25
—éclat
“ALEXANDER, WHAT DID you do?”
Which thing was he referring to? The PR relationship, the dark hair, or the cast-iron skillet I ruined and hid under the sink last Christmas?
“Is this about the pan?” I asked over the phone, following the man in front of me, who was trying to shoo photographers away before we reached the entrance of Wimbledon.
We were surrounded by hundreds of people, half of them dressed in linen, heels, and sunglasses.
The other half were wearing lanyards or carrying cameras.
“What pan?” my father asked, dumbfounded, pulled from his train of thought.
“Nothing,” I said, waving to some of the cameras per Nari’s request.
“When did you plan on telling me about this relationship?”
Mierda. “Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter who told me, it’s the fact that you didn’t want me to know because you knew it was a ridiculous idea,” he pointed out.
“Padre, none of this was my idea. I had no choice.” I didn’t bother explaining that this was brought forward by the film’s PR team to help promote the movie. He didn’t care. Honestly, it would only irk him more.
“You always have a choice. You chose this,” he reminded me. The hairs on my arms rose. “Now you’ve roped your mother and me into this as usual. Did you know the neighbors are asking about your new relationship? You expect us to lie to our neighbors?” God forbid he lied to the neighbors.
I could picture him at home, walking around the kitchen with his hand on his hip, staring at the overgrown plants in the window.
Soon, he’d begin rearranging the mugs in the cabinets when no solution presented itself.
His son choosing a frivolous career in acting instead of taking over the family restaurant was a disappointment that never surrendered. Never had a solution.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t anticipate you having to lie to the neighbors—”
“Now I have Ana next door stopping by every morning with her wet omelet as a gateway to come in and talk Abuela’s ear off about your relationship. And Sophia at the bakery won’t stop calling your mother for the inside scoop—whatever that means!”
I put a fist over my mouth to stifle a laugh as we entered the arena.
Reporters attempted to wave me over. I continued walking forward until I was directed to an elevator to the second floor.
It emptied out onto a view of the main court from above.
Wow, this made the Charleston court look small.
Thousands of people were looking down at the grass, waiting for the match to start.
I made my way to my seat, finding a wide-eyed Franny wearing a striped dress shirt, staring in awe at the several recognizable faces from music, film, and politics around him. He looked relieved as I sat.
“And Rose won’t tip now unless—are you listening?”
“Yes, of course,” I assured him.
“And the hair, Alexander? What part of that idea felt smart to you?”
My laughter hit the back of my throat and died at the bottom of my stomach. I had been hoping he wouldn’t care. Maybe he would have forgotten about those stupid promises altogether. It had been so long since we spoke about it. But it bothered him so much that he wanted to rub my face in it.
“I think it’s been long enough. No one’s going to think anything of it,” I responded.
He sighed. “You have no idea how you’re affecting this family. Why do you try to make my life harder?”
Make his life harder? It had been ten years since I entered this industry, and he still couldn’t look at it as a career.
I opened my mouth to offer an empty apology, but another incoming call cut me off. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, I’m getting another call.” He simply grunted and hung up.
“Hey, Nari.”
“This wasn’t part of the plan!” Nari shouted over the phone, her voice ringing in my ear.
“Jesus, you’re starting to sound like my father.” I rubbed my temple as Franny gave me a weird look.
“You’re not supposed to be at today’s match,” she protested.
“Oh, that,” I said, staring at the court.
“Yes, that. What were you thinking?”
“Do you think this will look believable if one of the most famous actors—who happens to be in London right now—doesn’t attend Wimbledon?”
A pause, then, “This wasn’t discussed with her team. I’m going to kill you.”
“Get in line. My father is up first.”
“Do I want to know?” she asked, softer now.
“I’ll fill you in later on the flight.”
“Still, you shouldn’t be at that match right now.”
“Nari, I’m watching her play,” I said firmly.
“Yes, I know, dumbass,” she said, but her words came from my left instead of through the phone. Suddenly she was taking a seat beside me, dressed in an elegant long skirt and blouse.
“Are you allowed to speak to clients like this?” I asked, shutting my phone.
“Seeing as you’re my only client, yes.” With a pleased smile, she slid on her sunglasses.
Franny leaned forward to join the conversation. “All right, fill me in, how’s Luna?”
“How would I know?”
