5. Cat
5
Cat
Secret Hollywood Insight
I look up from my screen to watch the clouds drift. They are so wispy and stark white against the bright blue sky that I get lost in them for a few minutes. It’s a gorgeous morning. I promise myself I won’t work all day.
I’m determined to improve my work-life balance. Working nonstop hasn’t exactly done me any favors.
If I’m being honest, all the biggest gains I’ve made happened before I became such a workaholic, back when I remembered to stay in touch with friends and keep up with the world around me.
Somewhere along the way, my world got small. I’m aware it was my own doing.
I’m not entirely too sure how to undo it, but I know it’s going to require uncomfortable changes. I’m uncomfortable doing anything other than work. Sad, but true.
I’ll go down and enjoy the beach in a bit, but first, I need to go over this last fulfillment center quote. Before my eyes settle back on the screen, I see Nash jogging toward the beach. Shirtless again.
Nice back.
There is no bad view, apparently.
Numbers, Cat. Look at the numbers.
When I look up again, the clouds have cleared completely. I can’t remember the last time I saw such a clear sky. Okay, that’s it. No more wasting the day. I’ve analyzed all the quotes and made a decision. If I keep going over them, it’ll just be overkill.
While it’s true that I have to learn to trust myself again, I’m not relying on instinct here. I’ve seen hard numbers. There’s nothing more to do. I close my computer before I can open another tab.
They say old habits are hard to break, but they’re hard to reestablish, too. My old habits were a lot healthier than my more recent ones.
Nash meets me in the middle of the walkway to the beach. His chest and arms are coated with a sheen of sweat, and the damp tips of his dark hair stick to his forehead and the nape of his neck.
“I don’t know how you got any sleep, sitting up all night.”
“I think I worked most of the night,” he says. “I’m about to take a shower and possibly, a nap. I never nap, but I feel one coming on.”
“I’m sure you need it. I’ll be on the beach for a few hours, and then I’ll probably grab some lunch. Are you a picky eater? I owe you a meal.”
“You don’t owe me anything. But there’s not much I won’t eat.”
We both laugh, and I think it’s the most relaxed moment we’ve shared. “Okay. I’ll try to get something that’ll reheat well in case you’re asleep when I get back to the house.”
He laughs alone now. “That’s a level of planning that would never even occur to me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, even though you’re making fun of me for it.”
His expression falls. “I’m not, I promise. It’s just funny to me because I wouldn’t have thought of that, but I do appreciate it.”
“I’m not upset. I know I’m a weirdo.”
“Weird can be good. Enjoy the beach.”
“Thanks.” I mean it for both of his comments, but I don’t clarify.
Because that would be weird. Instead, I say, “Have a nice shower.”
He tilts his head and looks at me like maybe he didn’t hear me right, and then he smiles and says, “Yeah, I’ll try to do that.”
I walk toward the beach again before my mouth can spew any more gems.
Have a nice shower? What the hell? That was weird, even for me!
Directly in my line of sight, a woman gathers her things and abandons a chair with an umbrella. I swoop in like an opportunistic seagull going after a dropped French fry. It’s the perfect spot, and it’s all mine.
I’m slathered in sunscreen already, so the only thing to do is relax and read my book. I haven’t finished a book in ages, but I blew through almost half of this one in bed last night. And I didn’t have to reread a single paragraph. All it took was one, unusually quick orgasm, and then I was able to totally focus on the story.
The beach has always been my unwind zone. Even after Nash wound me up, I was able to let it all go so easily. In the interest of full disclosure, he played a starring role in the letting go part, too—a deliciously filthy role that I have a feeling he might reprise every night we share under the same roof.
I shift to get comfortable in my chair, and then I crack open my book while the waves crash, kids squeal, and dogs bark. It’s all background noise in no time.
I have never fallen asleep on the beach in my life. A quick check of the time on my phone puts my sunburn fears to rest. I couldn’t have been asleep more than forty-five minutes, but I feel like I just slept a full night.
It’s funny how memories hide in the recesses of your brain, because if you’d asked me how it felt to sleep a full night, I would’ve said I didn’t remember, but I do. It feels exactly like this.
Maybe it’s always been more about quality than quantity. All I know is that catnap on the beach was some of the best sleep I’ve ever had.
My book is still open to the page where I left off, as if I set it on my leg intentionally to nap, but it definitely fell from my hand and landed that way. Fortuitously. I’ve always loved that word.
Everything about this day has been good. I knew I was meant to be here this week.
I sit and read a few more chapters before my stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten at all today.
The sun feels amazing on my skin as I walk back to the house. I stow my beach bag in my car instead of taking it upstairs. If Nash is asleep, I don’t want to interrupt his nap. Right now, I’d gift a nap to everyone if I could. Okay, maybe not the lions who all said, “No deal.”
And not my fourth-grade teacher who wouldn’t let me go on the field trip to the wildflower center because I suggested that if she grouped the clothes in her closet by color, it might be easier for her to find things that matched. I said it discreetly, and I honestly thought I was being helpful. I was a child.
But I really do wish everyone else a great nap.
Who knew such a small amount of sleep could be so restorative?
Driving with my windows down is something I hardly ever do, but today, I need salt air and wind in my hair. When I decide on a restaurant for lunch, I twist my tangled hair up into the epitome of a messy bun before I go inside. I may look like something that just washed up on the beach, but I feel like a million bucks.
