5. Avery
“…andyou should have seen the way he was smirking at me. Newsflash, babe: women use moisturizer! We don’t just emerge from some beauty cocoon with naturally plucked eyebrows, and even skin tone, and zero body hair. He’s just so… so… UGH!”
I make a noise of frustration, and Brooke laughs down the phone line. “You sound pretty wound up,” she says, teasing. “What does this guy look like again?”
“He’s all big and burly,” I sigh, making my way along the shoreline, and keeping one eye out for cute shells and sea glass as I go. It’s a bright, warm morning, and the bay is still quiet: just a few people out walking their dogs, and some enthusiastic vacationers setting up their beach chairs and umbrellas and coolers for the day. “He walks around in a backwards ball cap with mud on his boots, you know, like it’s some kind of badge of masculinity to ignore a razor blade.”
“Mmhmmm…” Brooke’s murmur is suggestive. “Sounds like he’s made quite the impression.”
I recoil. “Eww, no, not like that!”
“Are you sure? Because I’m sensing some tension here…”
“Only the tension of me wanting to shove him off a cliff,” I declare firmly.
Then I get a flash of that moment last night, Duke’s eyes on my mouth, hungry…
I shake it off. “He’s so not my type,” I insist. “You know I can’t stand these muscular fitness guys, all they care about is their lifting goals and macros, and showing off their six-pack.”
“I don’t know,” Brooke teases playfully. “This Duke doesn’t sound like he’s crowding out the mirror at Planet Fitness on a Friday night.”
I snort with laughter at the image. Duke, preening over his pecs? “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“That’s right,” Brooke says, and I can just hear the smirk in her voice. “You prefer guys who look like tortured Victorian poets, all dark and brooding and about to waste away of consumption.”
I laugh. “I like guys who can get me cast in the next blockbuster movie, or land me a big brand sponsorship deal,” I correct her. “At least then, I have something to show for it when the whole messy affair falls apart.”
I learned the hard way that love never lasts in Hollywood. But screen credits and cold hard cash?
They won’t leave you weeping on the bathroom floor, wondering where it all went wrong. Marilyn Monroe knew the score, alright.
Diamonds (and real estate) are a girl’s best friend.
“The plan seems to be working, though,” I say, determined to be optimistic. I pick up my pace, power-walking along the pebbly shoreline. “There hasn’t been anything in the tabloids about me all week. Not even fake sightings online.”
“I can’t believe someone said you were at a Zen monastery in Tibet,” Brooke giggles.
“I might as well be,” I say wryly. “I feel like I’ve taken vows of silence and contemplation, with all this time I’m spending alone.”
”Don”t forget chastity!”
I groan. “I couldn’t if I tried!”
It’s been over a week since I arrived in town, and those first fraught run-ins with Duke Hendricks aside, my life has settled into a quiet, predictable routine. I’m still avoiding the crowds in town and keeping a low profile, taking long walks on the beach alone, and sticking to the safety of the cottage, away from curious tourist eyes. I’ve been reading my way through Jacee’s collection of wildly pornographic 1970’s romance novels, and cooking every sugar-free, carb-free, fun-free recipe in Gwyneth’s cookbook, and filling my evenings watching every Oscar-winning Best Actress performance of the last twenty years.
It’s been peaceful. Relaxing.
And if I have to keep it up for much longer, I’m going to lose my mind and start climbing those jungle-painted walls.
“So, when can you come visit?” I ask Brooke hopefully. “It’s only a few hours from the city. You could come stay the weekend. And there are a ton of art galleries up in Provincetown,” I add. “You could talk to them about exhibiting some of your photography.”
“Easy there,” Brooke cuts me off. “I do kids’ parties and pet portraits. I’m not exactly gallery material.”
“Your photos are amazing,” I insist. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you’re slumming it helping out with my social media for now, but we both know, you’re made for bigger things. Which we can investigate. In person. When you visit.”
