Chapter 9
Saturday
“But you don’t look like him.”
The little girl in front of me quickly looks away, unconvinced that I am who her father says I am.
“It’s only a beard.” I pull at it and the beard oil greases my fingertips. “You can touch it if you like.” I lean in as I bend down, pulling up my red-and-black flannel shirt slightly so it doesn’t crease.
“It’s him, darling, it’s Alexander Morgan.” Her dad pushes her toward me.
“I’ve had to grow it out for a film, and I can’t shave it off until after I finish shooting.”
The little girl’s eyes light up when I remove my sunglasses.
“It is him, daddy!” she squeals, jumping excitedly up and down.
The truth is, I’ve actually come to quite like the beard, and I told my team no when they tried to convince me to shave it off for the commercial and VMA awards. I even got Alfonso onside to convince them I needed to keep it, and that a fake beard would mess with continuity.
My gaze drifts over to Christopher, standing next to the Brewed CEO, whose face and shoulders have softened. There’s a kindness in his eyes that wasn’t there this morning.
Connie places her hand on my back as I stand up.
“We need to start shooting,” she says.
“We better get you home,” I say, rubbing the girl’s head. “We don’t want me to keep you up too late and be the reason Santa puts you on his naughty list.”
“No.” She shakes her head rapidly. Her beaming smile warms my heart.
“How about a picture before you go?”
With her enthusiastic nod, I pick her up, swinging her onto my right hip as her father whips out his phone.
The bright lights from the set mess with my retinas and I slide my sunglasses back on.
The exhaustion in my body makes the weight of the little girl heavier in my arms than expected.
The weakness is offset by the cocaine running through my veins, which keeps the adrenaline pumping.
I put her down, wave goodbye and thank the Brewed CEO for having me, then take another quick picture with the store manager and his kids before I make my way back through the store. I almost bump into the signage, and stop momentarily to read it.
Keep the Christmas Cheer, I’ll take the caffeine.
Underneath the slogan are pictures of their three signature drinks:
Frostbite Mocha
Grinch Fuel
Coal Brew
One of Brewed’s taglines sprawls across the bottom:
We can’t fix your family, but we can get you through them.
I let out a laugh.
White tinsel lines the counter. A Christmas tree made out of alternating levels of black and gold Brewed takeaway cups is perfectly positioned in the corner next to the third till. Small lumps of coal are set around the bottom, and a grinch sits at the top in place of a fairy.
The windows are covered in snowflake stencils, and multicolored twinkle lights are interwoven between the green garlands around the frames. Red-and-white candy canes are tucked into the loops and a big red bow finishes off the look.
I get to the back of the store and turn. Christopher is coming up behind me, with who I assume is the director. His hazel eyes twinkle as he approaches.
“You ready to get going?” His voice is softer and gentler than earlier. His hand on my arm sends a surge of electricity around my body.
“Sure, where do you want me?” I wink at him.
His mouth offers a quick half smile before it falls, but I’ll take that for now.
“This is Tanu, the director for the shoot.”
The woman beside him, dressed in a black leather trench coat, looks like Trinity, the badass sidekick to Keanu Reeves’s character Neo in the Matrix.
“Hi Tanu, Christopher’s told me so many wonderful things about you.” I lean in to hug her.
My stomach drops when Christopher’s expression dulls.
Shit. Fuck.
“He said you’ve been amazing to work with. I love the Montero video you did for Lil Nas X, and the Gaga video too.”
“Thanks.” Tanu smiles briefly and a lightness returns to Christopher’s face. “Can we take those off?” She points at my glasses.
Before I can even answer, Tanu removes them.
“On second thought, maybe we should keep them on.” She screws up her face and hands them back.
Jesus, I must look rough if even the director thinks I should keep my glasses on.
Erica had convinced me that eyedrops would help, but obviously they haven’t kicked in yet.
The cold pack she’d put on my face reduced some of the puffiness under my eyes, and the makeup she’d plastered underneath them, enough to fill the Grand Canyon, hid the black rings underneath.
“I was thinking I could come into the store wearing them, then take them off when I get to the counter to place my order.”
“We’ll make it work.” Tanu says, before walking toward one of the baristas. Her move leaves me alone with Christopher.
“Everything looks great in here.” I take in the rest of the store, breathing in deeply to stop my nose from running before returning my focus to Christopher.
