Chapter 5 Aiden
Chapter 5 AIDEN
G etting a fire burning in the fireplace seemed an easy enough request. How hard could it be? Turned out, much harder than Aiden expected. His own fireplace was fueled by gas; all he had to do was turn a knob and press a button. He huffed in frustration. It was bad enough that she had caught him checking her out as she went up the stairs. But he couldn’t help it—she had quite an enticing figure. And now his embarrassment doubled.
A crackling sound echoed around the house, and soon enough a news report took its place. She must have turned the radio on—an actual radio. Brilliant move. The radio presenter’s tone was velvety—weren’t they all?—which unexpectedly conveyed an eerie undertone to the weather update. “All citizens are to seek shelter,” the voice admonished, bringing him back to the “duck and cover” drills from his years living here.
“Everything all right there?” she asked as she entered the living room, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Aiden continued fumbling with the logs. “Yes, easy-peasy.”
“Uh-huh,” she mumbled. “You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”
“How preposterous. I know exactly what I’m doing.” He said it as seriously as possible. “I’m making an utter fool of myself, that’s what I’m doing.”
Her sudden laughter set him at ease. “Historically, I think it was the cave women who were responsible for lighting the fire, so allow me to do my part.”
As she crouched by his side, Aiden tried to think of a clever comeback. “Should I go hunting then?”
“Not in this weather. You need to stay in the cave and protect me.”
Protect her? She lit the fireplace with such practiced ease, he reckoned this woman needed no one to do things for her. He kept staring at her as she added, “I can teach you, if you want. We do have some time to kill, anyway. I just checked the weather app. Although we don’t need to shelter in the basement yet, it’s going to be a while before it’s safe to leave.”
The situation was far from dire; he had shelter and a cozy fire, not to mention very intriguing company. He felt a tad self-conscious, nevertheless. Intruding into this woman’s house, even without meaning to, didn’t seem proper. But the weather outside meant he didn’t have many other options. “I won’t bother you any longer than is strictly necessary. As soon as it’s safe, I’ll be on my way.”
“On your way where, exactly?”
“To California. I’ve got work to do there. My flight was rescheduled for tomorrow morning.” He’d go to Los Angeles and then in ten days he would fly to Jordan to continue filming—but there was no need to share that much information with someone he’d just met.
“I love California,” she said, and her mind seemed to drift away for a moment before she looked at him again. “Well, while you’re here, allow me to impress you with my superb hosting skills. Tea?”
“Just because I’m British, you assume I fancy tea?” Aiden glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smiled. “You are very right. Tea would be lovely, thanks.”
While she was in the kitchen, Aiden examined the photographs on the mantelpiece. A cute little dog whose breed he couldn’t identify, perhaps a stray. His host beside an older woman with the same smile and same wavy hair, probably her mother, both holding huge clouds of cotton candy. A picture of her in profile that showed the exquisite line of her nose—long and thin, tipped slightly downwards. It gave her a striking effect, an air of power. Some travel pictures, many of sites he recognized: Big Ben, Christ the Redeemer, James Bond Island in Thailand. Friends gathered around a pool table and a mountain of beer cans on a summer day—she looked even better in a bikini than he had imagined, and he forced himself not to stare at that photo for long, which proved itself a real challenge. A group of women, clad—just barely—in belly-dance attire. If the photographs were any indication, this woman led a fascinating life. And he couldn’t help noticing the stark absence of anyone resembling a significant other in any of the photos.
Aiden reached for his phone to send Becky a message, but he couldn’t find it. He must have left it elsewhere in the house. It was uncanny, this ability he had to lose anything his hands touched. At home, he had designated spots for his belongings, and he always took great care to consciously put everything in its place so as not to lose his things all the time.
He retraced his steps.
His first stop after re-entering her house had been the foyer, where he peeled off his jacket. As luck would have it, there it was, lying on the entry table, right next to a well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice . What was it that fascinated people so much with this book? Aiden had never understood it.