After devouring the best fish tacos on the planet, I ask to see the menu again so I can choose something for Nash. Nothing really looks like it would reheat all that well. I order him fried shrimp. You can eat those at room temperature. If you’re me, you can eat them right out of the fridge, and I suspect Nash will eat them however he finds them, too.
Not everybody is into cold fries, though, so I order him a side of mashed potatoes. Those reheat perfectly. I get him some garlic bread, too. Pretty sure I’m the best accidental roommate he’s ever had, weird shower comments aside.
I’m sipping iced tea and waiting for his order when a woman about my age, late twenties, maybe early thirties, approaches my table. “Excuse me,” she says. “But are you Cat Fairchild?”
“Oh, my gosh! Yes.”
Wow, I’d forgotten all about the possibility of being recognized. And I never forget about that. I’m always conscious of the fact that someone might want a photo, and the internet is forever, but she’s just caught me looking like a natural disaster. Oh, well. Here we are.
“Do you follow me?”
“Yeah, I’ve followed you for a few years now.”
“Thank you so much. I hope I’ve been helpful.”
“You have.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “But girl, what the hell happened to you on Lions’ Den? I’ve seen the rumors online that you were high on something, but that doesn’t sound right to me.” She glances around as if to be sure no one is listening, and then she lowers her voice to ask, “Did you maybe just accidentally take too much of a prescription or something?”
“People are saying I was on drugs? Who? That’s a lie!”
“I figured as much.” Her slowed speech and sympathetic nod make me want to crawl under the table.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “It hasn’t gone viral or anything, I just read it on a SceneBreak forum. And not a really huge one, only like a few hundred thousand members.”
“How many?”
Oh, God. How did it never occur to me that people would gossip about me online? On the one hand, you have to be pretty damn relevant to be the subject of online rumors, but this is not the kind of fame I wanted.
I never actually wanted fame at all, just success.
Yet it’s my biggest failure that gets me recognized in a beach town. An organizational influencer looking like a complete disheveled mess.
Something wet grazes my cheek, and I pull a piece of coleslaw from a section of hair that’s sprung loose from my haphazard updo.
Get it together. Handle your shit, Cat.
“Listen, I’m going to level with you. I was under a lot of pressure, and the pitch obviously didn’t go well, and that’s certainly not what I was expecting, so my reaction was perhaps a little less professional than the way I normally present myself. As a follower, you know I’m usually incredibly level-headed.”
“That’s putting it mildly. You’re practically robotic. In fact, my sister thinks maybe you missed a dose of medicine and that’s what went wrong.”
I grip the table so hard my fingernails dig crescents into the thick lacquer topcoat on the wood. “No, no, that’s not it either. There were no medicinal changes. No additions, no skipped doses, nothing. And I wouldn’t say my persona is ever robotic. In fact, I think I get pretty excited in some of my videos. Do you think you could maybe post about this conversation to clear up the misconceptions?”
“Of course.” She nods enthusiastically now. “So, the truth is you just snapped?”
“Well, n-n-no. Don’t say snapped . Just that I was surprised by the results. They caught me off guard. That’s all.”
“Sure. And you’re human like anybody else.”
“Exactly.” I breathe a sigh of relief, loosen my grip a little.
“We’ve all lost our shit at some point when things didn’t go our way.” She shrugs. “It happens.”
“Yeah, let’s don’t phrase it quite like that either. Maybe instead of lost my shit , it would be more accurate to say I simply expressed my shock in an authentic and unscripted way.” I try to lift my voice to a more cheerful, optimistic tone before I go on. “People sometimes think all reality TV is scripted, you know? Maybe they would appreciate learning that Lions’ Den isn’t.”
“That is a good thing,” she agrees. “Every time you turn around, you find out something you thought was real was actually fake all along. Who cares if you flipped out? At least it was real and you weren’t acting.”
Oh, fuck, this is bad.
I’m not proud of what I’m about to do, but I don’t see another way to salvage this. If I let her speak freely, she’s going to destroy what’s left of my reputation.
I put my elbows on the table and drop my head to my hands. “I can’t do this anymore. I am so sorry. I owe you and all of my followers a huge apology.” I lift my head and contort my face into an expression that feels like it should convey remorse.
“While it wasn’t totally scripted, I knew before the cameras started rolling that they weren’t going to back me. You have to understand, though, that once you’ve signed their contract, you don’t have any choice. They already know whether they’re going to give you a deal or not, but you don’t find out until right before you film. And then you have to give your pitch as if you have no idea. It’s all so manipulative. They do it for the ratings, knowing you won’t be at your best if they’ve turned you down. A reaction like mine is pretty much what they hope for.”
“Oh, shit! That’s so messed up. They just crush your dreams, and then stick a camera in your face?”
“Yeah, that’s sort of how it happens.”
“Damn. I’ll never watch that show again.”
“Some people really do get lifechanging deals. I just wasn’t one of the lucky ones. But to be clear, I am bound by my contract not to say anything disparaging about the show, soooo . . .”
“Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare quote you on any of this.”
Nash’s order arrives, and I pop up from my chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Thank you so much for understanding. And hey, now you have some secret Hollywood insight.” I press my fingers to my lips to emphasize the secret factor.
She smiles and mimes turning a key to lock her lips.
Whew. Crisis averted.
I’ve got damage control to do regarding that forum, though. I may need to bring on a PR firm for this. As much as that interaction sucked, it’s actually a good thing I ran into that woman.
Otherwise, I would’ve remained blissfully unaware of what people were saying, and who knows how out of control things might’ve gotten?