11. Ben
11
Ben
What do you like to do to unwind?
CARLISLE
Rewatch favorite TV shows. It’s like comfort food for the brain.
Not movies?
CARLISLE
I like movies, but I prefer TV shows, I guess. I’ve never really given it much thought.
I try not to take offense to that. But then again, if she did prefer movies, she probably would have recognized my voice a long time ago.
What are your favorites?
CARLISLE
My old faves are ones that my mom and I watched together, like Grey's Anatomy and Suits .
What’s your ideal first date?
I’m conducting research for our date next weekend. I want it to be perfect, but I’m having trouble deciding what to do. The typical drinks and dinner date is out since we’re meeting during the day, which makes me lean more towards an activity versus sharing a meal.
But I haven’t come up with any ideas for said activity yet.
CARLISLE
Hmm… a glass of wine, some yummy food, easy conversation, and an outside patio that isn’t too crowded. Bonus points if there's an ocean view.
That sounds delightful.
Delightful and completely unrealistic for me. I can’t risk taking Carlisle to a restaurant with an outdoor patio. Even if I rented out the entire restaurant, we’d get photographed before our appetizers even arrived.
CARLISLE
What do you do to unwind after a … well, I would say after a hard day’s work , but since you don’t seem to actually work much…
You’re funny. I like it.
CARLISLE
Thank you. Now answer the question.
Bossy and demanding, too. I really like that.
CARLISLE
You’re thinking dirty thoughts right now, aren’t you?
I’m a dude. Of course, I am. Are you?
CARLISLE
I plead the fifth. Now, answer the original question.
I enjoy reading, watching sports, working out, and cooking.
CARLISLE
A homebody, huh?
I am. I have to travel so much for work that when I’m off, I prefer being home.
CARLISLE
Same. Not the traveling part, but the staying home part.
Also – good to know that you’re not unemployed. Eventually, I’ll figure you out, Ben.
You will. But in the meantime, thanks for being patient with me.
CARLISLE
I forgot to mention it, but I also love to cook. Another thing we have in common.
What’s your favorite dish to make?
CARLISLE
That’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is…
Eureka! I have an idea for our date. I lay my cell phone down on my desk and click the house intercom system. “Jo, I’m in the study. Come find me.”
The intercom crackles as Jo’s tinny voice floats through the room. “Yes, Your Royal Highness. On my way.”
Joanna offices out of my pool house, which works out well for us both. She’s close by so that we can easily meet when needed, but far enough away that we both have our own space.
I hear my back door slam. She enters my office a minute later and leans against the edge of my desk with her notebook in hand, ready to take notes.
“What’s up, Benji?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to never call me that?”
“But you let Willa call you Benji all the time!” Jo pouts.
“Yeah, but she looks up at me with those huge Disney princess eyes of hers and I can’t bring myself to tell her how much I hate that moniker.”
“It’s not fair, but whatever.” Jo rolls her eyes at me, unfazed at giving her boss attitude. “And BTW, nobody’s said the word moniker since Sherlock Holmes was alive.”
“You know Sherlock Holmes was never alive, right?” I laugh. “He’s a character.”
“Dead ass?” She huffs when I nod. “Anyway, why’d you summon me into your lair?”
“I’m taking a girl on a date next Sunday.”
Jo shoots me a mischievous grin. “That’s why you blocked off your schedule!”
I hold up my hand to stop the intense line of questioning that I know will commence. “It’s a first date so I want to impress her, but I don’t want to show off too much. Nothing too flashy or ostentatious. Get my drift?”
“Oh-kay…” Jo draws out the word. “I’m guessing she’s not famous then. Otherwise, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Exactly. I don’t want to freak her out. Plus, it just seems like a douchebag move. ”
“Got it.” Jo chews on the end of her pen and scrunches up her eyes as she thinks. “The studio sent over an advance copy of Captain Commander . You could do a private screening with her?”
“How the hell is that not douchey?”
“Well, do you have any ideas, Benjamin?”
