Chapter 15 On an Empty Stomach
“May they all go to hell,” Lex says, and I can hear him slam a rickety old cabinet at the shop. I didn’t mean to call him on a bad day when he was already fighting with his boyfriend, who he claims is acting like a know-it-all with a superiority complex. Yet here we are.
“Don’t break the cabinet,” I say. “We can’t afford to fix anything right now.”
“Why am I madder about your situation than you are?”
The situation: Paparazzi took pictures of me leaving the hotel yesterday. There are already three articles out about me working as a maid, two of them said I looked “rough.” To be fair, I had stains from spilled yogurt on my uniform, my hair was in a haphazard bun, and my eyes were red rimmed after crying in the bathroom about leaving Bridget. But “rough” was nothing compared to the questions less reputable sites raised. How will being with Issac help Laniah’s life? Is Laniah with Issac because she needs the money? One that didn’t do their research questioned: Was Issac Jordan pretending he was into Melinda Martinez to hide a relationship with Laniah Thompson because he’s ashamed of the way the latter lives?
Oh, the meta of it all.
Issac and Bernie are discussing the situation inside, and I was sick of hearing them say damage control and It’s going to be fine, so I came out to the patio for fresh air and to be mad with Lex. Except I’m not that mad anymore. “Because I’ve been through every emotion,” I tell him, “including feeling utterly creeped out that they were watching me, and I didn’t even notice. Now I’m numb. But I am mad for you, even though you won’t tell me what Shane did to piss you off.”
“He laughed at me during game night with his friends, reexplained the rules, and was all Got it now, babe? It’s not my fault they play Magic: The Gathering. How will I ever understand?”
“I’ll never understand Magic,” I say. “But I can kick Shane’s ass if you want me to. One of his doctor friends will have to give him some stitches.”
“Please do,” Lex says. “And I swear if anyone says anything about you in the shop today, I’m going to fight them in the parking lot.”
“Rip some hair out so they need to come back for our growth products.”
“You’re a genius.” He laughs. “Anyway, I have to go help your mom with this electric mixer we bought. You know how she is with new things and anything that plugs into a socket.”
When we hang up, Issac finds me standing by the edge of the patio. My curls are pulled by the wind, and he looks like he’ll reach for one. But he doesn’t.
“I went live on my socials to remind my followers I literally grew up poor and had to work hard jobs before this ever became my life,” he says. “Told them it doesn’t matter how much money you have in your pockets or what you do for a living, I’ll love you regardless.” He sighs a tired sound. “Damn, kindness is free.”
I turn to look at him, trying to smile. I know what he’s saying is true, but wonder if Bernie is upset about me coming here with articles about me being a gold digger attached to Issac’s image. I’m not ashamed of where I worked; working as a maid brought me to Bridget and helped keep food in my stomach, but it isn’t exactly what the media considers a glamorous job. The articles are one thing; I bet they’re running me ragged on social media.
“Don’t give me that fake smile,” he says. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Being stalked by paparazzi is jarring. Especially the first time. And those articles were fucked-up. I wasn’t expecting that.”
He looks sincere, and I realize that we’re both from a different world than this one. No matter how long Issac has been under public scrutiny, there might be times where he’s naive to its harshness. The numbness begins to melt, and I reach for a hug on my own. He accepts me, wraps his arms around my body, and I try not to look for differences in his embrace.
Issac asks me only once what I’m in the mood to eat, and as soon as I say, “Umm,” he tells his driver where to go. Something about the way he takes initiative causes the fantasy to materialize in my mind: him standing in my door and knowing exactly what I’d like. Suddenly, I have to keep from squirming while sitting beside him, face hot, hormones battling in my body.
Dream him and real him aren’t the same man. And I need to forget dream him exists.
When we show up at a small spot instead of a restaurant with celebrity-level fine dining, I smile. “Should I be offended that you don’t want to be seen with me at a place where servers refill our glasses with vintage wine and feed us grapes while fanning us? What if they call me a cheap date and a gold digger all in one breath?”
“You’re annoying,” Issac teases. “We can go to a fancy spot if you want. I’ll ask Bernie to make a reservation. Lord knows he’d prefer I go somewhere like that anyway. But I’m sorry to tell you there won’t be grape feeding. That’s mostly for television, I’m afraid.”
“I just don’t want you to change the way you usually do things for me,” I say. “If you think I can’t handle it because of the articles…”
“Stop right there,” he says. “This isn’t about any of that, I just want a few hours of being with my best friend. The real me and the real you.”
“Okay,” I breathe out. Then: “How do you always know just what to say?”