“Because you spent the night with her two weeks ago—” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I didn’t spend the night with her,” I rushed.
His eyebrows shot to the middle of his forehead. “At the mansion… You didn’t drive two hours into the country to spend the night?”
“Oh. Yeah, yes, she’s fine—she was fine.” I cleared my throat, sitting back in my seat. I had worked hard to scrub the image of Luna Aldridge in our bed, sleeping, before I could get in.
Nari and Franny exchanged a look.
“What did you do?” She leaned forward with a harsh whisper.
“Why do you think I did something?”
“Because I have a Kieran-Screwed-Up Radar. What happened with her? You’re obligated to tell me under contract.”
“Nari—”
“No, don’t use your look on me. Did she steal your favorite body wash? Make fun of your hair? Step on your new shoes? What did she do to piss you off?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
But I wasn’t about to describe the vivid dreams I had been having of Aldridge since kissing her.
Dreams of us dancing, my hand traveling up her waist.
Dreams of my lips memorizing the slope of her cupid’s bow.
Dreams of her knees buckling as I muttered her name.
Dreams of her saying my name.
The worst part of all was that they were real. Each had happened. My subconscious was forcing me to relive something it thought we needed to exist.
It didn’t help that everyone wanted to hear about her, or wanted my opinion on her matches, or wanted to know if I liked her. As if I were fourteen being questioned by my mother after school.
Just to torture myself, I started following her matches. It seemed to become a bit of a habit, asking Eliza in between interviews if Aldridge was moving along the bracket. She’d lift her eyebrows, giving me a giddy look.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see the photo of her? She looks quite beautiful,” she’d say each time.
“That’s all right.”
“We’re off at the end of the week before Paris. You should go to one of her matches.” She nudged my elbow as we waited for the next interviewer to sit.
“I don’t think that’s a great idea, since…” I grappled for a reason.
“Since you’re not actually together? I think most of the cast was informed. But that doesn’t mean you can’t support her, or that you can’t like her.”
“Jesus—”
“Kieran, you’re being dense. We have a free day, take advantage of it. Maybe this will help you take your mind off her, since you obviously want to know how she’s doing. It’ll help promote the movie too—if you want to look at it that way.”
So now, I’ve ended up at a tennis match in the hope that seeing her will replace my last memory of us before I fall asleep tonight.
July had been filled with scorching sunrises and sleepless midnights, to say the least. And the month had only just started.
Nari opened her mouth right as the arena erupted in applause.
Each head turned to the open tunnel below where a woman with a shaved head was entering the court.
A bag sagged on her shoulder as she waved, greeting the full crowd.
She walked to a bench on the right of the umpire’s tall stoop below our section.
Another swell of praise started, focused on the same tunnel again.
Aldridge was in all white, a stark contrast to everything she’d worn this month.
White visor, white tank, white skirt, white sneakers.
Seeing her now, even when out of reach, felt like witnessing something mystical.
She was becoming a passing dream I didn’t understand.
A fictional character. One who granted me half a secret and ran off with the rest. I had read a few chapters of her story before it was slammed shut and pulled from my grasp.
I pushed my sunglasses into my hair to get a clearer look.
Her cheeks were red as she focused on the ground in front of her, walking to her spot.
She offered a small wave to a few of the spectators seated below, closer to the court.
Placing her bag on the bench, she said something to the umpire with a smile, her ponytail reaching the middle of her back as she looked up.
Did—did she just flinch? Her shoulders stiffened, and she opened her mouth before turning around, a line replacing the shape of her lips as she grabbed water.
“Did you notice that?” I asked.
“What?” Franny responded.
I shook my head. “Nothing, I guess. I must’ve imagined it.” I rubbed my eyes.
Aldridge went to the right of the court as her opponent, Daria Wren, threw the ball in the air. The entire arena quieted once the ball left her hand. She jumped to meet it in the air with her racket. It was like the gates were pulled open in a horse race—the match had begun.
Aldridge ran forward. The sound of the racket whacking the ball echoed, flying to Wren’s far corner.
Wren fought to send the ball past Aldridge.
But she wouldn’t give in, her sneakers sliding against the court.
Aldridge’s arm extended, stopping the ball in its path, barely sending it over the net.
Wren raced to the middle of the court, diving, but it hit the ground twice before she was able to throw her racket under it.