BENNY #2
Bree’s head whips toward me. She noticed my grandma didn’t say Ben, and now she’s grinning with glee.
For some reason, it doesn’t bother me. “Just a friend. She’s staying at Colby’s.”
“That boy needs to get home. It isn’t good for him to live out of hotels. He needs steadiness. Stability.”
“Is that why you haven’t been answering his calls?”
Grandma snorts dismissively. “That’s just bad timing.”
“Do you want to come to the community BBQ? We’re headed that way. I can swing by and pick you up.”
“Not today. I need toilet paper.”
“Immediately?”
She cackles. “No, I’m not stranded in the bathroom calling for help. I’m down to my last roll.”
Way to push it to the last minute. “I need to go to Costco, anyway. Will you write up a list for me?”
“Sure thing. I’ll email it to you now. And Benny? None of that cheap store brand stuff. I want the plush kind.”
“Got it.” I fight a laugh. “You sure about the BBQ? Rose will be there.”
“No, not today. Thanks, honey.”
“Are you—” I keep my gaze straight ahead. Grandma won’t like me asking about her wellbeing, but I have no choice. I try to keep my tone light. “You feeling okay?”
“I’ll let you go.” I take this to mean she won’t give me an answer. At least I’ll be able to get in her house when I have her toilet paper. “Love you, Benny.”
“Love you, too.”
Bree reaches for the phone and hangs up for me. “She’s delightful.”
“I think you’d like each other, which is why you’ll never meet.”
“Unfair.”
A Jaida song comes on the radio, and Bree reaches forward to turn it off.
“Not a fan?” I ask, but I know the answer already. She and Jaida have very public beef with each other, though no one really knows why. It’s not why I turned down that collaboration, obviously, but it didn’t help Jaida’s case either.
“Not really,” is all she says.
Jaida once walked out of the auditorium when Bree won album of the year, and Bree is known to move to the other side of the room when she spots Jaida at a party. To say they aren’t friends is an understatement.
We turn off Highway 1 and pull around the parking lot toward the bright blue community center, surrounded by shared garden plots.
Smoke rises from the grills on the side of the building, protected against the worst of the wind, and I can smell the grill from here.
Peter is standing beside his dad, flipping burgers, so I steer Bree toward the open doors.
“Benny,” she says, slightly panicked. “What do I do? What if my makeup isn’t enough? What if my voice is too easy to recognize? What if—”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I soothe.
Rose spots us, homing in like a missile detector.
I can tell she’s coming to talk to me, so I grab Bree’s hand and tug her around the corner.
We’re still out in the open, but now we’re not in the direct view of the gathering group.
“Take them off,” I suggest, nodding to her sunglasses. “I’ll tell you what I think.”
Bree removes the huge, black sunglasses and squints against the sunlight.
It’s her. Unmistakably her. When her face was half-covered in weird makeup the other night, she was a lot more disguised than this. The freckles help, and the eyeliner is a distraction, but I could still pick her out of a crowd in a heartbeat.
But…is that just me? Will this be enough to keep strangers from guessing who she is? The blonde wig and her lighter brows could really throw someone off.
Her round, brown eyes blink up at me in concern and I want to wipe her stress away. Even with the disguises, she’s beautiful. One wrong move, and everyone in that room will have her swarmed in minutes.
I haven’t told her this yet, but we’ve got a few Bree Belacourt superfans in our midst.
“Yeah, it’s no good. Keep the shades on.” I reach for her sunglasses and slide them over her eyes, my fingers brushing the soft skin on her cheekbones. I brainstorm. “What if you recently had eye surgery?”
“Okay. A medical excuse.” She nods as if she’s warming to the idea. “But that one won’t work. I still took my sunglasses off indoors pretty soon after my LASIK. How about…a concussion?”
“How did you get it?”
“Ben Rhodes!” Rose calls, coming around the corner. “Why are you running away from me? Come, give Auntie a hug.”
“Not my aunt,” I whisper quickly, then turn toward the vibrant Mexican woman in all orange. Yes, orange floral shirt, orange capris, and orange strappy sandals. There’s even orange in the scarf tied around her curly gray hair. “But pretty much the closest thing I have to one.”
“You got that right.” She pops a hand on her narrow hip. “Introduce me to your friend.”
“Anne,” I say, gesturing to Bree, “this is Rose, my grandma’s best friend and partner in crime.”
Bree smiles. “There’s a lot of crime talk going around today. I’d ask where you hid the bodies if you didn’t look so sweet.”
“Sweet?” Rose laughs heartily, a rich, deep sound that doesn’t seem like it should come from such a small person. “Come play bunco with us, and you’ll see just how sweet we are.”
Bree screws up her face, which is barely noticeable since her glasses are so large and cover half of it. “Isn’t bunco a game of luck?”
“You’d think so.”
I take Bree’s hand and pull her toward the door. If we don’t escape now, Rose will keep us here for the next thirty minutes trapped in a small talk storm until we’ve committed to her next bunco night, and I’ve heard how late those can go. “We should get in there. Br—Anne is starving.”
“Sooooo hungry,” Bree says, playing along nicely. “Should we take this conversation inside?”
Rose seems pleasantly surprised to be invited along instead of left behind. “I like this one, Benny.”
“That’s two,” Bree whispers, grinning widely.
Her glee at being accepted by the older women in my life sends a spark through my chest. I want to bundle her up and carry her back to her safe, isolated rental house, but I’m fighting a smile.
She still has the ability to blend with any group of people, so I shouldn’t be as worried as I feel.
She could wear an orange visibility vest as well as she pulls off stilettos and a Gucci gown.
I distinctly recall an ad she did on Instagram a few months ago for a pink quilted dog purse and matching heels.
She’s high fashion personified, but my favorite version of her is the laid-back Bree in yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt.
Maybe I’m worried because the moment people discover who she is—as soon as it’s out that a world-famous pop star is chilling in our small coastal town—this little bubble we have, hanging out with no pressure and zero expectations, will pop.
Watching her laugh with Rose as they walk ahead of me into the community center, her voice a little funny since she’s trying to disguise it, I realize the last thing I want is for this alternate universe we’re living in to end.
Forget parting ways when this BBQ is over. Forget all the consequences.
I know this has to end eventually, but not yet.