A New Love
By: Paula L. Jones
Part I- Baton Rouge
I stand below the neon “Hot and Fresh” sign in the right front window of our donut shop and watch two dragonflies flit from here to in a graceful aerial dance.
I’m pretty sure it’s a mating ritual that’s likely been performed by billions of other dragonflies across the globe.
Still, I’d bet my best batch of donuts on the fact that the dance I happen to be watching is somehow unique to this particular couple.
Smiling, I cross my arms and sigh.
I might be a little jealous of these two insects.
No. That’s not quite true.
I’m a lot jealous.
They’re falling in love while zipping through the air with a freedom I can only dream of.
Meanwhile, what am I doing?
I look down at my white apron, which is splattered with chocolate icing and donut batter.
I’m working in a place where I don’t want to be.
I’m stuck.
“Lu?” Aunt Celia shouts from the kitchen. “Did you turn the signs off and start locking up?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply and snap out of my daydream. I switch off our neon “Hot and Fresh” sign, lock the heavy glass door at my right and then slip over to the far right window where I flip our “Yes, We’re Open!” sign over to its “Closed” side.
With this, I close the blinds of both windows and take off my apron as I head to the kitchen.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, stepping into the room to find Aunt Celia putting the finishing touches on a glorious black and gold wedding cake that some bridezilla from the other side of town has hired her to make.
I set my batter-splattered apron on the small circular table we use to eat lunch on our breaks.
“It did turn out nicely,” Auntie says with a satisfied smile. She takes a step back and admires her work.
She’s the owner of Cee Cee’s Donuts, but for the past three years she’s been picking up a good bit of extra work as a wedding cake decorator.
It started out as a hobby, when a couple of girls I’d grown up with got engaged and asked Aunt Celia, who was known for her baking prowess, to take care of their cakes.
Knowing these girls were neighborhood folks like us, Auntie did their wedding cakes for free and asked only one thing in return, that they social media the heck out of those bad boys.
She even drew up a contract, requiring each bride to post at least twenty pictures of her wedding cake on all of her social media platforms.
That did the trick.
Within months, women who could actually afford to pay Auntie started calling like crazy, and now she has so many requests she has to turn people away.
The cake she’s made today is especially gorgeous, because it’s for an especially hideous bride, and when I say hideous I’m not talking about the way the woman looks.
I walk around the cake, which has eight thick layers and is ensconced in a breathtaking gold sheen that hides its chocolate interior.
Since watching Auntie interact with each of her wedding cake customers, I’ve developed a theory.
The fancier the cake, the more dragon-like the bride.
Privileged people who demand the world and won’t settle for less -usually because they’ve never had to- they’re the dragons with the best cakes.
But people like Aunt Celia, me, and our friends from the neighborhood, we’re used to making the best with what we’ve got. It’s not that we don’t want more, we’ve just never had the opportunity to have more.
So, when a girl from the neighborhood comes to Auntie with a wedding cake request, it’s almost always just as modest and quietly beautiful as she is.
But the glorious monstrosities like the one I’m staring down at the moment, theses babies belong to women from the other side of town.
“And it should look good,” Aunt Celia says with a low chuckle, “it cost the poor woman $2,500.”
I gasp and turn to her, “Are you serious?”
Aunt Celia laughs and crosses her arms, “Yeah, child. It took me 48 hours to do this. And I had to buy my own materials, which cost $300. Plus that, have you seen this bride’s shoes?”
“Her shoes?” I repeat, watching Auntie as she wobbles to a nearby chair and takes a seat.
She has bad knees and her doctor’s warned her to be careful about how long she’s on her feet.
But of course she doesn’t listen.
She’s as smart as she is stubborn.
“Yeah,” she exhales and looks up at me, “hee shoes are at least $2,000. Louboutin’s. That’s what that brand runs.”
“Wow,” I shake my head.
“I know,” Aunt Celia says. “Ain’t it sad what some people spend their money on?”
Actually, I wasn’t thinking that at all.
I was thinking about how nice it must be to buy whatever you want, even if it’s something as dumb as a pair of $2,000 shoes.
Without thinking, I look down at my own shoes.
They’re scrapped with black marks and full of strings that my cat likes to play with when I’m at home.
They’re from Walmart.
Wait, no.
Actually, this pair is from The Dollar Tree. I bought them two years ago when my friend Samuel begged me to buy some new shoes before
I went to the movies with him and his latest girlfriend.
He didn’t usually take a second look at anything I wore, so after the movie I’d nagged him about his sudden interest in my shoes and he finally told me what was up. He sheepishly admitted that Tammy or Tara or whatever his girlfriend of the minute’s name was back then, once told him that she based her entire opinion of a person on the way they take care of their shoes.
Basically, she was another hideous person.
Samuel and Tara or Tarin or whatever didn’t last very long.
They split after only a month.
“Samuel picking you up for that improv class tonight?” Aunt Celia asks, her voice pulling me from my thoughts.
“Huh?” I say even though I’ve heard every word she says.
She knows this and gives me a look.
“Oh, um, yes, ma’am,” I shift on my feet.
She rolls her eyes. “You should come to my Bible study group with me tonight. A little bit of acting is involved. When it’s your turn to read a verse out loud, you can put your heart into it. Isn’t that acting?”
I force a smile. “Thanks. But I already made plans with Samuel. I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Her eyebrows go up. “Right. Because he never disappoints you.”
I smile.
She has a point, he’s always late and sometimes a complete no-show.
Like me, he lives with his head in the clouds and has a tendency to get distracted.
That’s one reason why our friendship has been platonic for the entire twenty years we’ve known each other.
We’re too similar.
That said, I don’t know what I’d do without him.
He’s the only person in my life who thinks it’s okay that I’m sort of addicted to acting.
I’ve always loved it and Samuel Kraddick is the only person in the world who doesn’t think that makes me an odd duck.
That’s why we’re taking the improv class together.
It’s not really his thing, but he said he was sick of hearing me complain about how much I hated working at the donut shop instead of actually doing something to change my situation.
For once, he was right.
A knock sounds on the shop’s front door and I jump up, “That’s probably him now,” I say as a run to the front room.
My sprint comes to an abrupt halt when I see a tall, stick-thin dark skinned woman on the other side of the door. She wears midnight black
sunglasses and a matching jumpsuit, both of which are in sharp contrast to her long, blonde hair.
The bridezilla.
Sighing, I paste on a smile and wave.
She returns neither of these gestures and I’m not naive enough to assume this is because she didn’t notice them.
I unlock the front door and widen my grin, “Hi, how are-”
“Is my cake ready?” she demands as she glides into the shop and looks around while she peels off her sunglasses.
I glance down at her black heels. The bottoms of the shoes are red.
Louboutin’s
Auntie was right.
“Yes, it is,” I reply, watching her look around our shop with a downward curl of her lips that looks suspiciously like a sneer. “And it’s gorgeous, I think you’re really going to-”
“I don’t have time for chit chat,” she says without looking at me. She reaches into the tiny black purse hanging from her arm and pulls out a
phone. “I’m due on a flight back to LA in minutes. Just give me my cake.”
I grit my teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”
She laughs, which startles me, and I’m noticing how white her teeth are as she looks at me- finally- and says, “You did not just call me ma’am even though you’re older than me. Please tell me you’re not that antiquated.”
Older than her? She thinks I’m older than her?!
I’m only 24 and I’m pretty sure she’s at least 30!
I try to keep annoyance out of my expression as I say, “Sorry, it’s a Southern thing.”
“Well,” she huffs, “if you ever leave this city and go someplace that matters, don’t call anyone ma’am. They’ll think you’re an idiot.”
I hate this woman.
My hands are curling into fists as I say, “Why are you having your wedding here instead of someplace that matters?”
She gives me a look and I stare right back at her, daring her to … well, I don’t know. To keep staring at me, I guess.
“Just get my cake,” she sneers.
“Gladly,” I barely refrain from rolling my eyes before strolling to the kitchen, purposely walking as slowly as I can.
Aunt Celia has it boxed up and ready to go, with everything on it except for the top of the box, so the awful bride can check out her cake.
“She’s here,” I mutter.
“So, I heard,” Auntie replies. “Piece of work, ain’t she?”
“Got that right,” I agree.
“See what happens when you leave the South and move to a place like Los Angeles?” Auntie says. “That’s what you turn into. Aren’t you glad you didn’t move to a place like that?”
I can feel her watching me, wanting me to reply with what she wants me to say.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and as the words leave my lips a sadness that I try to ignore hugs my heart.
We wheel the cake out to the front of the shop and surprisingly, the hideous bride is no longer alone.
I stop in my tracks and smile at the sight of Samuel.
He’s standing by the door, looking a bit cornered.
Bridezilla flips her long hair over her shoulder and batts her fake eyelashes at Samuel. “So, are you like a football player or a model? Or maybe both?”
She laughs as if she’s said the funniest thing in the world and Samuel offers a fake chuckle before saying, “Excuse me, Heidi.”
Oh. So, that’s her actual name I guess.
“Hi, Auntie,” he says, approaching Aunt Celia and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
She smiles and pets him on the head like he’s a puppy.
He gently punches my left shoulder, “Lu, you ready?”
“Would you like to look at your cake, darling?” Aunt Celia asks Heidi.
But the bride who is in such a hurry to get her cake and jet turns away from Auntie and approaches Samuel and I.
“What are you two doing tonight?” she asks, trying to sound chill but coming across as desperately pathetic while she stares up at Samuel.
“Something fun? I mean, is there actually anything fun to do in this city?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing at her.
Samuel has this effect on most women.
At six foot three, with creamy cafe au lait skin, curly black locks, and surprisingly green eyes, he’s stunning.
And women typically don’t know how to act when they find themselves in his presence.
It’s fun to watch, which is something I’ve been doing for nearly my entire life.
“We’re going to an improv class,” Samuel says, “which can be fun, if you like that sort of thing.”
“Oh, my god,” she says in a voice that tells me she’s old enough to have seen the movie Clueless and tried to imitate its main character. “I do love it! That’s my thing. I work with actors. I’m a producer at ABN Studios in Los Angeles. Your, um…” she points to me and makes a face, “Your friend here, she was just asking me why I’m in town and actually, I grew up here. So, my parents want my wedding to be here. But my fiance and I are both LA-based. Are you an actor, Samuel?”
He scratches the back of his neck and smiles as he points to me, “She’s the actress, not me.”
“Oh,” she looks at me for all of point five seconds and then returns her attention to Samuel. “So what do you do? Because if you’re not an actor or a model, at the very least, you should be. If you were in LA, I’d make you a millionaire in three days flat.”
Samuel laughs and shifts on his feet.
Auntie clears her throat, loudly.
“I think your cake is what’s most important right now, right?” Samuel says, walking towards it. She follows him like a puppy, her gaze still on him instead of her cake. “Let’s have a look at it,” he says encouragingly and gesturing towards my Aunt’s hard work.
Heidi manages to tear her gaze away from Samuel and peer down at the cake.
Her face thaws and her eyes sparkle as a warm smile takes hold of her mouth.
I hate to say it, but she kind of looks beautiful right now.
“This is …” she shakes her head and turns to my Aunt, “this is so much more than I expected. Wow. You’re incredible.”
Auntie smiles and offers her something between a half-bow and a nod. “I do my best, dear.”
“Well, you’re worth every cent of what I’m paying you,” Heidi says, reaching into her purse and pulling out her credit card.
As she hands it over, I take it and head behind the counter to go to the register where I can complete her transaction.
Heidi returns her attention to Samuel. “You never answered my question. What do you do?”
“I’m a counselor, at a non-profit for impoverished youth,” Samuel says, sort of shyly. I glance at him, knowing how much he hates referring to the kids he mentors as “impoverished youth,” but those are the only terms someone like Heidi would understand.
“Awww,” Heidi’s tone becomes so sugary she’s probably given us all diabetes just by speaking. “That’s just darling. How long have you been doing that kind of work?”
“Two years. It got me through college and after I graduated, I stayed on,” Samuel says.
“How lovely,” Heidi croons, “but I bet it doesn’t pay the bills. The nonprofit sector isn’t the most lucrative industry, is it?”
“That would defeat its purpose. So, no,” Samuel quietly says.
I bite my lip to suppress a grin as I pick up on the hint of annoyance in his tone. Most people wouldn’t even notice it.
“Well,” Heidi goes on, totally unaware, “I’ll make you a deal, Samuel. If you come to LA and let me introduce you to some agents, I will donate one million dollars to your little nonprofit.”
I haven’t run Heidi’s card yet because I’m too busy staring at the two of them with my mouth hanging open.
Apparently, this is the sort of thing that happens to good-looking people.
They just get offers of riches and glory from everyone who happens to be fortunate enough to see them.
Samuel, however, isn’t acting like someone who’s used to hearing this sort of offer.
His mouth is hanging open, just like mine.
“Close your mouth, and ask for the lady’s business card,” Auntie says with a chuckle. “Then let her get her cake so she won’t miss her flight back to Los Angeles.”
This is exactly what happens because when Auntie declares that something must be, it is.
****
I stand below the neon “Hot and Fresh” sign in the right front window of our donut shop and watch two dragonflies flit from here to in a graceful aerial dance.
I’m pretty sure it’s a mating ritual that’s likely been performed by billions of other dragonflies across the globe.
Still, I’d bet my best batch of donuts on the fact that the dance I happen to be watching is somehow unique to this particular couple.
Smiling, I cross my arms and sigh.
I might be a little jealous of these two insects.
No. That’s not quite true.
I’m a lot jealous.
They’re falling in love while zipping through the air with a freedom I can only dream of.
Meanwhile, what am I doing?
I look down at my white apron, which is splattered with chocolate icing and donut batter.
I’m working in a place where I don’t want to be.
I’m stuck.
“Lu?” Aunt Celia shouts from the kitchen. “Did you turn the signs off and start locking up?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply and snap out of my daydream. I switch off our neon “Hot and Fresh” sign, lock the heavy glass door at my right and then slip over to the far right window where I flip our “Yes, We’re Open!” sign over to its “Closed” side.
With this, I close the blinds of both windows and take off my apron as I head to the kitchen.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, stepping into the room to find Aunt Celia putting the finishing touches on a glorious black and gold wedding cake that some bridezilla from the other side of town has hired her to make.
I set my batter-splattered apron on the small circular table we use to eat lunch on our breaks.
“It did turn out nicely,” Auntie says with a satisfied smile. She takes a step back and admires her work.
She’s the owner of Cee Cee’s Donuts, but for the past three years she’s been picking up a good bit of extra work as a wedding cake decorator.
It started out as a hobby, when a couple of girls I’d grown up with got engaged and asked Aunt Celia, who was known for her baking prowess, to take care of their cakes.
Knowing these girls were neighborhood folks like us, Auntie did their wedding cakes for free and asked only one thing in return, that they social media the heck out of those bad boys.
She even drew up a contract, requiring each bride to post at least twenty pictures of her wedding cake on all of her social media platforms.
That did the trick.
Within months, women who could actually afford to pay Auntie started calling like crazy, and now she has so many requests she has to turn people away.
The cake she’s made today is especially gorgeous, because it’s for an especially hideous bride, and when I say hideous I’m not talking about the way the woman looks.
I walk around the cake, which has eight thick layers and is ensconced in a breathtaking gold sheen that hides its chocolate interior.
Since watching Auntie interact with each of her wedding cake customers, I’ve developed a theory.
The fancier the cake, the more dragon-like the bride.
Privileged people who demand the world and won’t settle for less -usually because they’ve never had to- they’re the dragons with the best cakes.
But people like Aunt Celia, me, and our friends from the neighborhood, we’re used to making the best with what we’ve got. It’s not that we don’t want more, we’ve just never had the opportunity to have more.
So, when a girl from the neighborhood comes to Auntie with a wedding cake request, it’s almost always just as modest and quietly beautiful as she is.
But the glorious monstrosities like the one I’m staring down at the moment, theses babies belong to women from the other side of town.
“And it should look good,” Aunt Celia says with a low chuckle, “it cost the poor woman $2,500.”
I gasp and turn to her, “Are you serious?”
Aunt Celia laughs and crosses her arms, “Yeah, child. It took me 48 hours to do this. And I had to buy my own materials, which cost $300. Plus that, have you seen this bride’s shoes?”
“Her shoes?” I repeat, watching Auntie as she wobbles to a nearby chair and takes a seat.
She has bad knees and her doctor’s warned her to be careful about how long she’s on her feet.
But of course she doesn’t listen.
She’s as smart as she is stubborn.
“Yeah,” she exhales and looks up at me, “hee shoes are at least $2,000. Louboutin’s. That’s what that brand runs.”