Ignoring Jo's sass, I reply, “I have one idea. She likes to cook, so what if we do a private cooking class somewhere? We wouldn’t have to worry about being photographed by the paparazzi that way.”
“And you could impress her with your prowess in the kitchen. Even though The Family Kitchen bombed at the box office, at least it’s coming in handy for something now.”
I pick up a pen from my desk and lob it in Jo’s general direction, which she easily dodges. “I wouldn’t say it bombed,” I protest half-heartedly.
The Family Kitchen was a film from a few years ago in which I played a supporting role as a chef, and as part of my preparation, I took lessons from professional chefs. Now, I have knife skills that would rival Wolfgang Puck’s and quite a few impressive recipes in my repertoire.
“Defensive much?” She arches an eyebrow at me and clamps her lips shut, smothering her smirk. Jo advised me not to take the role, and she loves to remind me whenever she can that the movie sucked. “But that is actually a great idea.”
“Yes, well, I do have them from time to time. No need to sound so surprised, Joanna.”
“I’ll see what I can book and let you know later this afternoon. But let’s talk logistics first.” She sets her notebook down on my desk and shoots me a serious look. “Since you’re trying to land that role in Losing Love and you have two upcoming movie releases, Jada and Becky are on my ass to keep you in line and out of trouble for the foreseeable future. So, your date will have to sign an NDA beforehand.”
“No.” Shaking my head, I meet Jo’s gaze. “Look, it’s going to sound weird, but she doesn’t know who I am. We’ve just been talking and texting, so it’s almost like a blind date. I can’t messenger over a nondisclosure agreement.”
“How the hell does she not know who you are?” Jo’s face is incredulous. She starts gesturing wildly and pacing the room. “Are you positive she’s not playing you? Because you are everywhere right now—websites, movie trailers, late night talk shows. Hell, your ugly mug is plastered all over billboards in every major city across the country. How is this scenario even possible?”
The corners of my lips turn upwards as I remember the comedy of errors that occurred when I first spoke with Carlisle. “It’s a long story. One I have you to thank for, actually. Remember when you pranked me by giving me the phone number to a sex hotline instead that interior designer?”
Jo flinches, an expression of horror crossing her face, and she drops onto one of the chairs looking like she might faint. “Please dear god, no.” Then she mutters, “Jada and Becky are going to fucking murder me if you want to start dating someone who works at a sex hotline.”
“Relax. I dialed the wrong number and reached this woman accidentally.” I shrug, leaning back in my chair and kicking my legs up onto my desk, thoroughly enjoying Jo's discomfort. “We started talking and texting and it snowballed from there.”
Jo holds up a hand. “Wait! So, you’re not taking a sex worker out on a date?” There’s a franticly hopeful gleam in Jo’s eyes, and her intense reaction makes my grin grow. “Stop smiling! I need you to clarify this situation for me, Benjamin! Tell me right now! ”
“No, she’s not from the sex hotline.” I bite back a laugh. “I promise.”
“Oh, thank God! You almost gave me a heart attack, you idiot.” Jo clutches her chest and slumps against the cushions of the chair. “Then why doesn’t she know who you are? What have you told her? Who does she think she’s going on a date with?”
“She thinks she’s talking to a regular 30-year-old guy who bounces around from job to job. I encourage her to talk about herself and I try to be as vague as possible about myself when she asks questions. Believe me, she has absolutely no idea who I am or what I do for a living.”
Jo’s eyes bore into me as she slowly asks, “But you know who she is, right?”
I squint and tilt my head before admitting, “Sort of.”
“Jesus H. Christ!" Jo gripes, clearly irritated.
"What does the H stand for?"
"Harold, obviously." Jo smirks. "Harold be thy name." She pauses. "Speaking of full names, please tell me that you know hers.”
I nod. “I do.”
“If I can’t send her an NDA, then let me run a background check on her. Blind or otherwise, this is your first real date in years, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Not if I can help it,” Jo implores, her concern for me evident. “You can’t afford to just take her word for it. How do you know that she’s been truthful with you?”