The wind decided now was the moment to make itself known. It howled and screamed, making the door rattle and the windows tremble. Aiden peered outside—it was already dark—and hoped the old house was sturdy enough to withstand the storm; Gabe’s mom used to complain about the leaks every time it rained. The memory of Mrs. Márquez spurred Aiden into sending his friend a quick text saying he was safe and sound.
Something on the table caught his eye. A pile of mail. Then it occurred to him: the envelopes would have her name printed on them. I won’t be breaching her privacy if I don’t open the envelopes , he rationalized, pocketing his phone and picking some items up for further inspection.
A few of those—mostly flashy magazines—were addressed to a Dipa Haridasan. Lovely as the name was, it didn’t seem to match his host’s ancestry. Aiden had a faint memory of Gabe calling her by a weird nickname of sorts—he’d probably misheard, but it had sounded Scandinavian, maybe Dutch. Ah, there it was, stamped on a utility bill. Nora Oliveira Henning. Hen ink. Of course. He was an idiot. Nora... the name suited her, somehow. Uncommon, but not quirky. Strong. He wouldn’t forget that name.
Aiden heard his host— Nora —coming back from the kitchen. He was still holding the envelope with her name on it. Not wanting to be caught snooping, he shoved it back to the middle of the pile, which caused a magazine to fall to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it... Shite . There it was, in all its shiny glory, a candid picture of him filming a scene in Centennial Park, with the Parthenon replica in the background.
The picture had been taken earlier this week. Aiden recalled thinking, on that particular day, that finally the first phase of filming for Consequat was coming to its end. The film had such an interesting premise—the book was brilliant; he’d read it in two days—but the project was going off the rails at an alarming speed. The director, Louis-Alphonse Verdier, constantly changed the script, shooting multiple versions of each scene, and the storyline was now a complete mystery. That—added to the stark lack of chemistry among the cast—was a strong omen of impending doom. The film could be a major setback for his career.
On top of all the internal issues the production faced, and the fact that Verdier had been very vocal about the changes he planned to make to the original story—causing the author’s fans to revolt—this last week had been a disaster. The whole team was in Los Angeles waiting for the upcoming trip to Jordan, where many external scenes would be filmed, but Verdier was adamant that Aiden and two other actors had to film the Nashville scenes during this specific week. Only to be met with inclement weather. Only for him to meet this Nora, perhaps?
Aiden shook his head. He couldn’t risk leaving the magazine there, not with a full-page photo of him on display. As she rounded the corner, he tried to appear casual as he leafed through the pages.
“ Them , really?” Nora narrowed her eyes, holding a steaming electric kettle. “I have some actual literature you might enjoy.”
“In fact, this magazine is yours.”
“No, it’s not.”
“My apologies, but I have to disagree. I found it right here.” He pointed to the entrance table.
“Oh, it’s Dipa’s, then. My best friend. She has this annoying habit of using my address for her magazine subscriptions because she used to move around a lot. Well, I’m glad someone else is interested in them.”
He tried to stutter an excuse, but she’d already turned and moved to the dining area, placing the kettle on the round table. The current dove-gray walls, bare except for a wall-mounting of an enormous puzzle of a paradisiacal beach, were a far cry from the dining room he remembered from his youth with floral wallpaper and the largest collection of family photos he’d ever seen. The room had a light, modern air to it now, and Aiden found he quite enjoyed the new look.
As Nora bent down to fetch something, her shirt rode up her back, revealing skin. This time, though, he forced his eyes to look elsewhere. From the buffet, Nora produced a fancy-looking tea set. It reminded Aiden of his grandmother, who kept a tea set for special occasions, along with a quaint collection of mismatched cups for everyday use. To see Nora do the same was endearing.
He realized he was again staring at her, and his eyes fell back to the magazine.
“What are you so avidly reading about?” Nora asked.