Brooke laughs. “I get the hint. Let me check with Tate. He’s studying for his boards,” she explains, naming her long-time boyfriend. Tate is training to be a surgeon, doing his residency at a hospital in Boston. Which means he’s busy 24/7, while Brooke’s working two jobs to support them both. “He really needs me right now,” she adds. “I swear, if I wasn’t around, he’d forget to feed himself or do laundry!”
I bite my tongue to keep from saying that Tate is a grown man who should do his own damn laundry.
I’m biting my tongue a lot these days when it comes to Tate.
“Well, you just say the word, and I have a lurid pink guest room waiting for you,” I say invitingly. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“Avery!”
The sound of my name being called makes me turn.
“Who’s that?” Brooke asks. “A crazed fan?”
“No.” I brace myself. “Worse. I’ve got to go.”
I hang up, just as Tessa Ritchie power walks across the beach to me, waving happily. She’s dressed in mismatched print pants with a loose linen shirt, an oversized straw sunhat jammed over her sun-bleached curls. “There you are!” she greets me. “I heard a rumor you were back in town, but they also said Oprah was spotted browsing croissants at the bakery and we know that woman is off carbs again, so I swore I wouldn’t believe it until I saw you for myself.” Before I can react, she launches herself at me in an enthusiastic hug. “What’s going on?” she demands, friendly. “How have you been?”
I catch my breath. “I’m great,” I declare, fixing a big smile on my face. “Things have been so crazy with work and everything, so I figured I’d get away. Change of scene, you know. And this place was always so charming when we did the movie, it seemed like the perfect vacation spot to relax.”
I give another breezy, ‘scandal? What scandal?’ smile, but Tessa is no dummy.
“I saw the headlines,” she says, looking sympathetic. “Although, you’re looking pretty good for someone who’s just undergone cryogenic freezing to suck the fat out of their ass,” she adds with a teasing smirk. “While also having a torrid three-way with half of some boyband.”
“And training to be a nun,” I add, naming another tabloid rumor. “I’m pretty booked up these days!”
Tessa laughs. She’s no stranger to gossip and speculation. She rekindled a teenage fling with the actor Jackson Kane last summer while we were in town filming the movie, and had photographers camped out in the front yard of the BB she was restoring.
“How’s business?” I ask, as she falls into step beside me, heading back up to the shore road.
“Great. Busy. Exhausting,” she says, clearly pleased. “I can’t keep up with the bookings, we have guests coming from all over. There’s even a group coming in next week for a CSI fan club reunion.”
“You’re kidding!” I laugh. “What does that even involve?”
“I’m googling to find out,” Tessa confides. “Solving crimes and squinting over their sunglasses, maybe?”
“Well, good luck to you.”
“You know, we should catch up properly,” Tessa declares, with a determined gleam in her eye. “Jackson’s off doing promo for a movie right now, but he’ll be back soon, and— oooh!” she brightens. “You can come to craft night, at the BB, tonight!”
“I’m… not really crafty,” I demur, but she shakes her head.
“Nobody is. It’s just our excuse to get together, drink, and gossip. Come,” she insists. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Super low key.”
I pause. The truth is, I’ve been getting kind of lonely, stuck hiding out at the cottage. Tessa has always been nice to me – especially considering it was my job to make out with her boyfriend in wet lingerie. Now, the thought of some company for the evening is too inviting to resist.
“OK,” I find myself agreeing. “I’ll be there. Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just yourself, and something to soak up the booze.” Tessa beams. “Linette Walters makes a mean rum punch.”
* * *
What doyou wear to a crafting-slash-drunken gossip session? I deliberate over my wardrobe for way too long that evening, before finally picking out a pair of casual linen pants and a simple tank top. It’s still warm out, so I walk over to the Sandpiper BB with an adult needlepoint kit and a Tupperware container of homemade mini-quiche.
It’s been a while since I’ve been to a potluck, but I figure you can’t go wrong with cheese and carbs.
Vegan cheese, and gluten-free carbs, but still.