The gold buttons on his white Burberry shirt sparkle under the artificial light, just like his hazel eyes.
“You okay?” Christopher asks.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I try hard not to sniff once more.
I’ve had enough of my team mollycoddling me all evening, asking the same question. The last thing I need is Christopher on my back too.
“No reason.” Christopher shakes his head as his eyes study me.
A thousand thoughts swirl in my head. I’ve hoped and waited for this moment ever since I left him in June, and now that it’s here I’m messing up again, just like I did when I bumped into him unexpectedly earlier. I’d beaten myself up all day for not saying what I wanted, what I needed to.
Connie nods at me, and I hold up my finger, asking for one more second.
“Actually, I was hoping we might find some time to talk.” I slip my hands into the back pockets of my black Prada jeans. “I owe you an apology and an explanation.” My pulse quickens and a lump forms in my throat. Every second feels like an hour, waiting for Christopher to respond.
“Alex,” Connie says.
“Just a second,” I snap back.
My focus stays locked on Christopher as I wait for an answer. I hold my breath tightly, my lungs becoming desperate for air.
“Okay, but it’ll need to be tomorrow before I leave for the airport.” His gaze leaves me and drifts to Connie, then over to Paul, who nods.
I let out a huge sigh and take in a deep breath.
I’ll take it, even if it means waiting several more hours, to say all that’s been left unsaid.
“Welcome to Brewed. What can I get for you?” the female barista asks. Her blond hair, gathered up in pigtails, bounces under her green elf hat. The rough mix of It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year plays out through the overhead speakers.
I suddenly catch the name tag on her red apron—Betty—surely not a coincidence.
A smile forms on my face as I see the nickname I’d given Christopher staring back at me.
“I’ll take a Grinch fuel please, Betty.”
“Can I get a name?” she asks while she keys in my order. As she grabs a black and gold takeaway cup, I catch one of the taglines: One cup away from tolerating humanity.
“Alexander,” I say, removing my glasses. Shock comes over her face. “But you can call me Al,” I say, riffing off-script in response to the name tag as the song plays in my head.
“And cut!” Tanu shouts. “That was genius. Great job. Let’s reset the cameras for the next scene.”
“Is your name really Betty?” I ask, leaning on the counter.
“No, it’s Samantha. That guy over there changed it last minute.” She points at Christopher, who’s by the playback monitor watching the screen.
It’s got to be a sign, surely. A coded message from him.
Butterflies circle inside my stomach. As I walk over to my team, I feel like I’m walking on air. The store manager’s kids, Ernesto and Paulina, wave at me from one of the round circular tables by the window where they’re sitting with their mom and dad, looking like a perfect family.
Though they all look different physically, they remind me of my own family.
Their matching Christmas sweaters give off an eerily similar vibe to the ones my dad insists we wear at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Yet our Christmases weren’t filled with joy, like the emotion I see on the kids’ faces as I wave back at them.
There was never enough money to go around.
It always felt like we were on Santa’s naughty list, unable to get what we’d asked for.
My parents regularly argued about money and my dad’s drinking habits, leaving my brother and me to hide away at the top of the stairs.
Their arguments seem to be less frequent, now that I’m famous and able to bankroll the Christmases we never had growing up. Then again, I’m rarely home long enough to know. Maybe the arguments have just evolved into something else.
“Here, let me touch you up,” Erica says when I reach her.
“That was perfect.” Paul nods reassuringly. He passes me my actual drink.
“If you keep going at this rate, we’ll be out of here in no time,” Connie adds.
I take a sip and notice the slogan on the side of the cup—Caffeinating the chaos you call a personality—and stifle a laugh. There’s only one person who’d be able to come up with these slogans. My gaze drifts once more to Christopher.
The sooner I can get out of here. The sooner I get to speak to him.
Seeing him in this room, but not being able to speak to him, is killing me inside.
Sunday
I keep reaching into my back pocket to check my phone messages, but there’s still no response from Christopher. The clock at the opposite end of the hall reads 5:15 p.m.
It’s fifteen minutes past the time we agreed on when filming wrapped this morning.
My excitement and anticipation at finally getting to be alone with him, to address everything, is seeping out of me, like the air out of a balloon.
Did he just say he’d meet me with no intention of showing up?
Did he ever intend to hear me out?