Aiden wasn’t reading a thing; he was trying to hide his photo. He frantically flipped a few pages and landed on a questionnaire. “36 Questions to Fall in Love,” the headline touted. It was precisely this kind of rubbish that made people develop daft notions about relationships. It brought to mind a faint memory of the girls in his school exchanging notebooks with questions written in colorful, glittery ink, to be answered by all classmates, including boys, with some questions engineered like carefully placed traps. When asked whom she loved, Jessica—a frail blonde with crooked teeth—wrote “Aiden Elliott,” causing a frisson in the classroom. When the pink notebook reached him—along with the whispers—Aiden, out of extreme shyness, pretended not to see her answer. If only he knew it would be quite a while before he caught another girl’s eye... And then, decades later, how common it would be to see his name associated with the word “love” and eligible starlets. But things hadn’t changed that much for him. He was still shy and skittish when it came to anyone professing affection.
“Just an... interesting set of questions,” he said as fast as he could, as to not give away what the article was about. He skimmed through a few of them. They seemed harmless enough, and it could pass the time while they were stranded together. “Nora,” he liked how her name rolled off his tongue, “if you could choose anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”
She snorted. “You can’t have taken this insightful question from Them .”
Aiden sat down at a respectful distance and examined Nora’s fine porcelain set. It was exquisite, with golden rims and a pink floral pattern. “Yes, I did. Right here, in this educative magazine.”
“Educative. That’s a way to put it, I guess.”
“So . . . ?”
“So what?”
“Who would you want as a dinner guest?” Aiden chose a Darjeeling from the box.
Nora paused, reflecting on the matter. “Anyone in the world? George Lucas. No, wait... Sir Paul McCartney!”
“You have to choose one.”
“Shit. Paul it is, then. I think he’d make a hell of a cool dinner guest. Gosh, I get goosebumps just thinking about it. What about you?”
“I would choose you,” Aiden answered, perhaps but not really but definitely maybe attempting a flirty comment. When she looked at him like a deer in headlights, though, he backpedaled. “I mean, I’d love to repay you for your hospitality.”
“That’s sweet, Aiden. Too bad it’s not a valid answer. Now, who would you choose as a dinner guest?”
“Who says it’s not a valid answer?”
Nora cocked a brow and stared into his eyes, her irises shifting color with the light. “I do.”
“So it means you wouldn’t accept my dinner invitation?”
“I didn’t say that .”
“So you would have dinner with me.”
“I didn’t say that either. Now back to your answer.”
“Fine. Does the person have to be alive? Does it have to be an actual person?” He was stalling for time, trying to come up with a good answer. Then he remembered the copy of Pride and Prejudice by her entrance table. “Because I would love to ask Elizabeth what the hell she saw in Darcy.”
“Wait, you don’t know what Elizabeth Bennet saw in Mr.Darcy?” He shook his head, and she threw hers back in mock rage. “Uh, men. You don’t know the first thing about romance.”
“Excuse me, I think I know quite a bit about romance.” Or, at least, he’d starred in two rom-coms. That counted, didn’t it?
“Uh-huh.”
“None of my girlfriends ever complained.” It was not quite true, that part, but he didn’t need to share that much information.
She smirked. “Maybe they had low standards. Did you ever serenade any of your girlfriends?”
This gave him pause. “Uh, no, I can’t—”
“Thank God!” She reached across the table to grab his forearm. “Serenading is tacky—the farthest you can get from ‘romantic.’ Don’t ever do that to a woman.”
What a relief. Aiden had never considered serenading a woman, and for a split second he wondered if he’d been wrong. “I’ll keep that in mind. No serenades. But perhaps Elizabeth Bennet would disagree.”
“So, you’d really have Lizzy for dinner?”
“Nah.” He tapped his chin with a finger. “Maybe for a lively event... I don’t know, Buster Keaton? He would make quite the guest for a meal. Yeah, I’ll stick with Buster Keaton for now.”