“Wow,” I shake my head.
“I know,” Aunt Celia says. “Ain’t it sad what some people spend their money on?”
Actually, I wasn’t thinking that at all.
I was thinking about how nice it must be to buy whatever you want, even if it’s something as dumb as a pair of $2,000 shoes.
Without thinking, I look down at my own shoes.
They’re scrapped with black marks and full of strings that my cat likes to play with when I’m at home.
They’re from Walmart.
Wait, no.
Actually, this pair is from The Dollar Tree. I bought them two years ago when my friend Samuel begged me to buy some new shoes before
I went to the movies with him and his latest girlfriend.
He didn’t usually take a second look at anything I wore, so after the movie I’d nagged him about his sudden interest in my shoes and he finally told me what was up. He sheepishly admitted that Tammy or Tara or whatever his girlfriend of the minute’s name was back then, once told him that she based her entire opinion of a person on the way they take care of their shoes.
Basically, she was another hideous person.
Samuel and Tara or Tarin or whatever didn’t last very long.
They split after only a month.
“Samuel picking you up for that improv class tonight?” Aunt Celia asks, her voice pulling me from my thoughts.
“Huh?” I say even though I’ve heard every word she says.
She knows this and gives me a look.
“Oh, um, yes, ma’am,” I shift on my feet.
She rolls her eyes. “You should come to my Bible study group with me tonight. A little bit of acting is involved. When it’s your turn to read a verse out loud, you can put your heart into it. Isn’t that acting?”
I force a smile. “Thanks. But I already made plans with Samuel. I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Her eyebrows go up. “Right. Because he never disappoints you.”
I smile.
She has a point, he’s always late and sometimes a complete no-show.
Like me, he lives with his head in the clouds and has a tendency to get distracted.
That’s one reason why our friendship has been platonic for the entire twenty years we’ve known each other.
We’re too similar.
That said, I don’t know what I’d do without him.
He’s the only person in my life who thinks it’s okay that I’m sort of addicted to acting.
I’ve always loved it and Samuel Kraddick is the only person in the world who doesn’t think that makes me an odd duck.
That’s why we’re taking the improv class together.
It’s not really his thing, but he said he was sick of hearing me complain about how much I hated working at the donut shop instead of actually doing something to change my situation.
For once, he was right.
A knock sounds on the shop’s front door and I jump up, “That’s probably him now,” I say as a run to the front room.
My sprint comes to an abrupt halt when I see a tall, stick-thin dark skinned woman on the other side of the door. She wears midnight black
sunglasses and a matching jumpsuit, both of which are in sharp contrast to her long, blonde hair.
The bridezilla.
Sighing, I paste on a smile and wave.
She returns neither of these gestures and I’m not naive enough to assume this is because she didn’t notice them.
I unlock the front door and widen my grin, “Hi, how are-”
“Is my cake ready?” she demands as she glides into the shop and looks around while she peels off her sunglasses.
I glance down at her black heels. The bottoms of the shoes are red.
Louboutin’s
Auntie was right.
“Yes, it is,” I reply, watching her look around our shop with a downward curl of her lips that looks suspiciously like a sneer. “And it’s gorgeous, I think you’re really going to-”
“I don’t have time for chit chat,” she says without looking at me. She reaches into the tiny black purse hanging from her arm and pulls out a
phone. “I’m due on a flight back to LA in minutes. Just give me my cake.”
I grit my teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”
She laughs, which startles me, and I’m noticing how white her teeth are as she looks at me- finally- and says, “You did not just call me ma’am even though you’re older than me. Please tell me you’re not that antiquated.”
Older than her? She thinks I’m older than her?!
I’m only 24 and I’m pretty sure she’s at least 30!
I try to keep annoyance out of my expression as I say, “Sorry, it’s a Southern thing.”
“Well,” she huffs, “if you ever leave this city and go someplace that matters, don’t call anyone ma’am. They’ll think you’re an idiot.”
I hate this woman.
My hands are curling into fists as I say, “Why are you having your wedding here instead of someplace that matters?”
She gives me a look and I stare right back at her, daring her to … well, I don’t know. To keep staring at me, I guess.
“Just get my cake,” she sneers.
“Gladly,” I barely refrain from rolling my eyes before strolling to the kitchen, purposely walking as slowly as I can.
Aunt Celia has it boxed up and ready to go, with everything on it except for the top of the box, so the awful bride can check out her cake.
“She’s here,” I mutter.
“So, I heard,” Auntie replies. “Piece of work, ain’t she?”
“Got that right,” I agree.
“See what happens when you leave the South and move to a place like Los Angeles?” Auntie says. “That’s what you turn into. Aren’t you glad you didn’t move to a place like that?”
I can feel her watching me, wanting me to reply with what she wants me to say.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and as the words leave my lips a sadness that I try to ignore hugs my heart.
We wheel the cake out to the front of the shop and surprisingly, the hideous bride is no longer alone.
I stop in my tracks and smile at the sight of Samuel.
He’s standing by the door, looking a bit cornered.
Bridezilla flips her long hair over her shoulder and batts her fake eyelashes at Samuel. “So, are you like a football player or a model? Or maybe both?”
She laughs as if she’s said the funniest thing in the world and Samuel offers a fake chuckle before saying, “Excuse me, Heidi.”
Oh. So, that’s her actual name I guess.
“Hi, Auntie,” he says, approaching Aunt Celia and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
She smiles and pets him on the head like he’s a puppy.
He gently punches my left shoulder, “Lu, you ready?”
“Would you like to look at your cake, darling?” Aunt Celia asks Heidi.
But the bride who is in such a hurry to get her cake and jet turns away from Auntie and approaches Samuel and I.
“What are you two doing tonight?” she asks, trying to sound chill but coming across as desperately pathetic while she stares up at Samuel.
“Something fun? I mean, is there actually anything fun to do in this city?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing at her.
Samuel has this effect on most women.
At six foot three, with creamy cafe au lait skin, curly black locks, and surprisingly green eyes, he’s stunning.
And women typically don’t know how to act when they find themselves in his presence.
It’s fun to watch, which is something I’ve been doing for nearly my entire life.
“We’re going to an improv class,” Samuel says, “which can be fun, if you like that sort of thing.”
“Oh, my god,” she says in a voice that tells me she’s old enough to have seen the movie Clueless and tried to imitate its main character. “I do love it! That’s my thing. I work with actors. I’m a producer at ABN Studios in Los Angeles. Your, um…” she points to me and makes a face, “Your friend here, she was just asking me why I’m in town and actually, I grew up here. So, my parents want my wedding to be here. But my fiance and I are both LA-based. Are you an actor, Samuel?”
He scratches the back of his neck and smiles as he points to me, “She’s the actress, not me.”
“Oh,” she looks at me for all of point five seconds and then returns her attention to Samuel. “So what do you do? Because if you’re not an actor or a model, at the very least, you should be. If you were in LA, I’d make you a millionaire in three days flat.”
Samuel laughs and shifts on his feet.
Auntie clears her throat, loudly.
“I think your cake is what’s most important right now, right?” Samuel says, walking towards it. She follows him like a puppy, her gaze still on him instead of her cake. “Let’s have a look at it,” he says encouragingly and gesturing towards my Aunt’s hard work.
Heidi manages to tear her gaze away from Samuel and peer down at the cake.
Her face thaws and her eyes sparkle as a warm smile takes hold of her mouth.
I hate to say it, but she kind of looks beautiful right now.
“This is …” she shakes her head and turns to my Aunt, “this is so much more than I expected. Wow. You’re incredible.”
Auntie smiles and offers her something between a half-bow and a nod. “I do my best, dear.”
“Well, you’re worth every cent of what I’m paying you,” Heidi says, reaching into her purse and pulling out her credit card.
As she hands it over, I take it and head behind the counter to go to the register where I can complete her transaction.
Heidi returns her attention to Samuel. “You never answered my question. What do you do?”
“I’m a counselor, at a non-profit for impoverished youth,” Samuel says, sort of shyly. I glance at him, knowing how much he hates referring to the kids he mentors as “impoverished youth,” but those are the only terms someone like Heidi would understand.
“Awww,” Heidi’s tone becomes so sugary she’s probably given us all diabetes just by speaking. “That’s just darling. How long have you been doing that kind of work?”
“Two years. It got me through college and after I graduated, I stayed on,” Samuel says.
“How lovely,” Heidi croons, “but I bet it doesn’t pay the bills. The nonprofit sector isn’t the most lucrative industry, is it?”
“That would defeat its purpose. So, no,” Samuel quietly says.
I bite my lip to suppress a grin as I pick up on the hint of annoyance in his tone. Most people wouldn’t even notice it.
“Well,” Heidi goes on, totally unaware, “I’ll make you a deal, Samuel. If you come to LA and let me introduce you to some agents, I will donate one million dollars to your little nonprofit.”
I haven’t run Heidi’s card yet because I’m too busy staring at the two of them with my mouth hanging open.
Apparently, this is the sort of thing that happens to good-looking people.
They just get offers of riches and glory from everyone who happens to be fortunate enough to see them.
Samuel, however, isn’t acting like someone who’s used to hearing this sort of offer.
His mouth is hanging open, just like mine.
“Close your mouth, and ask for the lady’s business card,” Auntie says with a chuckle. “Then let her get her cake so she won’t miss her flight back to Los Angeles.”
This is exactly what happens because when Auntie declares that something must be, it is.
****
But, thirty minutes later, as Samuel and I sit in two of a dozen folding chairs that form a circle in the basement of one of Louisiana State University’s oldest buildings, I’m still thinking about Heidi’s offer.
And the feeling that’s welling up in my heart is not dissimilar to the way I felt watching those dragonflies.
I wish she’d made me that offer, because if she had, I would have taken it.
Samuel, seated to my left, turns to me and says, “You’re quiet tonight. What’s going on?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just thinking about stuff.” I fix my face to rid it of any of the disappointment and envy that’s hanging out in my heart like a couple of suspicious loiterers.
I offer him a smile, “How were the kids today? Did Joaquin finally ask Sara out?”
Samuel chuckles and leans back in his chair, it squawks under the pressure of his athletic build. “Those two. Nah, not yet, he’s shy. And I can’t blame him for being scared. Sara’s an intimidating eleven-year-old.”
My grin widens as I think of the dark skinned little girl with the bright red hair who I’ve only met once. She’s one of the newer kids at Buddies for Life, the non-profit where Samuel works.
The little boy who likes Sara, Joaquin, has been a member since he was in diapers. Samuel’s like a big brother to him.
Samuel looks into the distance, a grin on his face, and I can tell he’s remembering something funny one of the kids did.
He turns to me and says, “This morning, before I was even fully awake, I got a text from Joaquin and there’s no explanation, no precursor, just, this… look.”
Samuel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
I’m already grinning as I take it from him and read the text he’s opened.
Joaquin: When I’m lonely, when I’m sad, I think of you, and what it’d be like to hold your hand. You’re the lullaby that sings me to sleep, girl you’re that night light that scares away creeps. If you let me hold your hand, I swear I’d turn your world into a magic land. Girl, let me be the only one to hold your hand.
I grin and turn to him, “That’s sweet. I’m guessing, or hoping this is a poem he wrote for Sara, and not just some random text he felt compelled to send you.”
Samuel laughs, “I was very confused until I got to the part that says “girl, you’re like that night light…” And it’s actually a rap. He told me he stayed up all night perfecting it and he asked if I thought he should perform it for Sara at the talent show this summer.”
As I hand Samuel his phone, I make a face. “But that’s three months from now. He can’t wait that long to ask her out. Someone else could swoop in.”
Samuel shrugs and puts his phone back into his pocket. “I don’t know about that. Sara’s picky. She won’t just let anyone in. And, I think she’s warming up to Joaquin. She’s finally started to say “hi” back when he speaks to her.”
I laugh. “Wow. Maybe it will take him three months to thaw that heart of hers.”
Samuel frowns. “She’s been through a lot.”
My smile lessening, I nod.
Sometimes I forget how sensitive he can be when it comes to the kids at Buddies for Life. I don’t blame him. A lot of those children have experienced hardships that most adults have only seen on their favorite HBO series.
“Is her mom still clean?” I gently ask.
Samuel shrugs and sighs. “She’s not in jail, so that’s a plus. I guess. Honestly, though, the last time we dropped Sara home after Saturdays in the Park, her mom came to the door dead drunk. At least she wasn’t strung out on meth. That’s something.”
Samuel’s eyes go sad and he looks down at his feet.
I reach over and rub one of his shoulders.
“Whatever happens, Sara has people who care about her,” I say. “She has the whole Buddies for Life team, and most importantly, she has you in her corner. So, she’ll be alright. After all, I was the first one to have you, and I turned out okay, didn’t I?”
As soon as that question leaves my lips, I frown, realizing that my wording couldn’t have been worse.
Samuel looks at me with an arched eyebrow and his cheeks turn red as he says, “Um, you know I’m not going to let that one go, right?”
I stop rubbing his shoulder and slap it instead, but I’m laughing as I shake my head. “You know what I mean. I had you as a friend, not-”
“According to Frued, it sounds like you’ve been fantasizing about ‘having me,’” Samuel laughs. “Do you fantasize about me a lot, Lu?”
He grins and looks at me expectantly.
I cover my embarrassment with a roll of my eyes, “First of all, Freud was a misogyinistic idiot and secondly, the only time you’re in my daydreams is when I’m fantasizing about killing you, which is a daily fantasy. For obvious reasons.”
He chuckles and lowers his gaze to the floor. “I’m just messing with you. Trust me, I’m very clear on where I stand with you.”
I look away, focusing on the classroom’s door as two more improv actors walk in.
Actually, he isn’t clear on that at all.
Sure, Samuel and I would never work as a couple because we’re too similar.
I mean, we’d never pay our bills on time and we’d probably accidentally burn our house down because we both have a tendency to get distracted and forget what we’re doing.
And seeing as I am something of a dreamer, and Samuel is the most handsome guy I’ve ever known… it’s not like I haven’t fantasized about him in a romantic way from time to time.
But afterwards, I’ve always felt bad because he’s my friend and he doesn’t see me that way.
It felt kind of icky to think about him as anything more than a friend, as if I were overstepping a boundary he’d set.
“Besides,” Samuel says, saving me from dwelling too much on my embarrassing fantasies about him, “I’m the one who should be grateful to you.”
He nudges me with his elbow and smiles, his white teeth glistening against the perfect mouth that his genetics decided to bless him with.
“You were the only friend I had who was honest with me,” he says, looking me in the eye. “You were real, you still are.”
Those gorgeous green eyes pierce mine as he says this and I can’t help but melt a little.
“Aww,” I say as warmth travels from my face to my neck. “That’s sweet of you.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a beat too long and Samuel’s eyes widen. They begin to sparkle with that look he gets around certain women.
My heart skips a beat and I abruptly break eye contact with him.
With this, I make a show of looking around and speak a hair too loud, “Where’s our professor? We should have started class, like, ten minutes ago.”
The words have barely left my lips when the teacher walks into the classroom.
“Sorry I’m late,” Monty, our professor, says as he enters the center of the circle. As usual he’s clad in a ratty outfit that makes him look homeless instead of like an accomplished actor who decided to retire after marrying a wealthy director. “I have no plausible excuse, other than life.”
“He always says that,” Wendy, a fellow classmate, says with a smile as she looks at the rest of us, inviting us to agree and offer humorous comments of our own.
This is how our improv class’s vibe always is. It’s laid-back, full of laughs, and of filled with unselfish people who are eager to share the spotlight with their peers.
I love it.
“Yeah, when he actually shows up,” I add with a grin.
Everyone chuckles, including Monty.
A spark of happiness flares in my heart, warming it in a way that only happens in improv class or when I’m enjoying a slice of my Auntie’s famous apple pie, or when Samuel and I are on our own, enjoying a rare do-nothing night to just hang out and chat.
“Well, well, let’s all have a laugh at my expense, why don’t we?” Monty says with a good-natured roll of his eyes. With this, he sets his fancy briefcase down and proceeds to strut around the circle, giving us all the opportunity to assess his ratty outfit from various angles. His jeans, two sizes too small, are full of rips and holes, and I’m not talking about those fashionable intentionally distressed jeans that people from the fancy side of town wear. I’m talking about the old, dirty jeans you see folks on my side of town wearing because they have no other jeans to wear.
Monty, the millionaire, was sporting a pair of those puppies below an oversized brown shirt that appeared to have been washed every single day for the past thirty years.
No, I’m not done.
There’s more to his look.
It’s topped off with a completely unnecessary yellow scarf.
Of course it is.
Because why wouldn’t it be?
