21. Carlisle
21
Carlisle
I recline my seat as I wait for the flight attendant to bring me another mimosa. I’m not sure I can ever go back to flying commercial after this experience. Ben said this is one of the smallest private planes that he’s been on, but it’s still far more luxurious than any other airliner I’ve ever seen.
“I could get used to this way of travel, Ben.”
Ben chuckles halfheartedly but doesn’t meet my eye. Since leaving his parents’ house this morning, he’s grown more and more withdrawn. I’ve coerced him into conversation a time or two, but he’s only become quieter the closer we get to LA. Morose, even.
Since meeting in person, our relationship has moved quickly, but the pace felt natural to me. Last night when we had sex, it was perfect. It was the epitome of one thing led to another. Nothing felt forced or like it was happening too fast. I loved experiencing sex with Ben. It felt like he was worshiping my body, and I reveled in every second of attention that he lavished upon me.
So, I was completely unprepared for the sharp turn in his behavior today. He’s barely touched me at all.
From under my lashes, I surreptitiously observe him. His stony expression hasn't changed in the last half hour. I worry that he’s regretting having sex. What else could it be? That’s the only explanation for the change in dynamics between yesterday and today. I can’t think of any other reason for the abrupt shift in his mood and behavior towards me.
What if I wasn’t good enough in bed? To me, the sex was damn near mind-blowing, but I’m not that experienced, only having slept with three people. How many women have shared Ben’s bed? Doubts creep in, growing louder and louder as more time passes without any reassurances from Ben.
Was it about the chase for him? Is Ben one of those guys who just wanted to add another notch to his bedpost?
Or maybe he wanted to experience the novelty of dating a non-celebrity?
What if I'm a convenient diversion with a short expiration date?
I’m an average girl and he’s a freaking movie star. He could date anyone he wants to… and maybe he realized that he doesn’t want to date me.
Warring between remaining mum and trying to broach the topic of us, I finally gather the courage to talk to Ben while sipping my third mimosa. Liquid courage is a real thing. I release a pent-up sigh and slide my eyes to my taciturn seatmate. “Everything okay? You’re awfully quiet.”
“Huh? What?” He jolts, turning towards me quickly, like he’s surprised to see me sitting beside him. Something has his attention, but it obviously isn’t me. Shaking his head, he mutters, “Sorry. I’m lost in thought. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Care to share? You don’t seem like yourself today. You’re not regretting—” I move my hand towards his, needing some sort of physical connection to him, but my hand freezes and falls back to my lap when the flight attendant suddenly appears at our side, interrupting me .
“Your seatbelts should remain fastened for the duration of the flight because we’re beginning our descent into LAX. The captain said that we’ll be landing in twenty minutes.” With a smile, the pretty flight attendant traverses the small aircraft and buckles into her own seat. While she’s a good fifteen feet away, her seat faces ours, allowing us limited privacy. There's a privacy screen that she could pull, but for whatever reason, she doesn't.
Ben leans his head my way. “I need to talk to you about something important, but I’d rather do it when we're alone. Okay?”
My discomfort mounting, I nod. The serious look on his face coupled with the urgent tone of his voice has me gnawing the inside of my cheek as I try to calm my increasing panic. When someone cryptically declares that they need to talk to you about something important, it’s never to deliver good news.
Is he breaking up with me already?
Unable to concentrate due to the incessant chatter in my brain, I idly thumb through a magazine hoping that the mindless gossip will distract me. It doesn’t work. I can’t focus on anything except for the intrusive, negative thoughts that continue to assault me. I slug down the last of my mimosa. Alcohol helps me block out my confusion for about ten minutes until I hear Ben curse softly next to me.
“What is it?” I ask, my brows furrowed in concern.
He rubs his fingers down his face. “My publicist just texted, warning me that there are paparazzi swarming LAX because of all the holiday travelers. They’re staking out all the airport exits.”
“Oh-kay,” I say slowly, drawing out the word as I’m unsure what the big deal is. Ben’s had paparazzi follow him plenty of times before, so I don’t understand why he’s so concerned now. “It’s annoying, but isn’t that to be expected? It comes with the territory, right? ”
“There’s a lot at stake for me professionally right now.” He turns towards me, dropping his voice. “Overnight, photos and stories broke about our date on Tuesday. All the tabloids have is unconfirmed speculation, but my movie studio isn’t happy. My team disseminated photos of me with my parents at Thanksgiving to refute the story, but I absolutely cannot be seen getting off the plane with you. That would add fuel to the fire and legitimize the rumors.”
His words sting and I stiffen upon hearing them. What would be so terrible if Ben was linked to me?
