Chapter Five. Riley
Chapter Five
Riley
I carefully carry the tray out of the kitchen and walk up the stairs to Luna’s greenroom.
I knock, excited to see her in rehearsal mode after the fun night we had.
It was incredible to see her come up with lyrics on the spot like that.
I’ve always wondered what her process is like, since her songs are basically poetry, and seeing it was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. She truly has a gift.
I’m already smiling just thinking of it, but when the door swings open, it’s Ashley standing there, not Luna.
She takes the tray with a brusque thank-you and shuts the door quickly.
My cheeks flush red with embarrassment. I don’t know why I expected anything different.
For some reason I imagined getting to see Luna try the breakfast I made for her, hearing her exclaim over what parts of it she liked most. I wanted to hear about where the song went once she got back to her room and had her guitar. But that’s not why I’m here.
Back in the kitchen, I eat some of the leftover parfait then clean up from breakfast and start prepping Luna’s lunch.
Making three unique meals for one person like this is really different from how I typically cook.
Usually I’m either sweating over seafood all day at You’re My Lobster in the summer or cooking a four-person dinner for a video that I put most of in the fridge for later in the week.
Because I’m only making food for Luna now, I’m adjusting the recipes in order to minimize food waste, and I’m trying to make different things every day to keep things exciting.
And, if I’m being honest, to impress her.
As I’m mixing together the marinade for the salmon I plan on baking for Luna, Ashley walks into the kitchen. I hit pause on the video I was recording, a detail shot of the mixing from above.
“Riley,” she says, and I can’t tell if her tone is friendly or admonishing.
“Did Luna like the breakfast?” I ask, hoping she can’t hear the nerves in my voice.
“She loved it,” Ashley admits as she sets the empty tray down on the counter.
“But I just wanted to chat with you about yesterday. Rick let me know that you’ve been spending some time with Luna.
” I must look confused, because she clarifies.
“Luna’s security detail. He told me about your …
excursion last night, and that you seemed to have spent the flight together. ”
I go to tuck my hair behind my ear nervously, but it’s slicked back into a tight bun, and instead I’m left awkwardly touching my temple. I drop my hands behind my back. “Sorry about that,” I say instinctively. “Luna asked, and I didn’t … It won’t happen again.”
Ashley nods at my answer. “It’s okay. I know Luna invited you.
I just want to make sure that you remember that you’re here as her staff, not as her friend.
I know this is your first time doing a gig like this and so I wanted to set some ground rules.
A bit of fraternizing is normal, but just remember that you can’t be distracting Luna and the job comes first. If she invites you to do something on an off day, that’s …
fine, I guess. But don’t let it get in the way of your work. And she has to ask you.”
“Of course,” I say quietly. I’m burning with embarrassment and can’t wait for this conversation to end. “Understood.”
“Amazing,” Ashley says as she walks out.
She looks over her right shoulder before leaving.
“And don’t forget: you signed an ironclad NDA.
I know Luna can get … chatty when she’s one-on-one.
And the press is crazy and would pay for any personal details, no matter how mundane.
But anything she tells you is private and protected by the NDA.
” She nods to my phone. “And be cognizant of what you’re including in your videos.
No personal details about Luna or talking about your excursion. ”
“I … I would never do that to her.”
Ashley just smiles, as though she’s heard that one before, and it makes my stomach twist to think of a former friend or employee selling out Luna like that.
Right as she leaves, my phone vibrates with a text, and I extract it from the tripod and look at the message, since that seems like a great alternative to giving into the pinpricks of tears I can feel forming.
In The Bugs group chat, my dads have sent a picture of them at You’re My Lobster, each biting into humongous fresh lobster rolls.
A tear rolls down my cheek and I pinch my eyes shut to prevent any more from falling.
I’ve wanted to do something bigger with my cooking for years now.
But now that I’m finally here, being paid to cook whatever elaborate meals I dream up for my favorite singer, I have the most acute pang of longing for You’re My Lobster.
I love waking up every day and having the sand under my feet while I have coffee, knowing half the people who order from us by name, watching tourists take a bite of the best lobster roll they’ll ever have.
Not feeling so tired, I fall asleep standing up. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.…
I abandon the marinade for the moment and take Luna’s tray over to the sink. I stack the plates neatly on the dirty side of the industrial sink, but when I lift the yogurt bowl, a piece of paper flutters to the floor. I set the bowl down and pick up the paper.
Just in case you wanted to know how the verse ended.…
Haven’t you always
Said you’d be here
Taking me to the lights and conquering our fears?
Instead I drink wine and see everyone else
Hold on to their someone
Like I’m so desperate to do.
I hope you find someone you can’t go without
And take her everywhere we talked about.
I’ll care and you won’t
And that’s how it always goes
But I’d rather have my own light
Than be someone you still get to say that you know.
Wow. I haven’t even heard it set to music, and I can already imagine it as one of her classic, more folksy songs.
Just her and her guitar. I still like the new pop style she’s been leaning into lately, but I don’t love it as much as her last album.
Those songs are so relatable, I listen to them while I cook, but my dads also sing them in the car, and lately I even hear summer people screaming along to pop remixes at the club during tea dance.
I remember how she looked writing this, lost in her own world and lit up, but also almost sad, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is a breakup song.
Which doesn’t make any sense. I was just reading an article about her and Hudson last night, when I needed to remind myself that no, we didn’t have a moment, we were just two girls at the Eiffel Tower sharing a picnic with a thousand couples.
Maybe she’s writing about a past breakup.
She dated that actor two years ago, and when she first blew up, she was seen out with a soccer player.
This could be about anyone. I fold the paper up carefully and put it in my phone case so that it’s safe from the mess that I’m sure will be all over me by the time I’ve cooked everything and cleaned up today.
There are so many amazing things about my setup here—they’ll pay for any ingredients I want, I have a runner if I forget something, a local showed me the spots for the best produce, which could have taken months for me to discover in a new city on my own—but the lack of a dishwasher in this venue isn’t one of them.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I can do this. I just need to start cooking.