I stare at Monty’s scarf and allow myself a grin as he prances around the circle, gesturing wildly, “Today, you are going to exercise every one of your thespian muscles, my friends. You are going to get to the root of your fears and use them to make us laugh. Because that, my friends, is what the best actors do. And who are the best actors?”
He spins around and points to each of us. “Who are the best actors?” he repeats, even though we’re already answering him.
“Comedians,” I say, in unison with the rest of my classmates.
For the first time since the embarrassing moment with Samuel that I’d rather pretend didn’t happen, I glance at Samuel to find him turning to look at me with an arched eyebrow and an amused look in his eyes.
I giggle because I already know why he looks like he’s about to burst out laughing.
He leans towards me and whispers, “The yellow scarf. Why?”
I close my eyes and laugh before opening them and whispering back, “I knew you were going to say that, because it’s exactly what I was
thinking.”
“Lu and Lu’s cute boyfriend,” Monty suddenly says, which brings my giggles to a stop. He points to me, but his gaze shifts to Samuel as he says, “Since you’ve started without the rest of the class, why not go ahead and take center stage so we can all join in on the fun.”
I stand, excitement rushing through me, and grin as I say, “Sure. And Samuel’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”
Monty pulls his head back, giving himself a double chin and looks from me to Samuel as he says, “And why the hell is that?”
Before I can reply, Monty turns to Samuel, who is reluctantly getting to his feet and says, “Oh. You’re gay. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Samuel and I both say, “No.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Monty says with disappointment before turning to me. “Are you? Is that what it is?”
“No, I’m straight too,” I say. “Um, it’s just. Well, we’re just friends.”
“Well, okay,” he lifts a hand and waves the conversation off. “That’s none of my business anyway. Go ahead and take your places. And remember what I said, you’re at a bus stop when someone approaches, bringing with him, the worst of your fears. Go ahead.”
I’m glad Monty repeated his directions for our scene because I was too busy laughing with Samuel to listen when he initially explained them.
But even with his repetition of what we’re supposed to do, I’m standing in the center of the circle, utterly confused.
Most of our improv scenes are simple, like, you’re at a party and various people with secret identities walk into your party and as you mingle with them you’re supposed to figure out who they are based on their conversation style and odd quirks.
But this… someone walks in with your worst fear…? What does that even mean?
My hands are now clammy with nerves and my excitement is morphing into embarrassment as I stand in the center of the circle and stare back at my classmates in frozen silence.
Should I ask someone for help?
I don’t want to look dumb to these people.
As nice as they are, most of them aren’t like me. They’re all college students or college grads with at least some real-world acting experience.
I’m an uneducated food service worker from the other side of town, a fact that I’m sure they’ve picked up on by now.
While Monty leans against the wall, watching us, Samuel grabs our chairs and sets them in the center of the circle, beside me.
He glances at me questioningly and as I meet his eyes, a look of understanding crosses his features.
He turns to Monty and says, “Sorry, Monty. But I’m not an actor like Lu and these other guys here, what do you want us to do exactly?”
I exhale and my nerves begin to subside.
Thank God for Samuel Kraddick.
This was a tiny example of how he’s been saving my hide since the day I met him. If you ask him, he’ll swear it’s the other way around.
But that simply isn’t true.
The honest to God truth is that I owe the little bit of sanity I have to Samuel.
“Oh,” Monty says standing upright and lifting his hands as he begins to wildly gesture through another long-winded explanation of what he wants from us, “It’s fairly simple. Well, theoretically. Although the exercise is anything but simple from a psychological standpoint. One of you is seated at a bus stop, when a person approaches and as this person walks up to you, you see your worst fear in them. That means, they are either the personification of your worst fear or something about them reminds you of it. Either way, your reaction must be humorous and yet, realistic. You have to dig deep for this, my friends. Show us your worst fear and how you would react to seeing it right in front of you.”
Samuel and I stare at Monty even after he’s done speaking.
He’s right, this is a tough one.
I turn to Samuel and we exchange a look of worry.
“I don’t even know what my worst fear is,” I finally say with a laugh.
“Sure you do,” Monty says. “You’re just so afraid of it that you don't even want to acknowledge it. Stop overthinking it, my friend. Let the answer come to you naturally and then play with it. Play with your feelings and bring us in on the game of pretend. That’s what acting is.”
“You’ve got this, Lu,” Wendy shouts as she begins to clap her hands.
Our small circle of classmates follows her lead and they each clap, cheering us on with smiles and a few encouraging shouts of, “Go for it,” and the like.
I glance at the eight of them and I can’t help but smile.
As my gaze goes from Terri the freshman who wants to major in theater but whose mother wants her to become a doctor, to Mike, the head pharmacist at Fresh Foods whose wife surprised him with these classes because she knew he’d always loved theater, and a warm glow fills my heart.
I bite down on my bottom lip as a happiness that’s so full it nearly sends tears to my eyes, begins to blossom in my chest.
This is the way it feels to be around people who like the same things I like.
Before this class, I’d never experienced this.
Samuel gives my shoulder a squeeze and offers me a warm smile.
I take a deep breath and decide to do exactly what Monty’s suggested.
Stop overthinking.
I take my seat at the “bus stop” and Samuel recognizes this as his cue to walk off stage.
The room goes quiet as I look around and mentally transform the old basement classroom into an intersection in downtown Baton Rouge.
It’s 5 p.m. and I’ve had a hard morning at the bakery.
Before me, traffic is at a standstill, as it usually is, and I watch a yellow sports car run a red light as I hope to God the bus will, for once, arrive on time.
I hear heavy footsteps at my right, and assuming a fellow bus rider is approaching, I turn to them with a ready smile.
But it’s Samuel Kraddick.
My heart falls into my stomach like a dead weight and chills tiptoe up my arms.
I’m so shocked, I stand.
“Hi,” Samuel says, waving at me uncertainly as he approaches.
I look him up and down and say the first thing that comes to mind, “After twenty years of nothing, that’s all you have to say? Hi?”
He stands before me speechless, confusion plastered across his perfectly proportioned face.
In front of the Baton Rouge backdrop, a city that’s only changed for the worst since he’s been gone, Samuel looks exactly as he did the last
time I saw him.
“Twenty years?” Samuel repeats uncertainty. “Has it, uh, has it been that long?”
He clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable.
“Since you left me behind, here,” I point to the smelly, hot city we both grew up in. “Yeah, that was twenty years ago, buddy. I guess time goes by faster when you find what you’re looking for and leave your pathetic, food-service worker friends behind to find your dreams. So, what? Are you, like, a millionaire or something now?”
Samuel looks to the left and then to the right.
“Uh,” he clears his throat again. “I… you… you seem, um, scared. What are you so… so afraid of?”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re such an idiot.”
“What? Me?” he seems genuinely at a loss as he frowns and tilts his head. “Why?”
“You left me here, and you’re asking me what I’m afraid of?” I point to the city. “This, this place. It’s quicksand. Once you’re stuck here, it just keeps pulling you under. You’re stuck here until you’re dead. You left me here and you’re asking me what I’m afraid of?”
I laugh again.
Samuel looks at me intently, his eyes gently calculating as he says, “I’d never leave you,” in a tone so quiet I can barely hear him.
I look away and mumble, “That’s what everyone’s said since the day I came into this world. And you know what?”
I turn to Samuel and his eyes are wide.
“They all left me,” my voice cracks.
“And, scene,” Monty’s voice pulls me from my imaginary world and I glance at Samuel as our classmates applaud.
Samuel’s still looking at me, but when our eyes meet he looks away.
I follow his lead and give our classmates a bow.
Once I’m standing up straight and glancing at their confused faces, it dawns on me that their applause isn’t exactly enthusiastic.
Oh. Okay. So I sucked just now.
Perfect.
“Well, that was brilliant,” Monty says with an appreciative nod.
Ignoring Monty’s blatant lie, I grab one of the “bus stop’s” chairs and pull it back to where Samuel and I had been seated in the circle.
Samuel does the same.
“That, my friends,” Monty says to the entire class as Samuel and I get situated, “is an example of the power of acting. Lu and her hot platonic friend’s scene may not have turned out the way they nor I expected, but it was honest. It was so honest that it took both of our actors by surprise…”
I realize that my heart is pounding and I take a deep breath, willing it to slow down.
Samuel touches my hand and I glance at him.
Beads of sweat have formed at his temples.
“You okay?” he mouths.
I look into his eyes and I don’t want to look away, so I force myself to.
With this, I nod and give Monty my full attention, or at least, I pretend to.
What just happened in that scene?
Did I just admit that my worst fear is that one day Samuel’s going to leave me?
Out of all the terrible things that happen in this world, why is that my worst fear?
It doesn’t even make sense.
Beside me, Samuel wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and I wonder why he’s sweating so much.
That only happens when he’s nervous, which is rare.
As an extroverted handsome guy who’s been the center of attention every place he goes since, like, birth, he doesn’t typically find reason to feel nervous.
He might be a man of color, but even cops are nice to him.
While Monty is choosing his next pair of actors to try out the exercise, Samuel’s phone buzzes.
He discreetly slips it out of his pocket and glances it.
After muttering a curse, he turns to me and whispers, “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I reply, watching him stand and quickly slip out of our circle and then out of our room.
As the door shuts behind him, I sigh and silently review our bus stop scene in my mind.
What did all of that word vomit I just experienced mean?
It was almost like I was jealous of Samuel… am I?
And, as much as I dislike Baton Rouge, I’m glad to be here to help my Aunt.
She took me in when no one else would, I at least owe her that much.
Right?
I ponder this through the next scene, the next, and a third one when it dawns on me that class is nearly over and Samuel hasn’t returned.
Concerned, I excuse myself and discreetly leave the room.
It’s pitch black outside, but the air smells of rain and a slight breeze is whipping up the sticky humid air that Baton Rouge seems to
permanently be encased in.
That means it’s going to start storming any second.
Great.
Though it isn’t quite cold outside, I slip my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and stand just outside of Locket Hall’s front doors, surveying the area for any sign of Samuel.
I hear him before I see him.
“What do you mean that’s the safest place for her to be?” Samuel shouts.
I jump, startled, and squint in the direction of his voice.
“Her mother’s sister is on drugs too,” Samuel yells. “Are you really okay with a child being shipped off to a trailer park in Mississippi with her meth-head prostitute Aunt? Is that why we do what we do? To just sit back and let things like this happen?”
My heart sinking, I catch sight of Samuel.
He’s pacing back and forth to the left of the building, not far from where his car is parked.
I take the steps two at a time, hurrying towards him.
He glances up, seeing me, and the anger in his eyes startles me.
I know it isn’t directed at me, but it’s rare to see Samuel Kraddick angry.
Only a couple of things get him this worked up, and one of those things is when something terrible happens to a kid.
My heart growing cold with fear, I shiver and worry my bottom lip, steeling myself for whatever bad news he’s going to share with me in a
few minutes.
“Fine, whatever,” Samuel spits the words out. I glance at his left hand, which is gripping the phone so tightly it's nearly gone white. “When are they going to pick her up?”
I watch him sigh and close his eyes as he says, “No, Tommy, I’m not angry because I’m overly-emotional, I’m angry because I don’t think you actually care about the kids we're supposed to be protecting.”
With this, he ends the call and looks at his phone like he wants to smash it to bits.
His jaw tense and his lips a thin straight line, he turns to me and I see that his face has gone beet red.
“Sara?” I quietly ask.
“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his phone again. I can tell he’s trying to pull himself together.
My heart slowly breaking, I take one of my hands out of the pocket of my hoodie and rub his back in slow, comforting circles.
“What can we do to help her?” I ask.
When Samuel looks up, his eyes are full of tears but he blinks them away and clears his throat.
“According to the idiot who runs Buddies for Life, nothing,” Samuel says. His voice cracks. “She’s in the hospital and her mom’s in jail because... “
Oh, God…
My own eyes filling, I take a step towards Samuel and wrap him in my arms.
Closing my eyes, I hold him and think of Sara and how scared she must be.
I don’t know exactly what happened to her, but I know how alone she must feel.
Years ago, I learned to block out unpleasant memories, but one thing I can’t block is the pain associated with the blurred memory of what happened to my parents.
I didn’t live in Baton Rouge back then, and I wasn’t an “I” back then, I was part of a “we.”
My mother, my father, and I lived in a small apartment in Los Angeles.
Aunt Celia says it was a rathole, and I believe her. But I don’t have anything else to go by because I don’t remember anything specific about that time in my life.
All I remember is feeling incredibly happy until one day, my heart went cold with fear and I was all alone at a bus station, trying to ask an attendant for a ticket to Baton Rouge, because that’s where the only family I had left lived.
That feeling of being so small and so alone in a huge unfamiliar, place has never really gone away.
Sometimes, when I’m with Samuel it leaves. But other than that, everywhere I go, I feel like a stranger among natives. I just never quite fit in.
And now, it sounds like a child who's already been through more than her fair share of pain, is going to be stuck with that exact same feeling.
Samuel releases me and whispers, “Thank you. I needed that.”
“Just doing my job,” I say, wiping my eyes as he does the same.
“And it reminded me that there actually is something I can do,” he says, taking a deep breath. His eyes, no longer tearful or angry, are full of determination as he looks down at his phone and dials a number, “I have a couple of contacts in Child Protective Services I can call and warn them about the Aunt they’re saying Sara’s going to be placed with until her mother’s bailed out, which will probably never happen.”
I think quickly, “Wait. If her mom’s bailed out, will Sara be able to go back with her? Or, is that something we don’t want to happen?”
“Sara’s mom wasn’t high this time,” Samuel says as the phone on the other line begins to ring so loudly that I can hear it. “But she, apparently, left Sara alone to run to the store and when she got back there house was on fire and Sara was trapped inside. Sara was trying to cook something.”
“Oh, no,” my hand flies to my mouth as I shake my head in horror. “That must have scared the poor kid to death. How badly is she hurt?”
“The burns are minor,” Samuel says, his tone now deadpan and tired. “But the smoke inhalation was bad. So, she’s in ICU, and the doctor’s expect to keep her at the hospital for at least a few days.”
“Okay,” I take this information in. “So, her mom’s clean and she made an honest, albeit stupid, but honest mistake. Can we bail her out?”
“That’s what I wanted Tommy to do,” Samuel says with a roll of his eyes, “But the douche says we don’t have the money. That might be true, it might not. Who knows with him. All I know is ever since he started running Buddies for Life, we haven’t been able to give kids the help they- hey! Gladys, this is Samuel Kraddick from Buddies for Life. I wanted to talk to you about a case involving an eleven-year-old named Sara…”
While Samuel continues his one-sided and mildly desperate sounding conversation with a CPS agent’s answering service, our class begins to trickle out of Lockett Hall’s basement. I watch them say goodbye to each other and head to their cars.
My gaze follows Wendy as she heads to a large black SUV that looks like it cost a pretty penny.
Sprinkles of rain fall from above, tap-dancing on the top of my already-frizzy hair as I continue to stare at Wendy and absently wonder if her work as a commercial actor has paid so well that she was able to fork over enough money for her fancy ride.
My grandmother has always blamed my mother and father’s deaths on their life of poverty due to their desire to “become Hollywood stars.” She says acting is, not only a self-centered career but a sure path to poverty.
But as I watch Wendy pull off in her shiny SUV, my brain rewinds the events of the day and returns to one incredibly skinny and incredibly Los Angeles- connected bridezilla.
In my mind’s eye, I can see her half-smiling at Samuel with a flirtatious look in her eyes as she says, “ If you were in LA, I’d make you a millionaire in three days flat...” and a few minutes later, she’s making googly eyes at him and offering him a deal, “If you come to LA and let me introduce you to some agents, I will donate one million dollars to your little nonprofit.”
I turn to Samuel, and grab his arm. “Heidi. Her offer. Do it.”
Samuel, who’s still on the phone, looks at me out of the corner of his eye and says, “Uh, well, anyway, Gladys, please call me back as soon
as you get this. Bye now, thanks.”
He hangs up and turns to me. “Who’s Heidi?”
I blink back at him, slightly relieved yet annoyed that he doesn’t remember the name of the gorgeous woman who flirted with him and then offered him a million dollars less than two hours ago.
“The bridezilla from Aunti’s bakery, she said she’d donate a million bucks to Buddies for Life and help you make a ton of money, just for letting her introduce you to some of her friends in LA.,” I gently punch his left shoulder. “If you told her to put some of that money towards bailing Sara’s mom out, that would be a start to getting things back on track.”
“What?” Samuel’s eyebrows go up and he looks at me like I’ve just suggested we trade in our LSU fan gear for Bama flags and t-shirts.