While I’m not comfortable digging into Carlisle’s life without her knowledge or consent, I accept that it’s the prudent next step. Our situation is unique and given my celebrity, I have to take extra precautions to protect myself.
“Fine,” I concede. “But I don’t want to see the report unless something alarming pops up.”
That’s the best compromise I can make. I won’t be privy to Carlisle’s personal details unless she tells me herself, but I’m protected in case she's lied. My intuition tells me that she’s being honest with me, but with two huge movies premiering next month and trying to land the role in Losing Love , I can’t risk a scandal.
“Sounds like a plan, boss.” Jo releases a sigh of relief. “Ben, I hate that we go to these lengths, but I’m only insisting on a background check to protect you. You know you’re more than a boss to me.”
“I know, JoJo. You’re more than an employee to me too. While I don’t love your meddling,” I quirk an eyebrow in her direction, “I appreciate you watching out for me.”
“Cool.” Joanna grabs her discarded notebook and readies her pen in her hand. “So, give me her deets.”
“Deets?” I shake my head. “No. If I can’t say moniker, which is an actual word, you can’t say deets.”
“That’s debatable,” Jo grins. She prods me along with a swirling hand motion. As I tell her what I know about Carlisle, Jo diligently jots it down. "I'll put a rush on the background check since your date is in a week."
My cell phone vibrates on the desk, and I hop up from the couch to grab it.
“Based on the smile on your face, I’m assuming that’s Carlisle, so I’ll get back to work and leave you to flirt.” Jo stands to leave. “Your bags are packed, and the studio is sending a driver to pick you up in two hours. Let me know if you need anything else from me today. Otherwise, have a good trip and I’ll see you on the flip side.”
Willa and I are flying to New York City to film a segment tomorrow for Good Morning, USA . Since I have a little time before I need to head to the airport, I plan on spending as much of it texting with Carlisle as I can .
Jo hasn’t even finished closing the door to my study before I begin composing my next text message.
Willa sits next to me in the first-class cabin on our flight from LAX to JFK reading the new issue of Architectural Digest . Though reading is probably the wrong verb to use since she’s aggressively flipping the pages at such an alarmingly rapid pace that there's no possible way that she can be reading anything.
I bat down the magazine and inspect her more critically. She’s dressed for a casual travel day, without any trace of make-up on her face and her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. It's unlike her not to be dressed to the nines with her hair and make-up styled to perfection, especially since the chances are high that we'll get photographed at some point.
“What’s up, Willa?”
She adjusts her petite frame in the spacious leather seat and faces me. “When is this, all this,” she says, waving her hands around us, “too much to take anymore? When do we say enough is enough? God knows we have enough money, enough fame. When do we trade that in to devote time to our personal lives? Or is it too late for us? Have we already sacrificed our private lives for public celebrity to such an extent that there’s no going back? Is it too late for me to have a shot at a happy and fulfilling personal life?”
“Uh…” Flummoxed, I flounder for a response, but Willa continues her diatribe, barely taking a breath between words .
“Do I have any chance at finding lasting happiness in Hollywood?” Shaking her head and looking pensive, she continues. “I don’t know. The public scrutiny is enormous, and I can never escape it. You know that I had paparazzi waiting for me outside my gynecologist’s office last month?” She chuckles humorlessly. “God, I’m ready to leave this all behind and try to live a normal, quiet existence somewhere far away from Hollywood.”
I’ve never heard Willa talk like this before. Apart from the party at Jada’s house, Willa has always been happy-go-lucky and cheerful. Like everyone, she has bad days, but I’ve never heard her this unhappy before.
Gnawing the corner of my mouth, I recall something strange that occurred last year. Willa spent a week in the hospital, and when I heard, I reached out to visit her. She said she wasn’t feeling up to visitors and then Jada and Becky released a statement explaining that Willa was battling exhaustion and dehydration. I remember feeling like there was more to the story than that—there usually is in Hollywood—but Willa never offered me an alternative reason for her hospital stay. Wanting to grant her privacy, I never pushed, but now I wonder if I failed her as a friend.