Influenced by his father, who was an amateur film enthusiast, most of the movies he saw growing up were black-and-white classics. From the very moment he saw the 1902 classic A Trip to the Moon , at the tender age of nine, he was hooked on cinema for life. Watching those films, he felt a keen sense of wonder and deep awe; it was as if the actors regarded acting as sacred. These days the industry was obsessed with flashy effects and plasticized faces, always looking for the next blockbuster. Even still, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else for a living.
“I’m sure my answer would be different if you had asked me yesterday, or if you ask me again tomorrow. Tonight, though, it’ll do.”
Nora bit her lower lip. “Do I have to pretend I know who Buster Keaton is?”
“You’re joking. Here, I’ll show you.” Aiden grabbed his phone and tried to search, but it froze. Again. “Sodding useless rubbish. I guess it’s time for a new phone.”
“This model was launched just last year.”
“Was it? But it’s already slow and glitching, as you can see. That’s how they force you to buy a new one.”
“You don’t need to buy a new phone every year. Do you mind if I take a look? Getting these things to work is my magic talent, you know.” She observed his wary face. “I swear I won’t snoop.”
“Fine. Do your magic.”
She scooted closer. It was impossible for him to follow what she was doing, so he just nodded his head along. Nora rattled off information about cache, biscuits, and all the other hocus-pocus technobabble that Aiden made it a point not to know. She accessed areas of his phone he’d never seen and he was so distracted by how close she sat, her shoulder touching his, that he couldn’t even begin to try to make sense of it all.
“Ta da! There you go. Try it now.”
The device worked as smoothly as the day he bought it. “You are a genius.”
“It was nothing. Now, you were about to show me Buzz Lightyear?”
Aiden would have laughed if it hadn’t been such a blasphemy. “Right. This is one of Buster Keaton ’s most famous stunts.” It was a scene where a building facade fell to the floor, just barely missing crushing Keaton. “The set crew couldn’t watch this scene being filmed,” Aiden said, repeating what his father had told him. “They were so sure he was going to die. He did all his stunts himself, the crazy bastard.”
A message notification popped on the top of the screen.
Where r u?
From Becky. He’d forgotten to text her that he was safe, and she was going to kill him. Nora moved away from the screen to give him privacy, but Aiden just moved his phone closer so she could see it.
“Don’t you wanna... answer the text?” Nora asked.
“As soon as we finish this video. Look what the bloody devil does!” He let himself get swept up in the video, pushing thoughts of everything else aside.
After forcing himself—for Nora’s sake—not to rewatch it, he picked up the magazine again. “Shall we move on? Second question: ‘Would you like to be famous? In what way?’”
Shite.
Well. He knew he couldn’t play the role of a regular person for much longer. And it would be good to be honest with Nora once and for all. She didn’t seem the kind of person to throw someone out in the storm just because they weren’t what she’d expected. Perhaps... could she know who he was already and be playing a game, graciously giving him the chance to tell the truth for himself? “In fact, I—”
“Hell no!” she interrupted. “The only way I’d want to be famous is if I could hide behind something, so I’d be only sort of famous. If I could write under a pen name, or if I could dub a character’s voice, or something like that.” She was all riled up. She flailed her arms, moved her hands, speaking as much with her body as with words. With most people, Aiden would have found this behavior off-putting, but somehow with Nora, it seemed impassioned and absolutely authentic.
“And why is that, if I may ask? You don’t seem shy.” Quite unlike himself, Aiden thought.
“I think fame destroys whatever is good about a person. They become self-obsessed, as if the world revolves around them, as if everyone else exists just to serve them. And they do as they please, no matter who they hurt in the process, because they think they are these fucking untouchable gods. Guess what, they are not. And nowadays, especially with social media, everyone wants their five minutes of fame, when they could be using their time for other things, relevant things. So much time wasted into something so absurdly useless!” She gestured as if she was giving a lecture. “So that’s why I think fame is one of the worst diseases of the twenty-first century. It’s almost a character flaw.”
Aiden’s body stiffened. How could he tell her who he was after that?