The steady drizzle is now becoming light rain and I’m becoming worried that my idea is kind of stupid.
I laugh and take a step back as I shove my hands into my pockets. “Well, maybe it seems far-fetched, but it was all I could think of. I mean, if you did what this Heidi woman asked, you’d probably make enough money to buy out Buddies for Life. Of course, I’m no businesswoman or anything, but I assume that if you have lots of money, you can buy a non-profit and run it the way you want.”
Samuel stares at me.
We look at each other, me wondering, for the first time in a very long time, what he’s thinking, and he's looking at me like he’s trying to figure something out.
“You think I should go to California?” he slowly asks. Thunder sounds above our heads and the rain intensifies. Before I can answer, Samuel grabs my arm, “Let’s finish this in the car.”
His hand moves from my arm to my hand, grasping it as we jog to his car’s passenger side where he unlocks my door and opens it.
I slide into the tiny Toyota while he shuts the door and runs around to the driver’s side.
I pull down the visor mirror and glance at myself.
My hair, which is supposed to be slicked back in a ponytail, has become some sort of half-afro.
Nice.
Whatever.
I return the visor to its original position and glance at Samuel while he settles into the driver’s seat and starts the car.
Trying not to stare, I steal intermittent peeks at him while he silently turns on the windshield wipers and adjusts the AC.
I almost always know what he’s thinking, but right now, I’m lost.
Finally he turns to me, “So, you really think that’s a good idea? To accept Heidi’s offer?”
I nod. “It would solve two problems. Sara’s mom needs to be bailed out and Buddies for Life needs to be run by someone who actually cares about kids. Right?”
Samuel is staring at me with the strangest look in his eyes, like he’s on the verge of saying something, but he’s trying to restrain himself.
“You look like you want to say something,” I laugh. “So, just say it before you give yourself a migraine. It can’t be that bad.”
Samuel smiles and glances down. “Yeah, okay. Well.”
He gulps, looks up and speaks softly, “Back there, in class, you kind of said your worst fear was ...well, that I would leave you here and go someplace where I would make a lot of money. Isn’t that kind of, like, exactly what you’re telling me to go do?”
The oddest feeling turns itself over in my stomach. The only way I can describe it is to compare it to a tidal wave of panic. As it unfurls in my gut, heat floods my face to an embarrassing degree.
I force a laugh and wave off Samuel’s concern.
“That was an improv class,” I smile as widely as I can, which probably makes me look a little scary, and say, “I was just saying whatever popped into my head. That’s what improv is. It’s acting. You pretend. You make things up. I’m not actually afraid you’ll leave me.”
Samuel frowns and gives me such an intense look of disbelief I avert my eyes and shift in my seat as another wave of heat overtakes my face and neck.
“I mean,” I quickly say, “of course it came from an honest place. I don’t, like, want you to leave. But in this case, there’s a kid with a need and you have the ability to get that kid what she needs. So, if you want to go for it, I’ll support you all the way.”
I’m still not looking at Samuel, but in my peripheral I see him nodding.
He sighs and turns away from me to look out at the pouring rain.
We sit in silence for a few seconds.
I watch the rain fall, wondering at the irony of realizing that my worst fear is that Samuel’s going to leave me and then, less than thirty minutes after this discovery, encouraging him to do exactly that.
Life is such a heifer sometimes.
An ugly, snarling heifer who deserves a swift punch in the-
“Okay,” Samuel says, breaking the silence.
We simultaneously turn to each other and my pulse picks up as that panicked feeling returns.
“I’ll do it,” he says, looking into my eyes, which sends a shiver down my spine, “but you have to come with me and you have to audition for stuff and do your acting thing that you’ve always wanted to do.”
I stare at him, shocked.
“What?”
He smiles, “Lu, acting is in your blood. That’s why you love it so much.”
“But my parents obviously sucked at it,” I say, still unable to believe that he’s turned this entire thing around and pointed it in my direction.
“I mean they were poor actors who died in squalor. If I inherited their talent, that isn’t saying much.”
“You don’t know that,” Samuel quietly says. “That’s just the world according to your Aunt. And I love her almost as much as you do, but you’ve got to admit that she’s been holding you back since the day she took you in.”
“That’s not true,” I automatically argue, but then I shut up because Samuel’s right.
When I wanted to be in the big, important play in Junior High, my Aunt forbade it, saying I had too much to do at the bakery.
It was the same with Theater Club in high school, with the school choir, the senior class trip to Mexico, and with college.
She’s always been afraid to let me go.
“This is on you, Lu,” Samuel says, his quiet voice pulling me back to the present. “We can help Sara’s mom. But the only way that’s going to happen, is if you do this with me. Otherwise, I’m not doing it.”
My mouth falling open in surprise, I look at the determination in Samuel’s eyes.
His kids at Buddies for Life mean more to him than anything.
Would he seriously not take Heidi up on her offer just because I won’t do it with him?
“You’re insane,” I whisper, shaking my head. I glance at the rain and a streak of white lightning flashes across the sky. “But I expect you to be at least a little more rational when we get to La La Land, because it won’t look good if both of us are acting like a couple of dumb-as-rocks swamp hicks.”
Samuel smiles and lifts his hand for a high-five.
I slap it with my own as he says, “Unless Heidi’s a huge liar, you and me are going to LA!”
Overwhelmed by the entire idea, all I can do is smile and nod.
And the feeling that’s welling up in my heart is not dissimilar to the way I felt watching those dragonflies.
I wish she’d made me that offer, because if she had, I would have taken it.
Samuel, seated to my left, turns to me and says, “You’re quiet tonight. What’s going on?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just thinking about stuff.” I fix my face to rid it of any of the disappointment and envy that’s hanging out in my heart like a couple of suspicious loiterers.
I offer him a smile, “How were the kids today? Did Joaquin finally ask Sara out?”
Samuel chuckles and leans back in his chair, it squawks under the pressure of his athletic build. “Those two. Nah, not yet, he’s shy. And I can’t blame him for being scared. Sara’s an intimidating eleven-year-old.”
My grin widens as I think of the dark skinned little girl with the bright red hair who I’ve only met once. She’s one of the newer kids at Buddies for Life, the non-profit where Samuel works.
The little boy who likes Sara, Joaquin, has been a member since he was in diapers. Samuel’s like a big brother to him.
Samuel looks into the distance, a grin on his face, and I can tell he’s remembering something funny one of the kids did.
He turns to me and says, “This morning, before I was even fully awake, I got a text from Joaquin and there’s no explanation, no precursor, just, this… look.”
Samuel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
I’m already grinning as I take it from him and read the text he’s opened.
Joaquin: When I’m lonely, when I’m sad, I think of you, and what it’d be like to hold your hand. You’re the lullaby that sings me to sleep, girl you’re that night light that scares away creeps. If you let me hold your hand, I swear I’d turn your world into a magic land. Girl, let me be the only one to hold your hand.
I grin and turn to him, “That’s sweet. I’m guessing, or hoping this is a poem he wrote for Sara, and not just some random text he felt compelled to send you.”
Samuel laughs, “I was very confused until I got to the part that says “girl, you’re like that night light…” And it’s actually a rap. He told me he stayed up all night perfecting it and he asked if I thought he should perform it for Sara at the talent show this summer.”
As I hand Samuel his phone, I make a face. “But that’s three months from now. He can’t wait that long to ask her out. Someone else could swoop in.”
Samuel shrugs and puts his phone back into his pocket. “I don’t know about that. Sara’s picky. She won’t just let anyone in. And, I think she’s warming up to Joaquin. She’s finally started to say “hi” back when he speaks to her.”
I laugh. “Wow. Maybe it will take him three months to thaw that heart of hers.”
Samuel frowns. “She’s been through a lot.”
My smile lessening, I nod.
Sometimes I forget how sensitive he can be when it comes to the kids at Buddies for Life. I don’t blame him. A lot of those children have experienced hardships that most adults have only seen on their favorite HBO series.
“Is her mom still clean?” I gently ask.
Samuel shrugs and sighs. “She’s not in jail, so that’s a plus. I guess. Honestly, though, the last time we dropped Sara home after Saturdays in the Park, her mom came to the door dead drunk. At least she wasn’t strung out on meth. That’s something.”
Samuel’s eyes go sad and he looks down at his feet.
I reach over and rub one of his shoulders.
“Whatever happens, Sara has people who care about her,” I say. “She has the whole Buddies for Life team, and most importantly, she has you in her corner. So, she’ll be alright. After all, I was the first one to have you, and I turned out okay, didn’t I?”
As soon as that question leaves my lips, I frown, realizing that my wording couldn’t have been worse.
Samuel looks at me with an arched eyebrow and his cheeks turn red as he says, “Um, you know I’m not going to let that one go, right?”
I stop rubbing his shoulder and slap it instead, but I’m laughing as I shake my head. “You know what I mean. I had you as a friend, not-”
“According to Frued, it sounds like you’ve been fantasizing about ‘having me,’” Samuel laughs. “Do you fantasize about me a lot, Lu?”
He grins and looks at me expectantly.
I cover my embarrassment with a roll of my eyes, “First of all, Freud was a misogyinistic idiot and secondly, the only time you’re in my daydreams is when I’m fantasizing about killing you, which is a daily fantasy. For obvious reasons.”
He chuckles and lowers his gaze to the floor. “I’m just messing with you. Trust me, I’m very clear on where I stand with you.”
I look away, focusing on the classroom’s door as two more improv actors walk in.
Actually, he isn’t clear on that at all.
Sure, Samuel and I would never work as a couple because we’re too similar.
I mean, we’d never pay our bills on time and we’d probably accidentally burn our house down because we both have a tendency to get distracted and forget what we’re doing.
And seeing as I am something of a dreamer, and Samuel is the most handsome guy I’ve ever known… it’s not like I haven’t fantasized about him in a romantic way from time to time.
But afterwards, I’ve always felt bad because he’s my friend and he doesn’t see me that way.
It felt kind of icky to think about him as anything more than a friend, as if I were overstepping a boundary he’d set.
“Besides,” Samuel says, saving me from dwelling too much on my embarrassing fantasies about him, “I’m the one who should be grateful to you.”
He nudges me with his elbow and smiles, his white teeth glistening against the perfect mouth that his genetics decided to bless him with.
“You were the only friend I had who was honest with me,” he says, looking me in the eye. “You were real, you still are.”
Those gorgeous green eyes pierce mine as he says this and I can’t help but melt a little.
“Aww,” I say as warmth travels from my face to my neck. “That’s sweet of you.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a beat too long and Samuel’s eyes widen. They begin to sparkle with that look he gets around certain women.
My heart skips a beat and I abruptly break eye contact with him.
With this, I make a show of looking around and speak a hair too loud, “Where’s our professor? We should have started class, like, ten minutes ago.”
The words have barely left my lips when the teacher walks into the classroom.
“Sorry I’m late,” Monty, our professor, says as he enters the center of the circle. As usual he’s clad in a ratty outfit that makes him look homeless instead of like an accomplished actor who decided to retire after marrying a wealthy director. “I have no plausible excuse, other than life.”
“He always says that,” Wendy, a fellow classmate, says with a smile as she looks at the rest of us, inviting us to agree and offer humorous comments of our own.
This is how our improv class’s vibe always is. It’s laid-back, full of laughs, and of filled with unselfish people who are eager to share the spotlight with their peers.
I love it.
“Yeah, when he actually shows up,” I add with a grin.
Everyone chuckles, including Monty.
A spark of happiness flares in my heart, warming it in a way that only happens in improv class or when I’m enjoying a slice of my Auntie’s famous apple pie, or when Samuel and I are on our own, enjoying a rare do-nothing night to just hang out and chat.
“Well, well, let’s all have a laugh at my expense, why don’t we?” Monty says with a good-natured roll of his eyes. With this, he sets his fancy briefcase down and proceeds to strut around the circle, giving us all the opportunity to assess his ratty outfit from various angles. His jeans, two sizes too small, are full of rips and holes, and I’m not talking about those fashionable intentionally distressed jeans that people from the fancy side of town wear. I’m talking about the old, dirty jeans you see folks on my side of town wearing because they have no other jeans to wear.
Monty, the millionaire, was sporting a pair of those puppies below an oversized brown shirt that appeared to have been washed every single day for the past thirty years.
No, I’m not done.
There’s more to his look.
It’s topped off with a completely unnecessary yellow scarf.
Of course it is.
Because why wouldn’t it be?
I stare at Monty’s scarf and allow myself a grin as he prances around the circle, gesturing wildly, “Today, you are going to exercise every one of your thespian muscles, my friends. You are going to get to the root of your fears and use them to make us laugh. Because that, my friends, is what the best actors do. And who are the best actors?”
He spins around and points to each of us. “Who are the best actors?” he repeats, even though we’re already answering him.
“Comedians,” I say, in unison with the rest of my classmates.
For the first time since the embarrassing moment with Samuel that I’d rather pretend didn’t happen, I glance at Samuel to find him turning to look at me with an arched eyebrow and an amused look in his eyes.
I giggle because I already know why he looks like he’s about to burst out laughing.
He leans towards me and whispers, “The yellow scarf. Why?”
I close my eyes and laugh before opening them and whispering back, “I knew you were going to say that, because it’s exactly what I was
thinking.”
“Lu and Lu’s cute boyfriend,” Monty suddenly says, which brings my giggles to a stop. He points to me, but his gaze shifts to Samuel as he says, “Since you’ve started without the rest of the class, why not go ahead and take center stage so we can all join in on the fun.”
I stand, excitement rushing through me, and grin as I say, “Sure. And Samuel’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”
Monty pulls his head back, giving himself a double chin and looks from me to Samuel as he says, “And why the hell is that?”
Before I can reply, Monty turns to Samuel, who is reluctantly getting to his feet and says, “Oh. You’re gay. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Samuel and I both say, “No.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Monty says with disappointment before turning to me. “Are you? Is that what it is?”
“No, I’m straight too,” I say. “Um, it’s just. Well, we’re just friends.”
“Well, okay,” he lifts a hand and waves the conversation off. “That’s none of my business anyway. Go ahead and take your places. And remember what I said, you’re at a bus stop when someone approaches, bringing with him, the worst of your fears. Go ahead.”
I’m glad Monty repeated his directions for our scene because I was too busy laughing with Samuel to listen when he initially explained them.
But even with his repetition of what we’re supposed to do, I’m standing in the center of the circle, utterly confused.
Most of our improv scenes are simple, like, you’re at a party and various people with secret identities walk into your party and as you mingle with them you’re supposed to figure out who they are based on their conversation style and odd quirks.
But this… someone walks in with your worst fear…? What does that even mean?
My hands are now clammy with nerves and my excitement is morphing into embarrassment as I stand in the center of the circle and stare back at my classmates in frozen silence.
Should I ask someone for help?
I don’t want to look dumb to these people.
As nice as they are, most of them aren’t like me. They’re all college students or college grads with at least some real-world acting experience.
I’m an uneducated food service worker from the other side of town, a fact that I’m sure they’ve picked up on by now.
While Monty leans against the wall, watching us, Samuel grabs our chairs and sets them in the center of the circle, beside me.
He glances at me questioningly and as I meet his eyes, a look of understanding crosses his features.
He turns to Monty and says, “Sorry, Monty. But I’m not an actor like Lu and these other guys here, what do you want us to do exactly?”
I exhale and my nerves begin to subside.
Thank God for Samuel Kraddick.
This was a tiny example of how he’s been saving my hide since the day I met him. If you ask him, he’ll swear it’s the other way around.
But that simply isn’t true.
The honest to God truth is that I owe the little bit of sanity I have to Samuel.
“Oh,” Monty says standing upright and lifting his hands as he begins to wildly gesture through another long-winded explanation of what he wants from us, “It’s fairly simple. Well, theoretically. Although the exercise is anything but simple from a psychological standpoint. One of you is seated at a bus stop, when a person approaches and as this person walks up to you, you see your worst fear in them. That means, they are either the personification of your worst fear or something about them reminds you of it. Either way, your reaction must be humorous and yet, realistic. You have to dig deep for this, my friends. Show us your worst fear and how you would react to seeing it right in front of you.”
Samuel and I stare at Monty even after he’s done speaking.
He’s right, this is a tough one.
I turn to Samuel and we exchange a look of worry.
“I don’t even know what my worst fear is,” I finally say with a laugh.
“Sure you do,” Monty says. “You’re just so afraid of it that you don't even want to acknowledge it. Stop overthinking it, my friend. Let the answer come to you naturally and then play with it. Play with your feelings and bring us in on the game of pretend. That’s what acting is.”
“You’ve got this, Lu,” Wendy shouts as she begins to clap her hands.