“Willa, it sounds like you are dealing with a lot of stuff. Have you thought—”
“About therapy? I went last year for a month and then I was ambushed outside of my therapist’s office. Photos of me looking like I’d been crying were plastered all over the tabloids with a wide range of disparaging headlines.” She barks out a sardonic laugh. “Been there, done that, not doing it again.”
Disbelief and disgust cross my face. “Shit? Seriously?” I guess that must have coincided when I was out of the country for a shoot because I don’t remember seeing any of that .
“I’m just so tired of it all. I’m ready to walk away.” She crumples against her seat, defeated, and rubs her eyes. “I want to travel the world. I want to become anonymous again like we were before we were famous.”
“Are you thinking about retiring from acting, Willa?” As much as I attempt to refrain from sounding skeptical, I can’t help it. People would kill to have her career. I don’t want her to make a rash decision that she’ll later regret.
“Maybe,” she lifts her shoulders meekly, averting her eyes from mine. “Would that be so terrible?”
“No, of course not. If that’s what you need to do to find your happiness, then I’m all for it.” I stroke my hand across my stubbled chin as I think. “It’s just out of left field though.” Hmm, left field. “Does this have anything to do with that dumbass baseball player?”
“Tangentially, yes, but not completely.” She fidgets with the magazine lying on the tray table in front of her. “Baron and I broke up because of our work schedules. We literally never saw each other except for a random day here and there in between my filming schedule and his games. Twelve hours in Baltimore, two days in Miami, a day in New York. I felt lonelier in that relationship than I do when I’m single. Someday soon, I want marriage, kids, and the white picket fence.” She lifts her head to meet my gaze. “But how will that ever happen if all my time is spent hopping from one film location to another? Never staying in one spot long enough to establish roots? What kind of life is that?”
As the flight attendant strolls through the cabin, I raise my hand to grab her attention. We need alcohol for this conversation. “Two glasses of champagne, please.”
Willa leans over me and makes a clarification. “Make that a bottle, please, love.” Damn, Willa must be feeling even worse than I thought. “Don’t look at me that way, Benji,” she says, shooting me a warning glance.
I hold my palms up in surrender. I won’t give her shit about drinking. Now’s not the time.
Sipping our champagne, Willa snuggles under her travel blanket and rolls her head towards mine. “Maybe the answer is that we should find people who aren’t in the business, who aren’t famous. Maybe that’s what we should do.” Wincing, she laments, “Nah, that won’t work for me. Chances are that if I date a regular guy, he’d either be after me for my money or totally uncomfortable with me making so much money.” She lifts her glass to her lips and swallows the rest of her glass before refilling it. “The catch-22 of being a successful, wealthy woman.”
“As you know, I haven’t had a lot of dating success either, but maybe instead of focusing on dating, you should focus on finding good friends first. Then see if something romantic could grow from that friendship.” I shrug, thinking about my friendship with Carlisle. “Just my two cents.”
“It’s not a terrible idea, Benji,” Willa replies, scrutinizing me thoughtfully.
“In the meantime, take some time off and get out of Hollywood. You’ve worked on back-to-back films for what, seven, eight years now? After we finish publicity for Captain Commander , take a break, decompress, find some hobbies, volunteer.”
“I think I will.”
“You know, I love you and I’m always here for you, right?” I brush some hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. She clasps my hand, pressing it into her cheek as she nods.
I can commiserate with Willa’s feelings. Loneliness is something I’m all too familiar with, especially in the months and years after Kelsey and I broke up. I got used to it, so I don’t think I even realized how lonely I was until I started talking to Carlisle.
I feel strangely conflicted that Willa’s feeling so down about her private life while I’m finally feeling hopeful about my own. Since Willa is one of my good friends, I want to tell her about Carlisle, but I can’t tell her now. I don’t want it to seem like I’m rubbing it in that I may have met someone special. I opt to hold my tongue. It’s more sensible not to tell her until after I meet Carlisle anyway.
Depending on how our date goes, there may not be anything to tell.