“Besides, I loathe the idea of having my privacy violated,” she continued. “I’m the kind of person who veers to another aisle in the supermarket to avoid someone I know, if I’m not in the mood to talk.”
That was something he could relate to. “So would you turn the other way to avoid talking to me?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Nora said. “I generally avoid people I don’t want to talk to. But even if we already knew each other, I might have avoided you today because I had a horrible day, it was raining, and I was looking like shit.”
Nora didn’t seem to be fishing for a compliment; still, Aiden felt compelled to say something, even if only to take his mind off her comment regarding fame. “With all due respect, you looked lovely.” And it was true, anyway. He’d noticed her loveliness the first moment he saw her walking towards him in the pelting rain, holding her head high as she faced the onslaught.
She flashed him a constrained smile. “Thanks. What about you? Would you like to be famous?”
Aiden paused. After hearing her say that “fame is one of the worst diseases of the twenty-first century,” it was clear that admitting to his popularity could be as damaging as not, if not worse. He opted to give a truthful answer, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.
“Famous? Heavens no. I never wanted to be famous. Of course, it’s nice to get recognition for your work, or whatever it is you do, but fame? Nah. Being anonymous is a blessing.” There. Done. Would she call him on his bullshit? Aiden risked a sip of his tea, more to hide his face than to drink it, but it was still too hot.
He looked at Nora. The enthusiastic bobbing of her head told him all he needed to know. His not-so-secret identity remained undiscovered. He wouldn’t have to talk about his potentially failing career—or risk being judged for his line of work.
“You’re absolutely right. I guess being anonymous is a blessing. You know, I see all these celebs running away from paparazzi like hunted foxes. They can’t go to the grocery store or out for breakfast without being hassled and... wow. I can’t imagine how it is to live like that, in a fishbowl where everyone sees your every mistake. Every time your heart gets broken, they’re watching. And, if you put on a few pounds because you binged on cake to deal with your heartbreak, you’re national news.”
Aiden nodded—she was describing the side of fame he didn’t enjoy much. Especially the part about everyone witnessing his mistakes—and he had a feeling Consequat was going to be a huge one, given the bad press the film was receiving while still in production. All things considered, he tried to keep a low profile, but his growing success came at the price of his shrinking privacy. For a few blessed years, when Aiden was building his career, taking major roles in minor plays, he’d had the best of both worlds. When a scout discovered him, things moved quickly—in a matter of a few years he was a public figure. It cleared the path for exciting projects, for which he was grateful, but it was a tradeoff. Each starring role he took meant more exposure and less privacy.
“Famous people don’t have the freedom that nobodies like us have. Whenever I travel, I like to look for under-the-radar places, places where only locals go, so I can feel the real atmosphere of the city,” Nora said. “Have a local beer, embarrass myself trying to learn some steps of the local rhythm, eat street food that may put me in the hospital the next day, but that I couldn’t find anywhere else in the world... I don’t think famous people get to do that. It’s so crazy. Their lives are limited, not by money, like most of ours are, but by the very thing that provides them all their wealth. So, to conclude, I prefer a balance. That, for me, is ideal. Gosh, I’m sorry if I bored you to death with my monologue.”
“Not at all. In fact, your monologue was on point.”
Aiden pictured her taking him on her travels. A small bar in Colombia, beer in hand, and Nora singing along to a loud Latin song from an old, rusty radio. Greeks—and Nora—laughing at his feeble attempt to muddle through a traditional dance. A night market in Vietnam, him holding a skewer with a fried scorpion, her eating from a bowl of something with a difficult name and a delicious aroma. All the things he wanted to do but couldn’t, because he didn’t have the time, or because Becky advised him not to. He traveled quite a bit to sets and premieres, but he was put up in major hotels and booked at fancy restaurants, and all these places seemed the same, no matter where they were located. Aiden had been to over thirty countries already. But he didn’t know thirty countries in the same way Nora seemed to know the places she’d visited.
After taking a sip, Nora gestured to the magazine. “These questions sound like fun after all. What’s next?”