Our small circle of classmates follows her lead and they each clap, cheering us on with smiles and a few encouraging shouts of, “Go for it,” and the like.
I glance at the eight of them and I can’t help but smile.
As my gaze goes from Terri the freshman who wants to major in theater but whose mother wants her to become a doctor, to Mike, the head pharmacist at Fresh Foods whose wife surprised him with these classes because she knew he’d always loved theater, and a warm glow fills my heart.
I bite down on my bottom lip as a happiness that’s so full it nearly sends tears to my eyes, begins to blossom in my chest.
This is the way it feels to be around people who like the same things I like.
Before this class, I’d never experienced this.
Samuel gives my shoulder a squeeze and offers me a warm smile.
I take a deep breath and decide to do exactly what Monty’s suggested.
Stop overthinking.
I take my seat at the “bus stop” and Samuel recognizes this as his cue to walk off stage.
The room goes quiet as I look around and mentally transform the old basement classroom into an intersection in downtown Baton Rouge.
It’s 5 p.m. and I’ve had a hard morning at the bakery.
Before me, traffic is at a standstill, as it usually is, and I watch a yellow sports car run a red light as I hope to God the bus will, for once, arrive on time.
I hear heavy footsteps at my right, and assuming a fellow bus rider is approaching, I turn to them with a ready smile.
But it’s Samuel Kraddick.
My heart falls into my stomach like a dead weight and chills tiptoe up my arms.
I’m so shocked, I stand.
“Hi,” Samuel says, waving at me uncertainly as he approaches.
I look him up and down and say the first thing that comes to mind, “After twenty years of nothing, that’s all you have to say? Hi?”
He stands before me speechless, confusion plastered across his perfectly proportioned face.
In front of the Baton Rouge backdrop, a city that’s only changed for the worst since he’s been gone, Samuel looks exactly as he did the last
time I saw him.
“Twenty years?” Samuel repeats uncertainty. “Has it, uh, has it been that long?”
He clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable.
“Since you left me behind, here,” I point to the smelly, hot city we both grew up in. “Yeah, that was twenty years ago, buddy. I guess time goes by faster when you find what you’re looking for and leave your pathetic, food-service worker friends behind to find your dreams. So, what? Are you, like, a millionaire or something now?”
Samuel looks to the left and then to the right.
“Uh,” he clears his throat again. “I… you… you seem, um, scared. What are you so… so afraid of?”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re such an idiot.”
“What? Me?” he seems genuinely at a loss as he frowns and tilts his head. “Why?”
“You left me here, and you’re asking me what I’m afraid of?” I point to the city. “This, this place. It’s quicksand. Once you’re stuck here, it just keeps pulling you under. You’re stuck here until you’re dead. You left me here and you’re asking me what I’m afraid of?”
I laugh again.
Samuel looks at me intently, his eyes gently calculating as he says, “I’d never leave you,” in a tone so quiet I can barely hear him.
I look away and mumble, “That’s what everyone’s said since the day I came into this world. And you know what?”
I turn to Samuel and his eyes are wide.
“They all left me,” my voice cracks.
“And, scene,” Monty’s voice pulls me from my imaginary world and I glance at Samuel as our classmates applaud.
Samuel’s still looking at me, but when our eyes meet he looks away.
I follow his lead and give our classmates a bow.
Once I’m standing up straight and glancing at their confused faces, it dawns on me that their applause isn’t exactly enthusiastic.
Oh. Okay. So I sucked just now.
Perfect.
“Well, that was brilliant,” Monty says with an appreciative nod.
Ignoring Monty’s blatant lie, I grab one of the “bus stop’s” chairs and pull it back to where Samuel and I had been seated in the circle.
Samuel does the same.
“That, my friends,” Monty says to the entire class as Samuel and I get situated, “is an example of the power of acting. Lu and her hot platonic friend’s scene may not have turned out the way they nor I expected, but it was honest. It was so honest that it took both of our actors by surprise…”
I realize that my heart is pounding and I take a deep breath, willing it to slow down.
Samuel touches my hand and I glance at him.
Beads of sweat have formed at his temples.
“You okay?” he mouths.
I look into his eyes and I don’t want to look away, so I force myself to.
With this, I nod and give Monty my full attention, or at least, I pretend to.
What just happened in that scene?
Did I just admit that my worst fear is that one day Samuel’s going to leave me?
Out of all the terrible things that happen in this world, why is that my worst fear?
It doesn’t even make sense.
Beside me, Samuel wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and I wonder why he’s sweating so much.
That only happens when he’s nervous, which is rare.
As an extroverted handsome guy who’s been the center of attention every place he goes since, like, birth, he doesn’t typically find reason to feel nervous.
He might be a man of color, but even cops are nice to him.
While Monty is choosing his next pair of actors to try out the exercise, Samuel’s phone buzzes.
He discreetly slips it out of his pocket and glances it.
After muttering a curse, he turns to me and whispers, “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I reply, watching him stand and quickly slip out of our circle and then out of our room.
As the door shuts behind him, I sigh and silently review our bus stop scene in my mind.
What did all of that word vomit I just experienced mean?
It was almost like I was jealous of Samuel… am I?
And, as much as I dislike Baton Rouge, I’m glad to be here to help my Aunt.
She took me in when no one else would, I at least owe her that much.
Right?
I ponder this through the next scene, the next, and a third one when it dawns on me that class is nearly over and Samuel hasn’t returned.
Concerned, I excuse myself and discreetly leave the room.
It’s pitch black outside, but the air smells of rain and a slight breeze is whipping up the sticky humid air that Baton Rouge seems to
permanently be encased in.
That means it’s going to start storming any second.
Great.
Though it isn’t quite cold outside, I slip my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and stand just outside of Locket Hall’s front doors, surveying the area for any sign of Samuel.
I hear him before I see him.
“What do you mean that’s the safest place for her to be?” Samuel shouts.
I jump, startled, and squint in the direction of his voice.
“Her mother’s sister is on drugs too,” Samuel yells. “Are you really okay with a child being shipped off to a trailer park in Mississippi with her meth-head prostitute Aunt? Is that why we do what we do? To just sit back and let things like this happen?”
My heart sinking, I catch sight of Samuel.
He’s pacing back and forth to the left of the building, not far from where his car is parked.
I take the steps two at a time, hurrying towards him.
He glances up, seeing me, and the anger in his eyes startles me.
I know it isn’t directed at me, but it’s rare to see Samuel Kraddick angry.
Only a couple of things get him this worked up, and one of those things is when something terrible happens to a kid.
My heart growing cold with fear, I shiver and worry my bottom lip, steeling myself for whatever bad news he’s going to share with me in a
few minutes.
“Fine, whatever,” Samuel spits the words out. I glance at his left hand, which is gripping the phone so tightly it's nearly gone white. “When are they going to pick her up?”
I watch him sigh and close his eyes as he says, “No, Tommy, I’m not angry because I’m overly-emotional, I’m angry because I don’t think you actually care about the kids we're supposed to be protecting.”
With this, he ends the call and looks at his phone like he wants to smash it to bits.
His jaw tense and his lips a thin straight line, he turns to me and I see that his face has gone beet red.
“Sara?” I quietly ask.
“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his phone again. I can tell he’s trying to pull himself together.
My heart slowly breaking, I take one of my hands out of the pocket of my hoodie and rub his back in slow, comforting circles.
“What can we do to help her?” I ask.
When Samuel looks up, his eyes are full of tears but he blinks them away and clears his throat.
“According to the idiot who runs Buddies for Life, nothing,” Samuel says. His voice cracks. “She’s in the hospital and her mom’s in jail because... “
Oh, God…
My own eyes filling, I take a step towards Samuel and wrap him in my arms.
Closing my eyes, I hold him and think of Sara and how scared she must be.
I don’t know exactly what happened to her, but I know how alone she must feel.
Years ago, I learned to block out unpleasant memories, but one thing I can’t block is the pain associated with the blurred memory of what happened to my parents.
I didn’t live in Baton Rouge back then, and I wasn’t an “I” back then, I was part of a “we.”
My mother, my father, and I lived in a small apartment in Los Angeles.
Aunt Celia says it was a rathole, and I believe her. But I don’t have anything else to go by because I don’t remember anything specific about that time in my life.
All I remember is feeling incredibly happy until one day, my heart went cold with fear and I was all alone at a bus station, trying to ask an attendant for a ticket to Baton Rouge, because that’s where the only family I had left lived.
That feeling of being so small and so alone in a huge unfamiliar, place has never really gone away.
Sometimes, when I’m with Samuel it leaves. But other than that, everywhere I go, I feel like a stranger among natives. I just never quite fit in.
And now, it sounds like a child who's already been through more than her fair share of pain, is going to be stuck with that exact same feeling.
Samuel releases me and whispers, “Thank you. I needed that.”
“Just doing my job,” I say, wiping my eyes as he does the same.
“And it reminded me that there actually is something I can do,” he says, taking a deep breath. His eyes, no longer tearful or angry, are full of determination as he looks down at his phone and dials a number, “I have a couple of contacts in Child Protective Services I can call and warn them about the Aunt they’re saying Sara’s going to be placed with until her mother’s bailed out, which will probably never happen.”
I think quickly, “Wait. If her mom’s bailed out, will Sara be able to go back with her? Or, is that something we don’t want to happen?”
“Sara’s mom wasn’t high this time,” Samuel says as the phone on the other line begins to ring so loudly that I can hear it. “But she, apparently, left Sara alone to run to the store and when she got back there house was on fire and Sara was trapped inside. Sara was trying to cook something.”
“Oh, no,” my hand flies to my mouth as I shake my head in horror. “That must have scared the poor kid to death. How badly is she hurt?”
“The burns are minor,” Samuel says, his tone now deadpan and tired. “But the smoke inhalation was bad. So, she’s in ICU, and the doctor’s expect to keep her at the hospital for at least a few days.”
“Okay,” I take this information in. “So, her mom’s clean and she made an honest, albeit stupid, but honest mistake. Can we bail her out?”
“That’s what I wanted Tommy to do,” Samuel says with a roll of his eyes, “But the douche says we don’t have the money. That might be true, it might not. Who knows with him. All I know is ever since he started running Buddies for Life, we haven’t been able to give kids the help they- hey! Gladys, this is Samuel Kraddick from Buddies for Life. I wanted to talk to you about a case involving an eleven-year-old named Sara…”
While Samuel continues his one-sided and mildly desperate sounding conversation with a CPS agent’s answering service, our class begins to trickle out of Lockett Hall’s basement. I watch them say goodbye to each other and head to their cars.
My gaze follows Wendy as she heads to a large black SUV that looks like it cost a pretty penny.
Sprinkles of rain fall from above, tap-dancing on the top of my already-frizzy hair as I continue to stare at Wendy and absently wonder if her work as a commercial actor has paid so well that she was able to fork over enough money for her fancy ride.
My grandmother has always blamed my mother and father’s deaths on their life of poverty due to their desire to “become Hollywood stars.” She says acting is, not only a self-centered career but a sure path to poverty.
But as I watch Wendy pull off in her shiny SUV, my brain rewinds the events of the day and returns to one incredibly skinny and incredibly Los Angeles- connected bridezilla.
In my mind’s eye, I can see her half-smiling at Samuel with a flirtatious look in her eyes as she says, “ If you were in LA, I’d make you a millionaire in three days flat...” and a few minutes later, she’s making googly eyes at him and offering him a deal, “If you come to LA and let me introduce you to some agents, I will donate one million dollars to your little nonprofit.”
I turn to Samuel, and grab his arm. “Heidi. Her offer. Do it.”
Samuel, who’s still on the phone, looks at me out of the corner of his eye and says, “Uh, well, anyway, Gladys, please call me back as soon
as you get this. Bye now, thanks.”
He hangs up and turns to me. “Who’s Heidi?”
I blink back at him, slightly relieved yet annoyed that he doesn’t remember the name of the gorgeous woman who flirted with him and then offered him a million dollars less than two hours ago.
“The bridezilla from Aunti’s bakery, she said she’d donate a million bucks to Buddies for Life and help you make a ton of money, just for letting her introduce you to some of her friends in LA.,” I gently punch his left shoulder. “If you told her to put some of that money towards bailing Sara’s mom out, that would be a start to getting things back on track.”
“What?” Samuel’s eyebrows go up and he looks at me like I’ve just suggested we trade in our LSU fan gear for Bama flags and t-shirts.
The steady drizzle is now becoming light rain and I’m becoming worried that my idea is kind of stupid.
I laugh and take a step back as I shove my hands into my pockets. “Well, maybe it seems far-fetched, but it was all I could think of. I mean, if you did what this Heidi woman asked, you’d probably make enough money to buy out Buddies for Life. Of course, I’m no businesswoman or anything, but I assume that if you have lots of money, you can buy a non-profit and run it the way you want.”
Samuel stares at me.
We look at each other, me wondering, for the first time in a very long time, what he’s thinking, and he's looking at me like he’s trying to figure something out.
“You think I should go to California?” he slowly asks. Thunder sounds above our heads and the rain intensifies. Before I can answer, Samuel grabs my arm, “Let’s finish this in the car.”
His hand moves from my arm to my hand, grasping it as we jog to his car’s passenger side where he unlocks my door and opens it.
I slide into the tiny Toyota while he shuts the door and runs around to the driver’s side.
I pull down the visor mirror and glance at myself.
My hair, which is supposed to be slicked back in a ponytail, has become some sort of half-afro.
Nice.
Whatever.
I return the visor to its original position and glance at Samuel while he settles into the driver’s seat and starts the car.
Trying not to stare, I steal intermittent peeks at him while he silently turns on the windshield wipers and adjusts the AC.
I almost always know what he’s thinking, but right now, I’m lost.
Finally he turns to me, “So, you really think that’s a good idea? To accept Heidi’s offer?”
I nod. “It would solve two problems. Sara’s mom needs to be bailed out and Buddies for Life needs to be run by someone who actually cares about kids. Right?”
Samuel is staring at me with the strangest look in his eyes, like he’s on the verge of saying something, but he’s trying to restrain himself.
“You look like you want to say something,” I laugh. “So, just say it before you give yourself a migraine. It can’t be that bad.”
Samuel smiles and glances down. “Yeah, okay. Well.”
He gulps, looks up and speaks softly, “Back there, in class, you kind of said your worst fear was ...well, that I would leave you here and go someplace where I would make a lot of money. Isn’t that kind of, like, exactly what you’re telling me to go do?”
The oddest feeling turns itself over in my stomach. The only way I can describe it is to compare it to a tidal wave of panic. As it unfurls in my gut, heat floods my face to an embarrassing degree.
I force a laugh and wave off Samuel’s concern.
“That was an improv class,” I smile as widely as I can, which probably makes me look a little scary, and say, “I was just saying whatever popped into my head. That’s what improv is. It’s acting. You pretend. You make things up. I’m not actually afraid you’ll leave me.”
Samuel frowns and gives me such an intense look of disbelief I avert my eyes and shift in my seat as another wave of heat overtakes my face and neck.
“I mean,” I quickly say, “of course it came from an honest place. I don’t, like, want you to leave. But in this case, there’s a kid with a need and you have the ability to get that kid what she needs. So, if you want to go for it, I’ll support you all the way.”
I’m still not looking at Samuel, but in my peripheral I see him nodding.
He sighs and turns away from me to look out at the pouring rain.
We sit in silence for a few seconds.
I watch the rain fall, wondering at the irony of realizing that my worst fear is that Samuel’s going to leave me and then, less than thirty minutes after this discovery, encouraging him to do exactly that.
Life is such a heifer sometimes.
An ugly, snarling heifer who deserves a swift punch in the-
“Okay,” Samuel says, breaking the silence.
We simultaneously turn to each other and my pulse picks up as that panicked feeling returns.
“I’ll do it,” he says, looking into my eyes, which sends a shiver down my spine, “but you have to come with me and you have to audition for stuff and do your acting thing that you’ve always wanted to do.”
I stare at him, shocked.
“What?”
He smiles, “Lu, acting is in your blood. That’s why you love it so much.”
“But my parents obviously sucked at it,” I say, still unable to believe that he’s turned this entire thing around and pointed it in my direction.
“I mean they were poor actors who died in squalor. If I inherited their talent, that isn’t saying much.”
“You don’t know that,” Samuel quietly says. “That’s just the world according to your Aunt. And I love her almost as much as you do, but you’ve got to admit that she’s been holding you back since the day she took you in.”
“That’s not true,” I automatically argue, but then I shut up because Samuel’s right.
When I wanted to be in the big, important play in Junior High, my Aunt forbade it, saying I had too much to do at the bakery.
It was the same with Theater Club in high school, with the school choir, the senior class trip to Mexico, and with college.