As if he’s reading my mind, he answers my question. “It’s to protect both of us. If the press found out your identity, and they would, they’d harass you nonstop. Plus, I told the studios that I’m not seeing anyone.” He pauses before explaining, “It was before we’d met. Anyway, they don’t want anything blowing up in my private life so close to the movie’s premiere. There's more to it than that, but it's complicated. I’ll explain everything in depth later.”
“Got it.” Looking out the window so that I don’t have to watch Ben any longer, I draw my lower lip between my teeth. It seems so unfair that the movie studios can dictate the personal aspects of Ben’s life.
“Let me go speak to the flight attendant to see what we should do.” Unclipping his seat belt, Ben stalks across the small plane. I can’t hear their words, but whatever she tells him doesn’t please him.
Sliding back into his spot, he mutters, “Fuck.” Ben rubs his forehead, obviously frustrated. “Apparently the private wing of LAX doesn’t have any gates available. We’re going to have to deplane at a public gate. Airport security will meet us there. It’ll be better if we separate upon landing. Let me exit the plane first. The paparazzi and crowds will follow me, and you can deplane a few minutes later. Do you have a hat or anything you can wear?”
“Yes, I have something I can pull on in my bag. ”
“This isn’t how I wanted our trip to end, but it’s for the best,” Ben says, shooting me a pained smile.
Not wanting to be a burden or show Ben how insecure I’m feeling, I agree to his plan without any fuss. “Sure, that makes sense. I'll catch a cab back to my condo.”
For the last few minutes of the flight, I stare out the window. When we land, Ben excuses himself to explain our staggered departure plan to the flight attendant. While he’s gone, his phone, sitting in Ben’s abandoned seat, lights up from an incoming text message.
PIPSQUEAK
What time are you picking me up for dinner tonight, love?
I didn’t intend to snoop, but his phone is right next to me. How could I miss it? My heart sinks as the words on the screen vanish back to black.
Who is Pipsqueak?
Why do they have dinner plans tonight?
And why does she call him love ?
Reappearing next to me, oblivious to my internalized panic, Ben shrugs on an oversized hoodie, pulls the hood up over his head, and slips on a pair of designer sunglasses.
Under the watchful stares of the flight attendant and captain, Ben bends down to squeeze my upper arm and perfunctorily kiss my cheek. I stay seated, unsure of how to say goodbye to him when it feels like he’s already said goodbye to me and to our relationship.
As Ben deplanes, he turns and looks in my direction one final time before he bolts without another word. Because of his dark glasses, I can’t see his eyes though, so I don’t know how to interpret his glance.
Hell, I don't know how to interrupt anything that has happened between us today.
After he’s gone, I squeeze my eyes shut to stem the flow of tears threatening to spill. I don’t know what has changed between us in the past few hours, but something seismic has shifted, opening a growing chasm that I can’t seem to cross.
Rummaging through my bag, I take out an Ole Miss baseball hat and pull it down low, concealing as much of my face as possible. When the flight attendant begins the cleaning process, I nod my thanks and exit the plane.
Several hundred yards ahead of me, a swarm of paparazzi and fans surround Ben and a small cadre of airport security, like sharks circling their prey.
Inconspicuously, I walk to the taxi stand and grab a cab without any fuss.
Dropping my bag on the floor of my bedroom, I plop down onto my bed and fall into a deep sleep. After staying up late last night and then indulging in several mimosas on the plane today, I’m wiped out.
When I wake up hours later, the slanted angle of the muted sunlight filtering in through my window indicates that it’s already early evening. I sit up in a daze, blinking away the sleep from my eyes.
“Carlisle!” Harper shouts my name as our front door slams closed. Her arrival must have been what roused me from my sleep.
“In here,” I call groggily, hopping up from my bed. My head pounds and I rub my temples. The mimosas are coming back to bite me. I need water and food.
Hugging me tightly, she squeals, “Hey Barbie, how’s Ken?”
I almost smile at her joke. “Ugh, don’t remind me.” For those few moments between sleep and waking, I had forgotten about how Ben and I left things. “I don’t want to talk about it. ”
Harper pops a hand on her hip. “Uh, I don’t care what you want or don’t want to do, girl. We’re gonna talk about it. What happened? Before you left, everything was going swimmingly.” Puzzled concern skates across Harper’s face as she watches me intently.
Sitting back down on my bed, she curls up next to me, as I begin to describe how weird it was with his family, but how great it was between the two of us… until suddenly it wasn’t great anymore today.