“You came!” Tessa looks almost surprised when she opens the door, and my heart sinks. It was just a pity invite. Crap.
“Sorry, am I early…?” I ask, already backing away, but Tessa grabs the quiches and ushers me inside.
“No, come on in, you’re right on time. I was half-expecting you to stand us up though,” she admits. “You’ve been so elusive, hardly anyone’s seen you around town. Very mysterious.”
I stifle a laugh. Me, alone on the couch every night with the latest chapters of that wanton pirate king?
Sure. Super mysterious.
“Wow, this place looks great,” I say, following her into the main lobby. The last time I was here, the Sandpiper was still a work-in-progress. We used it for a ton of filming locations, so the place was always cluttered with power cables and equipment cases. Now, it’s airy and chic, full of mismatched antiques and patterned wallpapers: a warm, homey vibe.
Just like Tessa herself.
“Thanks,” Tessa beams with clear pride, leading me down a wide hallway, trimmed with sailboat-print wallpaper. Except when I look closer, I can see the ships are sinking, and the tiny sailors are flailing around, trying to escape a sea monster. I grin.
“At first, everyone was just booking to try and get close to Jackson,” Tessa continues. “You know, come for the Cape Cod charm, stay to catch a glimpse of a movie star rinsing off sand in the outside shower.”
“A-list ass is always a draw,” I agree.
“But then the reviews starting coming in, and now people visit because they actually want to.”
“You’ve done an amazing job,” I tell her, impressed.
We reach a big lounge room, full of comfy couches and breezy sea views. And a small group of people who turn, curious, when we enter. “This is Avery,” Tessa announces, before rolling off a long list of introductions to the other half-dozen people in the room.
“Hi.” I give a friendly wave. I recognize one of the group, at least: Suze, the woman who was with Duke the other day. She smiles at me, friendly, as the others make room.
An older woman with grey curls beams at me happily. “Oh my gosh, I promise I won’t be a nuisance, but I just loved you in that last movie of yours, the one with the love story. Just precious.”
“Thank you,” I give her a warm smile. Linette, I think her name was.
“And what a shame about that wedding,” she adds with a cluck of her tongue. “But don’t you worry, hon, you’ll find the one soon enough. Maybe that nice man you were seeing, Chris whatshisname?”
I’m about to tell her I never actually dated a Chris – or Ryan, or Jacob, or any other of the hot celebrities linked to me in the press, but thankfully, Tessa cuts in.
“Kirk, weren’t you telling us about the latest garden club drama?” she says loudly.
“Indeed I was.” Kirk takes a long sip of tea, then launches into a long story about begonia sabotage and potting mix deception.
Tessa sends me a wink. I let out a breath of relief, and get comfy on one of those couches, relieved for the change of subject.
At least, until Kirk pauses for breath, and Linette jumps in again.
“My nieces won’t believe you’re here, in the flesh,” she exclaims, leaning closer. “I don’t suppose you could take a photo of us, and write them a little note?—?”
“You know, I’m going to get a serving plate for those mini-quiche,” I interrupt her, leaping up. “Kitchen? That way? Be right back!”
I escape down the hallway, to the calm of the blue-tiled kitchen at the back of the house. I pour a glass of water, and take a gulp, feeling a pang of disappointment in my chest.
So much for blending in and having a relaxing evening.
“Sorry about Linette.” Suze joins me in the kitchen. She’s dressed in a comfy print sundress, and sets about unpacking what looks like home-baked muffins from a bag. “She usually limits her interfering to family and friends. Lucky us.”
“It’s OK. I’m used to it,” I say with a shrug.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? I don’t think I’d ever be used to complete strangers being all up in my business like that.”
“It’s the price of fame.” I explain. “And I get it. I mean, you see someone on your social media feed every day, and on the movie screen, and in the newspapers… It’s only natural that you start feeling like you know them. You care. But that’s never the whole story.”
“They only see what you want them to see,” Suze says perceptively.