She’s always been afraid to let me go.
“This is on you, Lu,” Samuel says, his quiet voice pulling me back to the present. “We can help Sara’s mom. But the only way that’s going to happen, is if you do this with me. Otherwise, I’m not doing it.”
My mouth falling open in surprise, I look at the determination in Samuel’s eyes.
His kids at Buddies for Life mean more to him than anything.
Would he seriously not take Heidi up on her offer just because I won’t do it with him?
“You’re insane,” I whisper, shaking my head. I glance at the rain and a streak of white lightning flashes across the sky. “But I expect you to be at least a little more rational when we get to La La Land, because it won’t look good if both of us are acting like a couple of dumb-as-rocks swamp hicks.”
Samuel smiles and lifts his hand for a high-five.
I slap it with my own as he says, “Unless Heidi’s a huge liar, you and me are going to LA!”
Overwhelmed by the entire idea, all I can do is smile and nod.
***
Part Two- Los Angeles
It turns out that while many unpleasant nouns can be used to describe Heidi Worthington, the word “liar” is not among them.
A mere 24 hours after Samuel and I sat in his car and watched the rain fall while we tried to wrap our heads around the idea of going to Los Angeles with a strange and scary woman who’d randomly promised Samuel a million dollars, we are seated in first class on an airplane that is only thirty minutes away from landing at LAX.
This is my first time on a plane and Samuel has been doing a great job at talking my ear off to make me forget that I’m soaring above the clouds in a death-machine.
I didn’t even have to ask him to distract me, he just sort of knew to step in.
Now, he’s showing me a picture on his phone.
“Heidi came through big time,” he says as he points to a photo of Sara, grinning in her hospital bed, while her mother stands beside her, looking down at her daughter with a mix of affection and fear. “She pulled some strings and got the charges against Sara’s mom dropped.”
“Oh, my God,” I exclaim so loudly the person across the aisle turns to us.
“Sorry,” I apologize to the stranger and then turn back to Samuel, lowering my voice as I ask, “When did you find that out? And does that mean Sara can live with her mom?”
“Yeah,” Samuel says, his eyes sparkling and a grin on his lips. “As long as her mom stays clean and keeps going to meetings, Sara can stay with her. Heidi just texted me a second ago, at the same time my CPS agent who happened to be visiting sent me this picture with the same information.”
“That’s so awesome,” I squeeze Samuel’s arm and reach for my cup of ginger ale. Lifting it towards Samuel, I say, “To Heidi.”
He grabs his ice water and clinks it against my cup. “To Heidi.”
****
An hour and a half later, as we sit in Heidi Worthington’s Century City office, my feelings towards her are anything but thankful.
The moment Heidi’s assistant led me and Samuel into her huge office, my gaze went to the overly shiny white marble floors, tall clear windows offering a perfect view of the famous Hollywood sign situated in Tinseltown's hills, and I was overcome with intimidation.
The feeling did not decrease when Heidi emerged from behind her gargantuan desk to embrace Samuel in an overly familiar hug and usher him into a comfortable chair across from her desk as she asked him how his flight was and if he was excited- and completely ignored my existence.
While her assistant left the room, Samuel turned to me and pointed to the matching plush chair beside his, “Come on, Lu,” he urged.
Only then did Heidi acknowledge my presence with a slow blink and a slightly curled upper lip before turning to Samuel and saying, “I think your friend would make a fantastic personal assistant for you. Don’t you think that would suit her?”
That’s when the trouble started.
Samuel, too sweet to swim with sharks like Heidi, did his best to defend me, but he was no match for her. And I was too intimidated to do more than glance, every few seconds, at the Hollywood sign and discreetly pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Now, Heidi is sitting on the edge of her desk, facing Samuel, with her back to me, as she leans towards him and flirtatiously says, “There’s a fantastic new show on ABN I think you’d be perfect for. And, it promises you a total of $500,000 in addition to whatever you make from paid endorsements and celebrity appearances once the show’s aired and you’re famous.”
“Wait,” Samuel shakes his head in confusion. “B-but, I don’t… I didn’t realize you already had something in mind for me. I thought you were just going to introduce me to a few people and see where that went?”
Heidi throws her head back and laughs, her long blonde locks cascading down her back in pure perfection.
I hate her.
Shifting in my seat, I glance at Samuel and he’s frowning as she leans towards him (a clever way to try and get him to look at her cleavage, which he, surprisingly, isn’t falling for) and says, “Babe, I’m like Yoda in that I don’t try. I do.”
I glare at her in quiet repulsion.
When preppy non-nerds pretend to like Star Wars just because it’s suddenly trendy- that’s when I lose all perspective and get angry for seemingly no reason.
But there is actually a reason. And it is a reason that a non-nerd could not even begin to understand. This in itself proves that they should stay the heck away from The Force.
“You’re quoting Yoda now?” I say. “Really?”
Heidi looks at me as if she’s just remembered I’m in her office.
She probably has.
Without responding, she returns her attention to Samuel and says, “I meant what I said. I can make you a very rich man. In addition to that show, I can also get you up to five guest appearances on a similar reality show, which would pay $100,000 per episode. So, in one year’s time you’d be a millionaire, besides the remaining donation I promised to your nonprofit.”
Samuel is breathing hard and looking at her like he isn’t sure how to respond.
I glance at him and then at her.
It’s like watching a lion toy with its prey.
“You said you’d get Samuel on a “similar reality show,”” I say to Heidi’s back since she’s still not facing me. “I’m assuming that means the show you want him to do is a reality series?”
“Yes,” Heidi says without turning to me. Still addressing Samuel, who has apparently been rendered speechless, she continues, “And we need to get your paperwork squared away as soon as possible. Normally, I wouldn’t throw all of this on you at once. But with my wedding this weekend, we need to get everything done with a capital D before I’m out of pocket for my honeymoon.”
“Okay,” Samuel finally says. “So, a reality show. Um, what’s it about?”
“It’s amazing!” Heidi squeals in a tone that’s far too teenage-ish for a woman her age. “It’s called “Meet me at the Altar.”
My stomach goes into panic mode.
“Meet me at the Altar?” I repeat. “Is this a dating show?”
“It’s going to sweep the entire world off its feet,” Heidi croons, deliberately ignoring me. “You and twenty lucky ladies will live in a huge mansion in the famous Hollywood Hills for four months, all of you getting to know each other. And by the end of those four months, you will have fallen in love with a woman whom you either choose to propose to or choose to give your $500,000 to.”
“Wait, what?” Samuel and I both say at the same time.
Heidi laughs. “Yes, that’s the catch. This is a very transparent reality show. The audience and the contestants know how much money you’ll be making and they’ll also know that the contestants don’t get paid at all. So, it’ll be up to you to figure out which of these women are there to really get to know you, and which ones are simply after your prize money. And audiences will be waiting, breathlessly, to find out if you decide to give the woman of your choosing a promise of everlasting love, or a promise of cash.”
Samuel and I look at each other.
“This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Sam,” Heidi says in that annoyingly squeaky tone which has now become more tween than teen.
“You’ll become a millionaire, find the love of your life, and you’ll be all set to help so many more little kids like Sara.”
At the mention of Sara, Samuel frowns and lowers his gaze to the floor with a slow nod.
He looks up at me and asks, “What do you think?”
I shrug and shake my head, the truth is I don’t even know what to think.
This is literally insane.
“It’s a lot of money,” I say. “But a lot of sacrifice too. I mean, you’d be dating twenty women in front of the entire country.”
“Actually, the entire world,” Heidi cuts in. “It’s the biggest reality show of the season, meaning our international distributors will air the show in Europe, Australia, and some Asian countries. So, he would become an international celebrity, which means more opportunities for our big handsome guy to make guest appearances and collect even more money for the little darlings at his nonprofit.”
Samuel sighs and runs a hand through his curly dark locks as he glances at the window.
“Normally,” Heidi says, “I wouldn’t pressure you to make a decision so quickly, but if you turn this down, I will literally send you right back home to Louisiana and I will call my second choice and get him to sign the paperwork within the hour. Because, babe, as much as I adore you, I have a wedding to get ready for.”
“Who’s your second choice?” Samuel asks.
“Brad DeLouge,” Heidi crosses her arm and smirks as she says the famous football player’s name. “He’s worth $18 million and was number three in this year’s “Most Beautiful” list from People Magazine.”
Samuel frowns. “This doesn’t make sense. Heidi, with all due respect, I barely make $25k a year and I’m not famous. So, why do you think anyone in America would care about me and these women?”
Heidi laughs and gestures to Samuel as she says, “Have you looked in a mirror, babe?”
Finally addressing me, she turns to me and says, “Does your friend not realize what he looks like?”
My cheeks go warm as I say, “He’s very humble.”
“Well, that face,” Heidi says pointing to Samuel, “and that body are anything but humble. Honey, you were made for television. This is your
shot. You’ll never have to worry about money again, and neither will the people you care about most.”
Samuel glances at me and I smile.
“This is a big opportunity,” I say, encouragingly. “And I’ll have your back whatever you decide.”
Samuel looks into my eyes and I watch something begin to change in his.
He turns to Heidi and says, “The only way I’ll agree to this is if Lu is on the show too.”
“Um, that’s not-” I start.
Heidi cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “No, no, Sam. Lu is an actress not a reality star. This show isn’t for her. Besides, would it be fair if we added someone from your past to a group of contestants who you’ve never met? That wouldn’t put the women on equal footing in getting to know you. Lu would, clearly, have an advantage.”
“But wouldn’t that add to the drama?” Samuel says, his tone low and confident. “Just tell the audience, let them in on it too. After all, isn’t that what this show is all about? Transparency? See what happens when you throw in my childhood best friend.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Samuel, I will probably never side with Heidi about anything else. Like, ever. But that is, literally, crazy. There’s no way ABN would want me on their biggest reality show of the season. It’s just unrealistic.”
Samuel pulls a face, scowling as he looks me up and down and says, “Lu, I’m going to be on it and I’m nobody from nowhere. So, why don’t
you think you could be on it? What’s the difference?”
I laugh again and run a hand over my face as I say, “Oh my God, okay. Have you ever watched a reality dating show?”
Samuel shrugs. “Uh, well, not really. I’ve seen commercials.”
“Right,” I nod. “So, you’ve seen the kind of contestants on those shows. They’re almost all white, blonde women from rich families.
Basically, they’re the exact opposite of slightly overweight Black women who work as clerk’s in donut shops.”
Samuel’s face falls and he gives me a weird unreadable look.
He starts to say something when Heidi cuts him off, “Actually, maybe your friend is exactly what our new series needs.”
“What?” I say, turning to Heidi so quickly I nearly give myself whiplash.
She slides off her desk and standing, she gazes at me with an appraising eye. She looks me up and down as she says, “Something’s lacking in those other shows. Reality. And your friend is definitely reality.”
Heidi points to Samuel with a huge grin and says, “Sam, I like your idea. We’ll take her on. This will be the only thing anyone is talking about once it airs.”
Samuel nods, grinning, “I knew it!”
Still in shock, I look from Heidi to Samuel and become some sort of parrot that can only say, “What?”
Ignoring me, Heidi gently places one of her long and elegant hands on Samuel’s arm and speaks in a voice that I think is supposed to sound seductive, “You’re incredibly savvy. Are you sure you’ve never worked in television?”
“But, I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, finally coming out of parrot-mode and standing, “I’m not interested in being on a reality show.”
It’s as if I haven’t said a word.
Heidi pulls Samuel to his feet and hugs him as she says, “I’ll get my assistant to bring in your contract, and we’ll have your friend’s paperwork drawn up by this evening.”
Releasing Samuel from her attack of a hug, Heidi picks up her phone and calls her assistant.
Samuel finally turns to me, a huge grin on his face and his eyes sparkling with pride. “You’re going to be on TV, Lu!”
I shake my head. “But this isn’t what I wanted. I don’t want to-”
“Great!” Heidi says as her office door opens and her assistant walks in with a pile of paperwork that weighs nearly as much as she does. “Here’s your contract now, Sam.”
While the two of them sort out the hefty stack of papers at her desk, Samuel walks over to me and quietly says, “I know this is weird and very intrusive but think about it, Lu. None of these women are going to be real. They’ll just be a bunch of wanna-be actresses who’ll pretend to fall in love with me. So, at the end I’ll just pick you and I’ll give you the money.”
We stare at each other, Samuel feeling incredibly proud of himself for sorting this all out and me, realizing how much he doesn’t understand his effect on women.
Out of twenty wanna-be actresses, at least one of them is going to legitimately fall in love with him and I’m going to have to watch it unfold until the very end, when he chooses her over me.
I knew it would happen someday, I’ve been bracing myself for it since the moment I realized I had feelings for Samuel.
But I had no idea the entire world would witness it with me, nor did I realize they’d also witness my reaction to it all.
Everyone who watches this stupid show is going to see what I’ve been trying to hide.
That is, unless I really am a good actor.
Samuel is beginning to frown as he says, “I’m not going to do this unless you’re with me, Lu. Please.”
His green eyes bore into mine and as he takes one of my hands in his, I hear myself say, “Okay.”
And just like that, my fate is sealed.
Samuel Kraddick is going to break my heart, and the whole world is going to watch.
Unless I learn to be okay with the entire world knowing my secret, I’d better be a damn good actress.
****
My cell phone at my right ear, I enjoy the glow of the Los Angeles sun, which is refreshingly warm, unlike the blistering heat of Baton Rouge’s summertime sun, as I stand outside on the balcony of my fourteenth floor hotel room.
I look out at the city while Aunt Celia exclaims, “You and Samuel are going to be on a what?”
Cringing, I take a deep breath before repeating what I’ve just explained.
I understand Auntie’s reaction. It’s the same reaction I had while listening to Samuel and Heidi talk about me as if I weren’t even in the room with them.
“We’re going to be on a reality show,” I say. “Because it pays extremely well.”
“You already have a job that pays well,” Aunt Celia shouts.
I wince and hold the phone away from my ear.
“Lu,” Auntie says, “you don’t want to do this. Come home. Tell that Heidi woman you’ve changed your mind and come on back home.
Samuel doesn’t want this either. The things that happen in that city you’re in, you don’t want any part of that world. Trust me.”
I sigh, knowing what she’s going to say next.
I decide to beat her to it.
“Aunt Celia,” I say, speaking as gently as I can. “I know my parents made some mistakes when they were out here. But they were also really brave and, um, I actually, um, I admire that about them. And I think maybe that same bravery is in my blood.”
The line goes silent and I glance at my phone, thinking the call must have dropped.
But the phone indicates that Aunt Celia is still on the line.
“Hello?” I ask. “Can you hear me?”
“I wish I couldn’t,” she huffs.
I sigh again. “Auntie, this isn’t my first choice either. But it’s so much money and it’s just one of those once in a lifetime opportunities you can’t say no to.”
“Just like Adam and Eve at that tree,” she says in a low voice. “That was a once in a lifetime opportunity too, wasn’t it?”
I cringe, a streak of guilt tearing through me.
Deep down, I agree with her.
But I’ve already given Samuel my word … and this is an adventure. As painful as it’s going to be, will it be any worse than wasting my life away in non-adventurous Baton Rouge?
“I’m sorry I’m making you unhappy,” I quietly say. “But, I have to try.”
“Try what?”
I falter.
She’s right.
I have no idea what I’m doing or what it is that I want to “try.”
I’m just desperate to get out of Baton Rouge and maybe a little desperate to do whatever will make Samuel happy, and this seems to be what will make him happy.
“To try something different,” I finally say.
“Well,” Aunt Celia says, her voice tantamount to a low growl. “I can’t tell you what to do. You’re a grown woman now. Just remember where you come from. Don’t do something stupid just so you can fit in with the crowd. Alright?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, watching two people walk down the street, surfboards under their arms.
I grin. Wow, I’ve never seen surfers in real life. This is so cool.
“Bye, Lu,” Aunt Celia says.
“Bye, Auntie,” I look down at my phone and she’s already ended the call.
My gaze still on my phone, I think of my Aunt, imagining the disappointed look she’s undoubtedly wearing while she closes shop at Cee Cee’s, all by herself.
Guilt tears through me as I picture her, moving slowly on account of her bad knees, to flip the “Open” sign to “closed.”
How long is it going to take her to clean the kitchen all on her own?
Without me, it’ll take at least an extra hour.
And this is just Day 1.
Heidi said the series is going to last four months.
Can my Aunt even manage on her own for four months?
Why didn’t I think of that?
I close my eyes and shake my head as the guilt intensifies.
I’m so selfish.
All I thought about was how pleased Samuel would be to have my support, when I should have been thinking about the health of the woman who raised me.