“I don’t know what changed. He was so hot last night, but so cold today. After we had sex, he told me that he wanted to open his heart up to me. Today, he all but ignored me.” I cringe and wrap my arms around my legs. “And then I saw a text message from someone asking what time he was picking her up for dinner tonight.”
“Whoa, what?” Harper squawks, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Yep, and he said he had something important to talk to me about later.” Unwrapping my arms from my legs, I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. “It’s the kiss of death, isn’t it? He’s going to break up with me already. Not that we ever made anything official between us.”
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, Harper tilts her head quizzically as she ponders the situation. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Car. I don’t think he’d take you home for Thanksgiving only to dump you the next day.”
“God, I hope you’re right, Harper.” Turning my head, I whisper, “I really like him.”
She eyes me thoughtfully as a small smile plays on her lips. “I can tell. From what you said, it doesn’t sound that bad, Carlisle. The person who texted him is probably his agent or his assistant or something. For all you know, it could be his grandmother. So, don’t assume it’s a date.”
“I just can’ t shake the feeling I have in the pit of my stomach that something's wrong. He changed overnight, but I don’t know why.”
“Have you checked your phone? Maybe he called or texted while you were napping?”
Shaking my head, I say, “I have it right here next to me and I never heard it ring.” I tap the home screen to double check that he hasn’t tried to contact me, but nothing happens. Scrunching up my face, I realize that it’s dead. “What the hell? How did it die already? I just charged it last night.”
“Your charger’s probably broken.” Harper suggests, shrugging. “I’d let you borrow mine, but our phones are different models.” Pulling me to my feet, Harper says, “Let’s grab a bite to eat. Then we can swing by Target to buy a new charger. A little girl time and some food will be good for you.”
“Okay.” My stomach growls loudly, as if affirming my decision. "Let me shower and then we can go."
"Cool if we run a couple of errands on the way to dinner? I need to drop something off at my co-worker's apartment and pick up my clothes from the dry cleaner."
"As long as it doesn't take too long because I'm starving."
Over dinner, Harper fills me in on her Thanksgiving visit home and I tell her more about how terrible Kelsey was .
About the time that we’re finishing the last slice of pepperoni pizza, Harper’s phone chirps with a notification. She gasps as she does a double take at what she sees on the screen.
“What?” I ask, curious and worried by her reaction. “Is something wrong?”
“We gotta go, Carlisle.” Throwing cash down on the table, she hustles me out of the bustling pizzeria and into her car without explaining our hasty departure.
Harper’s behavior has me concerned, and I beg her to tell me what’s wrong. “Is everything okay? Did you get bad news?”
“Ok, don’t get mad, but… when we found out that your Ben was famous, A-list actor Ben Sutton, I set up a Google alert for his name. Just out of curiosity. You know how much I love Hollywood gossip,” she shrugs, her eyes apologetic.
I don’t like where this is going. “And?” I implore her to continue as my heart beats rapidly.
She flips her phone around so that I can see the screen. It’s open to a popular gossip website. Splashed across the screen is a photograph of Ben with his arm wrapped around Willa Radford and the headline Ben & Willa: Lovers at Last emblazoned across the top.
Grabbing Harper’s phone from her hand, I scroll down to read the accompanying short article. It describes Ben and Willa’s very public date tonight at Soho House and suggests that the date confirms what the press has long suspected—that the onscreen lovers have taken their romance offscreen as well.
“Oh, shit.” I lean my head back on the headrest, totally bewildered and stunned. I knew things were weird between us today, but I never saw this coming.
How could Ben do this to me? I can't believe he would cheat on me after I told him about my father's infidelity.
But then the truth smacks me in the face.
He’s not cheating on me. He’s cheating with me. I’m the other woman in this illicit love triangle.
God, I’m such an idiot.
It would certainly explain everything—why he never wanted to be seen with me in public, why he wanted his family to believe we were only friends, why he didn’t want the paparazzi to see me with him today at the airport.
“I bet it isn’t a date. I bet that they have a dinner meeting about their movie or something. The article is pure fluff,” Harper suggests, stubbornly clinging onto hope as we go round and round speculating. “Their agents haven’t confirmed anything.”
“Maybe,” I reply hesitantly.
"Let's go buy a phone charger. I bet when you turn your phone on, Ben will have sent you a reasonable explanation."
Before Harper can say anything else, her phone dings with another notification. This one links to the same article but with updated photos. In the new series of photos, Ben and Willa are kissing and embracing outside the restaurant, dispelling any doubt in my mind as to whether or not they were on a date.
Less than twenty-four hours after Ben had me in his bed, he has Willa in his arms.
Like a delicate crystal vase thrown to the ground, my heart shatters into smithereens.