Issac gives me a sly smirk. “Could be that I’ve known you most of my life, could be that I’m smooth like that. It’s probably both.”
I roll my eyes and shove him against the door. He pulls my hair, and I twist his beard. Tom clears his throat from the front seat, and we stop acting like children. I almost forgot we weren’t alone while my heart was thrumming at the familiarity of being playful with Issac.
He gets out of the car and walks around to open my door. “This beautiful spot has the best pho in town,” he says. “It might not be as good as your favorite from Four Seasons back home, but I think you’ll approve of the nime chow, and I might just let you eat mine too.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Alright, alright. You’re a pretty good best friend and, so far, an excellent fake boyfriend.”
“Shh. Even the streetlights have cameras.” I look up at them, and he laughs. “Just kidding…I think. But I am an excellent boyfriend, huh?”
“You are,” I say. “Melinda must have really enjoyed those dates.”
The moment my words land, Issac’s face falls. I open my mouth. To say what? I don’t know. But then his phone begins to vibrate. Seeing that mentioning Melinda affects him this much gives me that same uncomfortable sting I felt finding her ring on his nightstand. I make a note to avoid that topic while he stares down at his screen.
“Shit. It’s Josh,” he says.
The things I know about Josh: he’s one of the youngest directors in Hollywood, he has an orange tabby cat he named Orange, and he has grown closer to Issac in these past few months when I’ve felt farther.
“I may have mentioned where we were eating earlier,” Issac admits with a sheepish look on his face, “and now he’s heading here to eat with us and bringing his…I think she’s his girlfriend. He has a new serious relationship every other month. I can’t keep track. Anyway, do you want to leave? We can find someplace else.”
The hermit crab in me wants to hide behind the building, go back to Issac’s place and order delivery, but now I’m hungry for pho and I think whether I’m Issac’s best friend or his pretend girlfriend, it’s probably time I meet other people in his life. “No, it’s okay. It’ll be good,” I say.
Issac raises both eyebrows. “Good? You sure? I was talking all that stuff about the real you and the real me and…I don’t want to overwhelm you already. Tomorrow might be a lot.”
“It’ll be good,” I repeat. “But we may have to order an appetizer before Josh gets here because I’m about to get hangry. I can feel it.”
“Of course.” He pushes me toward the entrance of the restaurant. “Can’t have my girl out here trying to rip off my head over an empty stomach.”
Josh has pretty green eyes and that California look I’ve seen on TV, as if he’s rolled out of bed just to spend the entire day on a surfboard in the hot sun, tired but in that incredible kind of way. The woman holding his hand is completely opposite, in a blazer and jeans with pink heels for a pop of color and a slick ponytail.
Before Josh moves to hug Issac, he acknowledges my existence.
“Oh man, Laniah, the pictures do you no justice. You’re even more stunning in person.”
His girlfriend looks completely unfazed by this comment, and because he doesn’t sound like a creepy uncle or a slimeball, I’m flattered. “Thank you, I’m sure. Especially if you saw the pictures in those articles that went up earlier or any candid shot Issac’s taken of me.”
Josh tilts his head and smiles. “I don’t know, I think you looked perfectly beautiful in every single picture I’ve seen of you on Issac’s end. And even in those untoward articles.”
Issac raises the siracha on the table and uses it to point at Josh. “Don’t be flirting with my girl while your girl is on your arm. Don’t flirt with my girl at all, please.”
I smash my elbow into Issac’s side, my cheeks warming. He’s so ridiculous. But Josh’s girlfriend laughs and says, “I’m not mad. She’s a gorgeous woman.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling, “and I swear this isn’t compliment because of compliment, but you’re stunning.”
She flips her ponytail like she knows it. “I’m Lauren. Since Josh didn’t introduce me.”
“She’s Lauren,” Josh says, and kisses her cheek. “Sorry, babe.”
“I’m happy to meet you both,” I tell them.
“Finally,” Josh says, sitting across from us with Lauren following. “Issac has kept you hidden from the world. Then he brings you to a place like this on your first day in town.”
My stomach sinks even further for two reasons. (1) A place like this feels like it has a certain belittling connotation. It might’ve been too soon to be flattered by anything Josh says. (2) My joke about Issac taking me somewhere out of the public eye might have been warranted.
Issac must see the tension on my face because he clears his throat. But Josh beats him to it. “Though, I must admit Issac has the best taste in food. And all of us would’ve been starving, eating from those tiny plates at Lasheá.”
“He does have great taste,” I agree, and though I’m still suspicious about Issac’s taste in new friends, I’m feeling the need to defend him. “Besides, being somewhere quiet feels like a relief after what happened today.”