Sighing, I open my eyes and, still tightly gripping my phone, wonder if I should just do what Aunt Celia suggested and tell Heidi I’ve made a huge mistake.
Samuel won’t like it, but maybe that’s just the right thing to do.
I shift on my feet, a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach while I consider this.
My gaze inadvertently returns to the two surfers. It’s a guy and a girl, both sporting golden skin that’s been kissed by the sun and long messy hair. Their boards are now on top of a small and sort of ratty looking Jeep they’re standing beside. They’re holding hands and looking into each other's eyes while they laugh about something.
I tilt my head, watching them, feeling a smile form on my own lips as my worries about Aunt Celia subside and my thoughts shift towards the couple below.
They look so happy.
I wonder what they’re talking about.
And, I wonder if I’ve ever been as happy as they are in this moment.
I watch them lean forward and meet each other’s lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.
My smile fading, I stare at them in envy.
There are so many things in life I’ve missed out on.
It’s no one’s fault, really, it’s just the hand I’ve been dealt.
Would it really be so wrong if I took just four months out of my life to do something… different?
My gaze leaves the couple and goes in the direction of the ocean. I can’t see the water from my view, but I can see people happily sauntering towards the beach in their swimsuits and loungewear as they gab with their friends on the way over.
The envy that rests somewhere beneath my heart, like a pool of residue that’s been slowly leaking from it for years, is still very much present.
But I also can’t help but feel relaxed as I watch these crowds of various sorts of people from all kinds of backgrounds wear similar expressions - they all look happy.
If so many people can be happy, why can’t I?
Sure, I’m not gorgeous like Samuel or savvy like Heidi or from a huge amazing family like a lot of the girls from my neighborhood, but I am just a regular person.
And the difference between a place like Los Angeles and a place like Baton Rouge is that here, it looks like even regular people have the opportunity to be happy.
I look down at my phone, my decision solidifying in my mind.
I’ve already said “yes” to Samuel, but now I’m going to say “yes” to myself.
I’m going to do this, not just for Samuel, but because it’s a chance for me to meet new people, see new things, and to try living in a place where dreams seem tangible.
This may not be the sort of adventure that ends with me finding love, but I’m going to make sure it’s an adventure I enjoy.
I slip my phone into my pocket and, excitement already welling up in my chest, step into my hotel room and head for my suitcase.
I packed a bathing suit, thinking I wouldn’t really get a chance to wear it.
That suit will be worn today.
Grinning, I get changed and join the happy beach-goers.
****
Trying not to worry that my ratty old pink bathing suit looks like the sort of two-piece a self-conscious tween would wear, I wander through the sand, smiling at people who smile back at me.
It’s weird how much that happens in Los Angeles.
Back home, the only time people acknowledge me on the street is when I’m literally on my street, like when I’m walking to my house or from the bus stop to Cee’s Cee’s. That’s when I get a, “Hey, girl, how you doin?” and a smile.
Otherwise, when I’m out and about in the city, I don’t exist.
But here, it’s as if I’m a real person.
A dark-haired couple, both clad in beachwear, head my way, walking hand in hand.
As they approach, they smile at me and my heart actually lifts a little as I grin back.
“Hi,” they each say as they pass, their smiles widening. “Pretty day, isn’t it?”
“Uh,” shocked out of my mind, I grin and stammer, “Y-yeah. Sure, yes.”
As they continue on, I turn around and watch them leave.
Did that really just happen?!
Did a complete stranger, who was a different race than I am, actually speak to me just because?!
Oh my gwaaad!
Feeling more light-hearted than I have in weeks… no, let's be honest, years, I shake my head in happy disbelief and saunter up to a
smoothie stand. The line isn’t too bad, only three people would be ahead of me.
Back home, I don’t get smoothies when I crave them. I tell myself the same thing Aunt Celia’s told me since I was a child, “Why waste good money on something you can make at home? We have fruit and a blender. Make your own smoothie.”
But I’m trying new things now.
So, I plant myself behind the third person and turn around, taking a look at the crowded beach and its gently crashing waves.
Seagulls cry above the murmur of the crowds and passing traffic at my right.
I exhale, another ridorkulous grin taking hold of my lips.
Silly as it may seem, considering that I’m just standing in a line to get a smoothie, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I don’t usually feel this way.
Most days, I’m wondering where I belong and how I’m supposed to find that place.
But here, everything’s different.
There are no expectations for me to fulfill, I can just explore and-
“Are you a surfer?”
I jump, startled as a male voice interrupts my internal monologue.
I turn to the voice and my mouth falls open at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered, greek god lookalike with golden blonde hair, dark hazel eyes, and lightly sun-kissed skin.
I blink stupidly into his eyes and inadvertently let my gaze slide down to his bare chest, which is so perfectly proportioned it should be more illegal for him to go shirtless than for me.
Good Lord. Is this being even human?!
I’m gawking. Stop.
I force my gaze back to his eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says with a grin that lights up the entire beach.
I giggle and nod.
He laughs at my reaction and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so sexy I nearly wet myself just watching him.
“You,” he points to me and I smile, but I notice that a slight blush has crept into his perfectly proportioned cheeks as he says, “you look like a surfer. But then, I don’t see a board. So, maybe you’re not?”
I smile and shake my head. “As much as I wish I could say I am, I’m not. I’ve never even been surfing before.”
“Oh,” he looks at me in surprise, his eyebrows going up. “Really? Then, you’re not from here, are you?”
Still grinning stupidly, I shake my head again. “Louisiana. Well… yeah, Louisiana.“
I dismiss the thought of saying California and him asking why I left.
No reason to turn into every director of every Batman movie ever made and open with the tragic tale of my parent’s death.
He laughs at my odd response, “Are you sure?”
I smile, “Yeah, um, I’m Louisiana.”
Did I just forget to say the word “from?”
Before I can correct myself, he chuckles and sticks out his hand for me to shake, “I’m Wisconsin.”
I smile and shake his hand, which is warm but not clammy, and firm but not aggressively so.
“Nice to meet you, Wisconsin,” I say, looking into his eyes and noting that they suddenly look a bit more green than hazel. “Do you surf?”
He shrugs. “From time to time, when I can. It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”
A woman moves in line behind Wisconsin and looks from him to me, before pointing to the Smoothie stand and saying, “I think you’re next.”
“Oh,” I glance back and realize the two people ahead of me are now gone. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” the woman says with a smile.
As the teenager behind the counter dons a shockingly pleasant smile and asks how he can help me, I take a moment to lift my jaw off the floor, silently wondering how Los Angeles manages to get even their customer service staff to be friendly and polite.
“Um,” I glance at the menu, quickly scanning my options. “I’ll take a mango passionfruit swirl. A small.”
“Sounds good, coming right up,” the teen says. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
Ah, that’s why everyone’s so happy. Because they make tons of money selling ten dollar smoothies and what not.
I reach into the tiny armband purse containing my debit card and phone when Wisconsin steps up beside me and says, “I’ve got her.”
“Oh,” I turn to him in surprise. “That’s okay, you don’t have to-”
“We out-of-towners have to stick together, right?” he smiles.
My heart skips a beat and I’m once again giggling for no reason. “Well, thank you. That’s so sweet.”
“My pleasure,” he grins and turns to the teen. “Can you add a second mango passion fruit smoothie to that order. A large?”
After Wisconsin’s shelled out somewhere near $425,168 for our order, we get our drinks and end up walking along the beach, too engrossed in conversation to realize we’re walking aimlessly and we still don’t know each other’s names.
Despite wanting to save him from the grim tale that brought my childhood to a screeching halt, I eventually find myself saying things to Wisconsin that I’ve never even talked to Auntie or Samuel about.
Tossing my empty smoothie container into a nearby trash can, I tuck a wild strand of hair behind my ear and say, “My Aunt never told me how they died. Even when I asked, she never said a word about their suicide pact and how faithful they were to following through with it. I had to do my own research and figure it out, which is what happened when I was fourteen.”
“Oh my God,” Wisconsin stops walking and turns to me, a look of horror on his perfectly chiseled face. “You learned your parents committed suicide when you were fourteen? That’s so horrible. Were you mad at your Aunt for not telling you?”
Appreciating Wisconsin’s empathy, but not wanting him to think I’m weak and worthy of pity, I tug at my ponytail and start walking again.
Wisconsin does too.
“No, it sucked. But I wasn’t angry,” I say. “I knew my Aunt was just doing what she thought was best. And it’s not like I was old enough to really know my parents when they died. I barely remember them.”
“How old were you when they died? Four?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t remember them at all?” Wisconsin slowly asks.
I lace my hands together in front of me as we pass a group of people playing beach volleyball.
That’s not entirely true.
“I don’t remember their faces or their voices,” I say, thinking of the feeling I always get when my thoughts revert back to my parents. “But I remember the way it felt to be around them. Like, feeling safe. Like I was part of a family.”
Neither of us say anything and the laughter of the jovial volleyball players hangs in the distance, just below the squeal of tires and blare of horns from nearby traffic.
I glance at Wisconsin and he’s looking at me with blatant curiosity.
“I guess that’s kind of weird,” I say. “Not to actually remember your own parents even though you spent the first four years of your life with them.”
“No, it isn’t weird,” Wisconsin says, “a lot of kids who go through traumatic events don’t remember entire months, even years, of the time leading up to the trauma. They have to block it out to survive.”
I frown at him. “Are you a therapist or something? You sound hella knowledgeable.”
He laughs. “Nah. It’s more like I’ve been to tons of therapists since I was a little kid.”
Startled that he would admit this so openly, I look way and try to think of an appropriate response.
He laughs. “I can tell you haven’t been here very long. Everyone in here has a therapist on speed dial, and they’re not afraid to talk about it, constantly.”
I grin. “I always assumed that was a stereotype. But it’s true?”
“Oh yeah,” he nods. “And so is the stereotype about every waiter and waitress you meet being an actor.”
“Are you an actor?” I ask. I’ve actually been wanting to ask him that for a while now. “Because you definitely look like you could be. Or a model or something.”
The moment I say this, my face flushes with warmth and I realize I sound just like Heidi when she was flirting with Samuel.
Wisconsin grins. “Yeah, guilty as charged. And thank you for the compliment.”
I laugh, instantly relaxing. “You’re welcome.”
I watch him run a hand through his hair.
I really like this guy. I hardly know him, but he’s so chill and friendly. And, he actually approached me and struck up a random conversation! That’s happened to me exactly zero times until now.
“So, what show are you going to be working on?” I ask.
He glances at me and starts to say something, but then stops and grins.
The sudden sheepish look in his eyes makes me laugh.
It’s cute as all get out.
“What?” I tease. “Is it some huge blockbuster you’ve been sworn to secrecy about?”
He looks up and wags his head from side-to-side in a gesture that says, “Sort of.”
I pause in stride, my mouth automatically forming an “O.”
“Oh, wow,” I finally say with a squeal. “Are you serious? You’re going to be in some huge movie? That’s amazing!”
Wisconsin laughs, “It’s not quite a movie, but it’s fairly a big deal. It’ll be my first job that pays more than chump change.”
I laugh, but in the back of my mind I’m also wondering what someone who lives in Los Angeles considers “chump change.” Probably anything less than 10k.
“That’s so incredible. You left home to follow your heart, and now look at you, ” I say, wistfully. “You’re getting exactly what you want.”
As the sun begins its descent in La La land’s clear blue sky, it splays golden light across the city.
Bathed in its warmth we stare at each other, neither of us saying a word as the sounds of the city swirl and dance around us. Car horns, someone screaming a string of curses at the backed up traffic, bleating seagulls, and reggaeton music blaring from the window of a nearby apartment, comprise the overtures of our romantic comedy.
Well, at least that’s what it feels like… which is cool because until this moment, I’ve never felt as though I were starring in a Nancy Meyers film.
Usually, I feel more like I’m stuck in a Shakespearean tragedy.
“As of yesterday, when I booked the job, that’s all I thought I wanted,” Wisconsin says with a slow smile.
My cheeks warming and an uncontrollable grin forming on my lips, I have to glance down just to get my bearings.
Holy Grail! Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Or am I reading too much into-
“Louisiana, would you have dinner with me?” he asks in a low voice.
Still grinning, I laugh and nod, “Sure. I’d love that.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear while we smile at each other and my arm purse rings.
Well, not the purse itself, but my phone, which is stuffed into the purse.
Samuel’s ringtone, which is the theme from The Office, is suddenly part of our romantic comedy’s original motion picture soundtrack.
“Oh, sorry,” I cringe at Wisconsin, but he just shrugs and smiles.
“Get it if you need,” he says. “I’m an actor, I totally get it. Phone calls can be life or death.”
“Yeah,” I laugh for no real reason except that I’m giddy and bring the phone to my ear, “Hey!”
“Thank God,” Samuel says. “Where are you? I texted you, like, fifteen times. And I knocked on your door for so long I’m pretty sure someone called security on me.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, glancing at Wisconsin, who’s giving me a curious look. I slide the phone away from my mouth and whisper, “It’s my friend who I came here with. I didn’t tell him where I was going and he got worried.”
Wisconsin nods understandingly and offers me another, guess what? A smile.
Of course he offers me another smile. Because he’s just so chill like that!
As I bring the phone back to my ear, Samuel asks, “Who are you talking to?”
“Uh,” I pause, wondering how to describe Wisconsin without sounding like I just picked up some rando at the beach because that’s exactly what I’ve done. “I’m at the beach, just chilling. What’s going on with you?”
“Oh, just losing my mind a little. Damn. I can’t believe how scared I got …” his voice trails off and he laughs. “I’m kind of embarrassed now. Just go ahead and delete all of my texts. They never happened.”
My curiosity getting the best of me, I start scrolling through my messages to find them as I say, “They can’t be that bad. I mean, it’s not like you called LAPD to come look for me.”
As soon as I say this, I open his most recent text, which says:
Samuel: I’ve called the police, so whatever’s going on, we’ll find you. Okay? Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.
Shocked, touched, and guilty, I say, “Samuel! Oh my God, you did call the police?”
Beside me, Wisconsin laughs.
“Uh, yeah,” Samuel sounds sheepish. “Huge overreaction. Sorry. That’s, apparently what happens when you grow up the way I did and then work with kids who frequently get kidnapped by their estranged fathers. Sorry.”
“Aw, Sammy,” I say, using the nickname I haven’t called him since we were kids. “It’s sweet that you cared enough to be worried.”
Wisconsin clears his throat as he turns away and looks out at the ocean.
I’m being rude.
Samuel chuckles, “I don’t know. You were only gone for three hours. I think I just need therapy or something. Maybe dinner. Speaking of dinner. Um, your best friend, Heidi,” he laughs again, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “She wants to go to dinner with us. We’re supposed to meet her in, like, forty-five minutes.”
I glance at Wisconsin longingly.
I’d much rather spend my evening with him than with Bridezilla.
“Okay,” I quickly say. “I’ll get back to the hotel then. I’ve got to go. Bye, Sammy.”
He says goodbye and I hang up, swiftly apologizing to the hot guy I’ve been idiotically ignoring, “I’m so, so, so sorry about that. That was my friend-”
“Sammy,” Wisconsin says with an amused grin, his eyebrows lifting as he looks down at me. “Who is a loud-talker and slightly needy?”
I shrug and admit, “He is a loud talker, but he’s not usually this needy. I think he’s just going through a lot right now. But I apologize. Um, I do have to get back to my hotel, unfortunately. That’s what he was calling about. We came out here for a…” I frown, wondering how to describe what we came out here for. “Well, for a job, I guess you could say. And the woman who’s hiring us is demanding to have dinner with us tonight. So, maybe you and I can meet up tomorrow night?”
I clasp my hands together and peer up at him hopefully.
He sighs, disappointment in his eyes. “Won’t work. My gig starts tomorrow. But, hey,” he points to my phone, which I’m still holding in my right hand. “Let me see that.”
I unlock it and hand it over.
“I’m in your contacts,” he says, punching his name and number into my phone. While he’s looking down, I take the opportunity to stare at the perfection that is his skin and hair and eyes as they gleam against the backdrop of ocean blue water and pinkish-golden skies.
He’s lovely.
“I’m so glad I came to the beach today,” I quietly say.
He looks up and meets my eyes.
“I’m glad you did too,” he smiles.
As he gives me my phone, our hands touch, his lingering on mine.
His eyes twinkle as he says, “Call me anytime. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“See you later,” he leans forward, plants a light kiss on my lips, which I totally wasn’t expecting, and then jogs away, leaving me breathless as I stare back at him.
For a long time, I just stand there, watching his back muscles move underneath his flawless, tanned skin while he jogs into the sunset.
