35. Grey
Chapter 35
Grey
W atching Aspen get off in the back of a home goods store was not on my bingo card for the week, but goddamn, it should’ve been. Reliving that has been the single thing keeping me sane this week. It’s technically my week off from set, which will allow Aspen and the rest of the crew to film her solo scenes, but instead of going to some tropical island or back home to England I’ve been doing the rounds for my new James Bond film’s press tour.
Next week we’ll swap places, and Aspen will get a week off while I shoot my solo scenes, which means I have to go two weeks without seeing her. If you asked me a month ago, I would’ve said two weeks is nothing. But now it feels like an eternity. I’m reminded of Aspen a million times a day. I miss her cute blonde bob, her citrus perfume, her laugh, but most of all her belief in me. Aspen is the only person in Hollywood I’ve ever felt sees me for who I am, not just what I look like.
But I don’t want to text her because I’m still unsure if she feels the same way. She is literally being paid to hang out with me, after all. And I don’t want to overstep by texting her to let her know I’m thinking about her.
I sigh, rubbing my brow. I don’t know how real relationships work. All I know is that I don’t want our fake one to end.
“What has your panties in a twist?” my Bond costar, Vivienne, asks as she plops down into the chair next to mine backstage at the Today Show . We’re going to be called outside to Rockefeller Plaza for our interview and a fan meet and greet any minute now. Aspen once told me she grew up on the Upper East Side and that the rest of her family still lives there. I wonder how far away her family’s penthouse is. It must be within walking distance, right? I guess it doesn’t matter, though, since she’s still filming in LA today. Still, I’m curious to see where she grew up.
Vivienne waves a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Earth to Grey.”
“Huh?” I ask, returning to reality.
“What are you thinking about? Something’s got you deep in thought.”
“Eh, nothing. Just thinking about what I’m going to eat for lunch after this. You know New York, right? From modeling?”
“Yeah, it's the fashion capital of the country, and all.”
“Got any recs? I’ve actually only been to New York a handful of times, probably a little over a week in total. I’m mainly in LA or London.”
“Sure, what are you in the mood for? There’s a pretty good Greek place close by if you’d want to do that. Or a classic New York diner with really great desserts.”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” I reply.
“Which one?”
“Either.”
Vivienne furrows her brows and stares at me like she’s trying to read my mind. “You’re an enigma,” she finally says.
“Thank you.”
“Not quite a compliment, Grey.”
“Oh, then, no, thank you.”
She laughs and is about to respond when a showrunner comes in and tells us we’re two minutes out from our interview and to follow him to the Plaza.
The interview goes well, nothing out of the ordinary. Afterward, Vivienne and I head to lunch at the diner she was talking about, since we’re free until later this afternoon when we have to do more press. Before I met Aspen, I remember thinking Vivienne was the best female costar I’ve ever had. She’s funny, charismatic, extremely talented, and has never once objectified me—in fact, I think she’s in the (very, very, very small) minority of straight women who aren't attracted to me. But she pales in comparison to Aspen in all ways, and I can’t help but wish it was her beside me this week, not Vivienne. After all, I’ve never viewed Vivienne as more than a friend, meanwhile, Aspen…
“Thank you,” Vivienne says, interrupting my train of thought as I hold the door to the diner open for her. The eatery has black and white tiled floors and walls so jam packed with hundreds of photos, posters, knick-knacks, and neon signs that you can hardly tell what color they are underneath—bright red, naturally.
Just moments after Vivienne and I settle into a plushy red-leather booth, a middle-aged waitress donning a yellow uniform and white apron approaches us. She hands us each a sticky, laminated menu covered in photos of pancakes, cheeseburgers, milkshakes, and fries.
“Can I start you two off with something to drink?” she asks, her thick Brooklyn accent cutting the air. I’m pretty sure she got some of her red lipstick on her front teeth, but I know better than to point it out—this is definitely the type of lady who “knows a guy,” and the last place I want to go tonight is the bottom of the East River.
We fumble with the menus and order our drinks, both Viv and I sensing that the waitress has better things to do than wait tables, and then she’s gone as quickly as she arrived.
“So this place is nice,” I say.
Vivienne laughs. “Nowhere in Times Square is going to be nice, but this place is decent. Plus, it’s classic New York. Where else but Manhattan could you get the greasiest cheeseburger of your life for $40?”
I chuckle too. “Funny. So, what’s the thing to get here, really?”
She ponders that question for a second before answering. “It’s always hard to fuck up breakfast foods.”
“Promising response, thank you. I thought you said this place was good?”
“I remember saying their desserts were good. I’m just getting a slice of their chocolate cake—it’s legendary.”
“Are you really?”
“Sure thing. I have a protein shake I’ll drink later for nutrition. This is purely for pleasure.”
“In that case, I’ll get a salad.”
Vivienne knits her brows. “You’re a dick.”
“That was never in doubt. I’ll get some cake on the side, though, to balance out. I’m afraid if I get any more fit, the sight of me will be enough to kill people, Medusa-style.”
“I think you mean Basilisk-style. Medusa just turned people to stone.”
“No one likes a know-it-all, Viv. And wouldn’t you be killed if you were turned to stone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just semantics.”
The waitress returns and briskly drops off our drinks and takes our orders before leaving with a cloud of moth-ball perfume.
“So, how’s Aspen?” Vivienne asks.
I almost spit out the sip in my mouth. “She’s fine.”
“I can tell you’ve been thinking about her.”
“Yeah right.”
“I’m serious. This entire week you’ve been staring off into space with this wistful look into your eye. You look absolutely love-sick.”
“I think you’re reading into things.”
“Was I reading into the way your entire body leans forward a fraction of an inch anytime her name is brought up? Or how your pupils were dilated in the bright morning sun earlier today when they asked about your relationship? Or how?—”
I cut her off. “I get the picture. How the fuck are you so good at reading people?”
Vivienne winks, looking way too pleased with herself. “One of my many talents. Do you love her? I just love love.”
“You can probably already tell by monitoring pupils or breathing or posture or heart rate or something.”
“I can. I’m happy for you two. I don’t know Aspen very well, but I know her sister Willow. Just a gem of a person, really. I mean it too; you know I’m not easily impressed.”
“I do. How did I not know you were like a human lie detector?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Anyway, it’s most useful if other people don’t know about it. Otherwise they’ll try to trip me up.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Viv.”
“As is yours, Grey. I’m happy for you.”
I smile tightly, hoping I don’t reveal the mental anguish simmering just below the surface. If only she knew that our relationship is fake, and that loving Aspen is actually the bane of my existence.