I nod. “Building a career in Hollywood, your social media image and following is almost as important as your acting chops. More, sometimes.” I confide with a wry smile.
Which is why this onslaught of tabloid gossip has the power to destroy everything I’ve built.
“I think there’s a word for it,” Suze muses, breaking off a piece of muffin. “Parasocial relationships, that’s it. I see it all the time with the kids in school. Last week, they spent a half-hour explaining to me all the details of some big friendship bust-up going on, before it turned out they didn’t even know the girls. They were fashion influencers they followed on social media!”
I laugh, relaxing—but then Linette bustles into the kitchen. “There you are!” she beams at me, cornering me by the counter. “Those quiches are delicious. Did you get the recipe from Selena?” she asks, moving closer.
I take a step back. “Well, actually?—”
“It’s so great you two are friends,” she exclaims, advancing with a thrilled look in her eyes. “Is she still with that Italian fellow? I know some people say she’s too good for him, but I always think it’s better to have a man who knows he’s lucky to have you.” Linette peers closer at me. “Is that your natural eye color? I could have sworn they looked greener up onscreen–”
She reaches out to grab my chin steady, like some grandmother with zero personal boundaries.
“All natural,” I reply politely, trying to wriggle out of her grip. “Maybe that was just the lighting?”
“And look at your pores,” she coos. “Flawless!”
“Umm, thanks.” I take another step back. “But I should really go?—”
CRASH!
My elbow catches a serving platter on the counter, sending it crashing to the floor – along with a whole stand of antique glassware.
Oh God.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurt, quickly skirting around Linette.
The glassware sits in a smashed heap, with sandwiches scattered all over the kitchen tiles.
I gulp. “I forgot, I have to go take a call. Tell Tessa I’m sorry I had to duck out,” I add to Suze. I know I should stay, and help clean up the mess I just made, but I can’t deal with another moment of Linette’s wide-eyed questions – or ruin everyone else’s night, having to listen in.
So, I turn on my heel and flee out the back door, before Linette can come after me.
Outside,the sun is setting, and the sky is a dusky pink. I set off, walking slowly back up the winding coastal road towards town, as I try to ignore the pang of regret in my chest that my big social evening turned into a disaster zone.
It’s not Linette’s fault.This is what I wanted, after all: to be famous. Extraordinary. To have strangers all over the world know my name, and envy me, just a little; wishing they could have a taste of my amazing life. And if the price of fame is always being in the spotlight, never getting to enjoy normal hangouts or making casual new friends?
I can live with that. Normal is overrated.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
I hear the sound of an engine approaching behind me, and step aside onto the sandy shoulder to let it past. But the vehicle slows.
“They still didn’t fix that tire?”
It’s Duke, leaning out the window of his mud-stained truck.
“They fixed it just fine,” I reply, keeping on walking. “I just figured I’d take a walk, that’s all. It was crafting night, at the Sandpiper.”
He snorts with laughter, driving at a snail’s pace alongside. “Yeah, you better not be behind the wheel with Linette’s famous punch around. That stuff could strip paint.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. So… goodnight,” I tell him, but Duke keeps idling along beside me.
“Hop in, I’ll give you a ride home,” he says.
“It’s fine, I’ll walk.”
Duke sighs. “Yeah, well unfortunately I can’t leave you on the side of the road again.”
“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” I reply lightly. I’m in no mood to go another round with him tonight– even if my new sandals are rubbing a blister into my heel.
“I mean it, get in.” Duke sounds impatient now.
I roll my eyes. “Gee, what a charming offer, but I’ll pass.”
Duke mutters what sounds like a curse. “Look, you can either get in the truck and be home in five minutes, or spend the next half hour with me trailing you to make sure you get home safe. Which is it going to be?”
I pause. Duke’s jaw is set, and he looks about as stubborn as I feel right now.
“Fine,” I sigh, and circle around to climb up in the passenger seat.