Issac’s eyes flick to mine, and I wonder if he’s just as surprised about me admitting that to strangers as I am.
Lauren cuts in with an eager nod of the head, says, “Oh, we definitely get that. Listen, when I first started hanging with Josh, it was a shit show. I like attention, but not the kind I got.” She winks at me. “If you ever need someone to vent to, I’m here. And honestly, those articles about where you work will blow over in a few days.”
I don’t clarify that I no longer work at the hotel because I refuse to look ashamed in front of rich folk. But I do decide I like Lauren already.
The boardwalk is brightened by fairy lights, and the night air gives way to the smell of salt water when the wind blows, but I’m feeling fatigue’s greedy fingers trying to coax me to get some sleep soon. I ignore them. Back at the restaurant, we all picked off of one another’s plates. Josh told three bad jokes in a row, Lauren attempted to get me to eat the squid tentacles, and I softened up to the idea that they’re just normal people who happen to be in the spotlight, same as Issac. Lauren went with me to the bathroom like Katrina would’ve, she adjusted my dress straps so that my titties were sitting pretty, and we took a picture in the mirror she asked permission to post. Josh wasn’t caught off guard by my smart remarks or the banter between me and Issac, he showed me the cutest cat pics, and he seemed genuine in his kindness to the waitress when she gave him the wrong order, which was when I decided to stop imagining I wouldn’t mesh well with the people in Issac’s new world.
While we walk, we make comfortable conversation about the new movie Josh is directing, Issac modeling in upcoming Fall Fashion Week, and Lauren just landing a crazy commission on the seven-million-dollar house she sold. And it feels nice to tell them about Wildly Green, how it’s a dream to create the way Mom and I do.
A big wave crashes on the shoreline, catching my attention, and I turn to rest against a railing. I’m happy to be here, to see the perfectly halved moon in the sky and the dark water with its rolling waves in this place Issac might make home for real someday. He pulls out his phone and takes a picture of me, says the shadows were complimenting my face, and I don’t tell him not to post it.
Josh smiles. “Issac tried to convince me the two of you were only friends. I kept bothering him about it. How can you be that close, for so many years, and have no romantic feelings?”
My stomach tightens. Even though I’m used to this line of questioning, something about hearing it now, and from Issac’s friend, makes me question whether it’s normal that he’s never had feelings for me. He calls me beautiful, but that doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me. Would I care if he admitted he wasn’t?
“Guess he was just lying to me the whole time,” Josh says, saving me from my thoughts.
But then Issac’s hand finds mine. “I think I was lying to myself, but I’m happy I finally figured it out,” he says.
His words make my heartbeat stutter, and something different happens to my body when he rubs the pad of my thumb with his. This is not the way he used to touch me, not the affection I had been missing; it’s something more. Each time his skin meets mine, it feels like something inside of me is going to burst. I fight the urge to pull away from him, to stop this big feeling in my chest, but Lauren’s still watching.
“Y’all are most definitely, absolutely too cute,” she says just as Josh wraps his arms around her.
But I’m too busy trying to catch my breath to say something back.
At the house, I take an ibuprofen for the headache setting in and stare at the bottle of Prozac sitting on the sink. There’s an achy pain on the right side of my lower back (the “flank” area according to Google) and it might be my body reacting to nerves, but I haven’t started the Prozac because I’ve been nervous it’ll cause symptoms. I hear Mom’s reassuring voice in my head, her telling me not to feed a vicious anxiety circle before I open the bottle for the first time.
When I go back into the bedroom, Issac’s taping a clip of the menu from the restaurant we were at to the wall. He looks shy, I caught him in the act, but he doesn’t say anything. Just slides into bed and grabs his notebook from the nightstand. He always writes before bed, but he never lets me see. There’s soft jazz music playing from his record player, and his broad chest is bare. I avert my eyes before he notices me enjoying the view, because well…he can’t notice that.
Ishouldn’t have noticed his smooth skin or the rigid lines leading to his torso.
Since when are his nipples sexy?
I climb in bed, curl up next to him, trying to see what he’s writing and trying harder to ignore the smell of shea butter after he showered and how fresh my dream about him feels tonight. He shoves me away so I can’t see a single word. I talk shit, begging for a peek, but I’m too tired to fight when I lay my head back on the pillow.
“Despite the online messiness, today was easy,” I tell him.
He looks at me for a long while, then runs his pencil along the skin of my forearm, eliciting the sweetest shiver. And he’s the one to sigh.
“It’s always easy,” I can hear him say before sleep finds me.