“That doesn’t sound that fun,” I admitted.
“Yeah, no kidding. I didn’t feel like pedaling after being on my feet most of the day. Plus, I don’t like beer.”
I liked beer, but notthatmuch.
“Excuse me, Mr. Stanley?” It was the hostess. She stood off to my left, looking guilty for having interrupted us.
“Hey, what’s up?”