Inside, the truck is cluttered with old newspapers, boxes, and at least half a dozen old sweaters that I shove aside as I buckle up. “Neat freak, are we?”
“You could just say ‘thanks’.”
“Ha!” I snort. Don’t think you’re doing me any favors,” I add, as Duke pulls away.
“Believe me, I’m under no illusions,” he grumbles back. “This is just so I don’t have to feel bad, like last time.”
“Really?” I smirk. “I thought you cackled with evil laughter all the way home.”
“Cackle?” Duke repeats, looking offended. “Do you think I look like a man who cackles?”
I try not to smile. “Fine, bellowed with evil laughter.”
To my surprise, Duke sounds a suitably-evil laugh, deep and throaty. “Like that?”
I grin. “No, with more menace. Bwahahaha,” I mimic, making my voice extra-creepy.
“Huhhuhhaha…” Duke tries again.
“Exactly. Now you’re really plotting for world domination.”
Duke chuckles. “You can keep the world,” he replies, turning down the lane to the cottage. “Too much trouble for my liking, all that conquering.”
“So, you’re a man of modest ambitions, then?” I look over, curious.
Duke gives a shrug. “I want to do good work, and live a decent kind life, but as for the rest of the bullshit… well, I see it all the time with my clients. They think money and success is going to solve their problems, but as far as I can see, it just brings a whole lot of new ones.”
He pulls over outside the cottage before I can reply. “Four minutes and counting,” he reports, checking the clock on the dashboard. “As promised.”
“Thanks for the ride,” I say grudgingly. I already know my blister wouldn’t have stood up to another mile of walking, and something tells me Blackberry Cove isn’t exactly an Uber rideshare hotspot. “But understand that I won’t make a habit of it.”
Duke snorts with laughter. “Right back atcha, princess.”
Our eyes lock for a moment, and I feel the strangest rush, sparkling hot in my veins.
Anticipation.
Duke looms, solid and easy there in the driver’s seat, and suddenly, I can’t help imagining those strong arms wrapped around me… pulling me into his lap… pressed tight against that wall of muscle…
My heart beats faster, and I glance at his mouth, his lips still curled in that wry, infuriating grin.
What would it feel like, kissing him?
Duke leans in, and in a daze, I sit there, waiting. Closer… closer… and just when I’m letting my eyes fall shut, about to sink into the kiss?—
He reaches past me. “The handle sticks,” he says, thumping the truck door before giving it a yank. “There you go.”
The door. He was only reaching for the door.
Idiot!
I scramble down, practically falling out of the truck in my hurry to get away from him.
Him, and my totally absurd kissing thoughts.
“Thanks for the ride!” I blurt.
“You already said that.” Duke looks puzzled.
“Right. But… I was being polite. Drive safe!”
I bolt up the path to the cottage– so fast, my foot catches on one of the overgrown pavers.
Just perfect, I manage to think, before gravity takes over and I go sprawling on my ass in the dirt.
Hard.
“Whoa, are you OK?” Duke calls after me. He looks like he’s about to climb out to come help, so I manage to scramble inelegantly to my feet.
“Fine! I’m fine!” I call brightly, even as my butt aches, and I’m pretty sure a bruise the size of France is forming over my thigh.
Duke looks amused. “I told you about that rum punch. Take two aspirin, and plenty of water in the morning!”
He drives away, leaving me just about burning up with humiliation– and ready to go get drunk for real.
What the hell was that?
I head inside – carefully this time – and make straight for the freezer for the box of Dove bars I brought in case of emergencies. Well, break glass now, because I’m pretty sure almost jumping Duke Hendricks is a sign of an impending apocalypse.
I take a bite of ice-cold chocolate, and then another and then go in search of my laptop. Clearly, I need to log into my account at Bloom sex store, and invest in some new toys – and fast, before these inexplicable, unthinkable impulses get me in some serious trouble.
Trouble with Duke. Naked trouble…
I break off another piece of chocolate, wincing as my sore ass hits the couch.
It’s going to be a long night.