It’s only after I’ve come to and summoned an Uber that I realize I forgot to ask Wisconsin what his actual name is.
As the Uber pulls up, I hop inside and frantically scroll through my 320 contacts for “W’s,” hoping he thought to add himself under
“Wisconsin.”
It isn’t there.
I plop back in my seat and roll my eyes.
Of course this would happen.
See? My life is more Shakespearean tragedy than Meyersian rom com.
****
An hour and ten minutes later, smelling of beach and sweat because I haven’t had time to shower, I’m beside Samuel as we enter a swanky restaurant with low lighting, floors made of the shiniest cedar I’ve ever seen, walls of the same caliber, and a staff comprised of people who look like they should be supermodels.
I glance at them, silently betting they’re all actors and models who will someday be famous.
Gawking at all the pretty’s makes me feel like a pile of hot garbage, but determined not to let my inner feelings sabotage this experience, I turn off “envy mode” and force myself to be open and present.
So, as we approach the maitre de, I turn to Samuel and whisper, “This is so exciting, isn’t it?”
He glances at me with a nervous look in his eye and a weak smile. “Yeah.”
I reach over and give his arm a squeeze.
He’s been quiet ever since I got back to the hotel.
I hope it’s not because of me. I hope I didn’t worry him so much he’s made himself sick.
Sometimes I forget how sensitive he can be.
“Hey?” I say, slowing and coming to a stop a few feet away from the maitre d's station.
Samuel looks at me, his eyes wide and so unsettled it’s painful to look at.
Whatever’s going on inside of him needs to be fixed.
“Hey,” he offers me that same weak smile.
I take both of his hands in mine and grasp them tightly as I face him, “I know today’s been weird, but we’re in this together. So, everything’s going to be okay.”
He looks into my eyes and speaks quietly, “I know.”
The two words don’t at all match the desperately sad expression on his face.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
His eyes not leaving mine, he says, “I’m just realizing, I didn’t think this through.”
I can’t help but smile at this. “You just realized that?”
He seems to relax a bit, and grins as he says, “I know. I’m not the brightest star in the sky.”
“Actually, you are,” I quickly say, recalling the way he reacted when he learned Sara had been hospitalized. “You’re doing this to help other people. That’s what fuels nearly every crazy decision you make. You’re always trying to help someone.”
His eyes soften as he watches me, and the anxious set of his jaw relaxes even more.
“Way back when we were kids,” I say. “The entire reason you introduced yourself to me was because you wanted to help me. And, I’m really glad you did. And, I’m glad you’re doing this. It’s for a good reason, so that means it’s going to work out.”
I give both of his hands a squeeze and grin. “Just take a deep breath and remember that talking to Heidi is only a means to an end. Six months from now, you’ll never have to see her again.”
Our eyes still locked, we take a deep breath in tandem and slowly release it.
His breath smells like minty freshness and hopefully, mine does too.
I, at least, had time to brush my teeth and wash my face before slapping on a dress and jumping into our Uber.
“You’re right,” he finally says, “this might be completely insane, but it’s temporary. A few months from now, I’ll forget all about it and watch the kids enjoy all the money we got for them.”
He’s so sweet, I think as I watch Samuel return to his normal state. Most people would’ve formed that sentence very differently. They would have said something like, “...a few months from now, I’ll forget all about this and enjoy all the money I’ve made.”
Even I would have looked at it from that perspective.
But not Samuel, he’s as selfless as they come.
And all of a sudden, I selfishly want to lean forward and kiss him.
As soon as the feeling creeps into my thoughts, I release Samuel’s hands and take a step back.
He seems startled, but recovering quickly he grins and asks, “Does my breath smell? Because you can just tell me, you know.”
Flustered, I simply wave him off and start walking towards the maitre d, who is beginning to eye us suspiciously.
“May I help you?” he asks, throwing a surreptitious glance at my plain black dress, which was on sale at Walmart when I bought it seven years ago.
“We’re here to meet Heidi, uh,” I frown, suddenly realizing I’ve forgotten Bridezilla’s last name.
“Worthington,” Samuel says, taking his place beside me.
I get a whiff of his cologne, fresh and intoxicating.
Oh God… what’s wrong with me? It’s just cologne. Not a big deal at all.
“Yes, one moment please,” the maitre d says with a reinvigorated smile as he appraises Samuel with an appreciative arch of his eyebrow.
By now, this doesn’t even make me jealous.
I’m so used to him being the one checked out when we’re together that even this doesn’t distract me from my hormonal reaction to his cologne.
Because I’m sure that’s all it really is, his stupid cologne.
At least, that’s what I need to tell myself so I can survive the next four months.
A gorgeous and skinny waitress with caramel skin and a Pakastani accent whisks us away, guiding us through the low-lit restaurant that smells like cedar wood and freshly cooked food that’s been seasoned to perfection.
As Samuel and I follow her, winding in between small circular tables strategically situated throughout the dining room floor, I glance at the patrons and gulp, noting that they’re also looking at both Samuel and I with equal curiosity.
In Baton Rouge, walking into a restaurant is nothing like this.
Should I stumble and fall while in a Baton Rouge Applebeas, I’d be lucky if one person glanced at me for more than two seconds, I think as I lock eyes with a gorgeous, skinny-as-a-turkey-neck blonde who’s dripping in diamond jewelry.
And there’s definitely a difference in the way people dress around here. Back home, flip flops, shorts, and LSU t-shirts are the standard uniform for an outing.
The blonde smiles at me and I nearly pass out in shock.
Geez, I’ll never get used to being acknowledged by people of other races.
It’s cool, but it’ll definitely take getting used to.
I smile back and slow my stride as we approach the foot of a narrow, winding staircase.
“Nice,” Samuel says, looking up in surprise, “I didn’t realize there was a second floor.”
“Neither did I,” I agree.
The waitress pauses on the first step, briefly turning to us with a pleasant smile.
Gosh, these LA folks smile so much. I love it!
I grin back at her, already adjusting to this aspect of the friendly culture.
“There are actually three floors,” she says and then lowers her voice to a whisper and leaning closer, adds, “The third floor is reserved for our celebrity guests, it’s a bit more private. To give them a break from prying eyes. You know?”
“Oh, of course,” I nod as if I’m totally used to going to restaurants that have floors sectioned off for their famous patrons.
“And, of course,” the waitress says, looking at me and then at Samuel with that friendly smile, “that’s where Ms. Worthington is waiting for you.”
“Right, of course,” Samuel and I say in unison.
“So, let’s get you guys situated,” the waitress says as she turns back to stairs and begins a careful ascent.
Samuel and I look at each other, each of us wide-eyed and grinning like giddy fools.
“We’re celebrities,” he whispers and nudges me with his elbow.
I giggle and shake my head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe any of this is happening. It’s like a ….” I make my way up the stairs, seeing as our waitress is now well ahead of us since we’ve been gawking at our newfound status like a couple of swamp billies, and search for the word I need to complete my thought, “Well? I don’t know the word. What’s the opposite of a nightmare?”
Samuel, slightly behind me on the narrow staircase, chuckles, “A good dream, Lu. I think that’s what the opposite of a nightmare is commonly called. How long were you out in the sun walking on that beach?”
I laugh and my thoughts drift to Wisconsin, whose name I don’t even know and who I’ll most likely never see again even though his name is so totally in my phone… sigh. My life is a mess. Even when it’s good. It’s just still a flat, frigid mess.
“Why are you suddenly sighing?” Samuel asks as we pass the second floor, which is laid out exactly like the first, and continue to ascend the staircase. “Do you need me to give you a pep talk now?”
I hadn’t even realized I’d sighed out loud.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need that at some point,” I laugh. “But I’m good. It’s just that I met someone while I was at the beach. And it was so random
but wonderful and…” Thinking of Wisconsin’s hazel eyes and the way he ran that hand through his silky hair as he looked at me with that curious intensity makes me forget I’m in the middle of a sentence.
Behind me, Samuel says, “Is the “someone” the guy I heard in the background when I called you?”
“Yeah,” I say, inadvertently sighing again.
“He must not have been so great if you keep sighing,” Samuel says.
“I’m a frequent sigher,” I say as we approach the third floor. “You know that. But the sighs keep coming, like, even more than usual because this guy was perfect and I forgot to ask him his name. So, even though he put his number in my phone, I have no idea what name he put it under. And I have like, a billion contacts in my phone since Aunt Celia insists I keep all our business contacts in my phone instead of hers. Isn’t that tragic? I meet the perfect guy, and then because I’m the world’s biggest ditz, I lose him.”
“You’re not a ditz. I think maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Samuel says and is cut off as our waitress stops at the third floor’s landing and turns to us with her trademark grin, “Here we are, just follow me.”
“Sure thing,” Samuel says.
As we follow her through the dining area, I note that it’s laid out much differently than the first two floors. Here, there are no circular tables that allow guests to view each other with ease.
Instead, booths line the right and left walls, and they’re huge, the kind that seat about fifteen people. Each of them are situated beside tall windows that offer breathtaking views of the evening sky.
In addition to the booths laid out on either side of the floor are three large closed-off private dining areas directly in front of us. All three of them are accessed through glass doors, which offer the only view into each room.
One of the glass doors opens and a woman with so much botox and plastic surgery that she looks like a science experiment exits with a cell phone to her ear, which she’s whisper-shouting into.
I follow her with my eyes, my mouth falling open as I realize she’s no run-of-the-mill science experiment, but one of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills’ most disliked stars.
“Wow,” I mutter.
Samuel, not hearing me and oblivious to the identity of the woman who’s now passing us to get to the stairway, says, “When something’s supposed to happen, it happens. And when it randomly goes wrong, there’s a reason for that. I know that sounds simplistic. But as far as I can see, that’s how the universe works.”
“Maybe so,” I say, still distracted by our fellow patrons.
As we continue to follow our waitress, I catch glimpses of some of the guests seated at the large booths at our right and left and instantly recognize a well-known actor who stars in all kinds of action movies, an ABN news anchor, and four of the Lakers’ stars all seated together, each paired with a gorgeous woman as they laugh and chat in what looks like a fun conversation.
My heart skips a beat and chills claim my spine
Wow.
I’m in a room full of celebrities.
Dizzy with so much glee I’m able to produce a sincere smile as we approach Heidi’s table, I grin widely and hold out my hand for her to shake as she stands.
Completely ignoring me and my outstretched hand, she turns to Samuel and gives him a kiss on the cheek followed by a dainty hug.
I retract my hand, embarrassed, “Hi, Heidi.”
She looks me up and down, one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows arched. Finally, she says, “Well, look at you,” in a slow and meaningful way.
I smooth down my dress and try to ignore the shame that sends heat to my cheeks.
“Yeah, I know,” I chuckle and thrust a thumb in Samuel’s direction, “He’s the looker. I'm the sidekick. Obviously.”
Heidi appraises me with a tilted head and narrowed, calculating, eyes, “If that’s what works for your friendship, then, sure.”
Samuel laughs a hair too loudly and slides one of his arms across my shoulders. “No, it doesn’t work for us,” he says with a joviality that I can tell is forced. “Because it’s not true. But anyhow, long time no see, right, Heidi?”
He chuckles again. This too is forced.
I glance at Samuel and though his eyes are on Heidi he gives my shoulder a quick squeeze.
“I know, right? We’ve seen more of each other in the past 48 hours than I’ve seen of my fiancée all year,” Heidi’s smile returns as she flutters her fake eyelashes at Samuel and then motions to our booth, “Please, have a seat. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us. So, our food will be here within minutes.”
We make ourselves comfortable and I notice a long loose thread near the waistline of my dress.
This is not surprising seeing as I’ve washed the thing at least two hundred times in the seven years that I’ve owned it.
But it’s also an unsettling reminder of how awkward this entire adventure is going to be.
Heidi and Samuel start chatting about the show, and I sit quietly, sipping a glass of ice water as I look at Heidi.
She may be from Baton Rouge, but I can tell it’s nowhere near my Baton Rouge.
Her chocolate skin is so unblemished it looks airbrushed, and her hair is the perfect touch of sunrise gold, colored to perfection. It’s highlighted by the bright yellow strapless mini she wears.
The dress, deceptively simple looking, is made of a thick material that I’m sure makes it worth more than the total of my last three paychecks combined.
Heidi’s gorgeous.
And when she looks at me, she sees someone she can’t relate to, even in the slightest, because I am decidedly not gorgeous.
And in a few weeks, I’m going to be in a house full of women just like her.
Samuel is going to be my only friend.
Except he’ll probably be busy falling in love-
A heavenly smell interrupts my depressing mind-ologue.
I turn left and my eyes widen at the sight of two waitresses carrying large trays, one filled with salads that look more like Picaso pieces than salads and the second tray containing large dishes of fresh pasta covered in an odd looking reddish-black something or other that could pass as a staple on Yoda’s home planet. That said, the alien-looking pasta smells divine.
“Your street corner graffiti salads and fresh gluten free tagliarini sunrise with vegan butter and white truffles,” one of the waitresses says.
“Quickly please,” Heidi snaps, her tone dripping with annoyance, “we’re in the middle of a business meeting.”
I’m so taken by the food, I barely even glare at Heidi for being such a dragon to my fellow food service sisters.
“Of course,” one of the waitresses says in an apologetic tone.
I eye the pasta dishes eagerly, my worries about being friendless on Meet Me at The Altar temporarily taking a backseat to the little piece of heaven being placed before me.
Heidi and Samuel are talking about something, but at this point, I don’t even hear them.
All I see is the alien food I plan on tearing into like a wolf.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling at the waitress as she sets a large plate of pasta and a small abstract portrait of a salad in front of me.
She nods and the two women scurry away before Heidi can yell at them for no reason again.
I pick up my fork, ready to dig in when I realize I’m the only one doing so.
Pausing with my fork midair, I glance at Samuel and he’s staring at Heidi wide-eyed.
“Are you serious?” he slowly asks. “Tomorrow?”
I frown. “Tomorrow what?”
Ignoring me, Heidi says, “I’m not MMAA’s only producer, and everyone has a say in how the show is designed. So, another producer wanted to add a few twists, and that means we need to shoot earlier than anticipated. But it’s no biggie. This just means we’ll wrap even sooner than anticipated. Which is good, right?”
“Uh,” Samuel blinks back at her.
She smiles and continues on as if he’s said, “Yes, Heidi, that’s great, you goddess, you!”
“I knew you’d understand,” Heidi says with a gorgeous grin, “So, we’ll need you in the mansion tomorrow. And I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you. Living in a mansion with twenty beautiful women and a full service staff. The stuff of dreams, right?”
I drop my fork and as it clangs against the pasta plate, Heidi jumps, startled.
“Sorry,” I automatically say, so floored I hardly notice the dirty look she gives me. “We’re starting everything tomorrow?”
Heidi’s brief jaunt with positivity comes to an end.
Sighing, she says, “Yes. That is what I just said. Twice. Tomorrow you and Samuel will begin your stay at the mansion. The day will be used to prepare for shooting, and the next day, we commence with filming. Would you like for me to repeat it a third and fourth time? Or, are we good?”
“Oh, my god,” I mutter as Samuel curses under his breath.
“Is this really a problem for you two?” Heidi looks at both of us like we’ve lost our minds.
Samuel, quickly bouncing back, shakes his head. “No, we’re surprised. That’s all. But, tomorrow is just going to have to work.” He turns to me and smiles, “We’re good with that. Right?”
I shrug helplessly, “Yeah.”
“Wonderful,” Heidi seems to relax and sits back in her seat as she picks up her fork.
I glance at her meal and notice it only includes a half portion of the street corner graffiti salad, which is basically a thin slice of cucumber, one pea with a dot of something red on it, shards of kale and what appears to be glitter on top of it all. She doesn’t even have the pasta dish like me and Samuel.
Heidi dives into the salad like it’s actual food and gestures as she speaks, “The girls are just wonderful. We picked a great bunch. I mean, you’ll have to watch your back of course, Sam. One or two of them are all about the money. But for the most part, they’re down-to-earth and as easy to get along with as any of your friends back home. You’ll both fit right in with them.”
This gives me hope and I nod, “That’s good.”
“Yeah, it is,” Samuel smiles brightly as he picks up his fork and goes for the salad in front of him. “This is exciting.”
I reclaim my fallen fork and start on my pasta while Heidi tosses her long hair and dons a smug expression, “And I’ve demanded this show be as diverse as our viewing audience. So, you will not be the only POC talent. There are three other Black contestants, two Hispanic women, and a contestant who was born in Mainland, China.”
My heart lifts even more.
“That’s awesome,” I say, “This is exciting.”
And I actually mean it this time.
“Yes,” Heidi says, picking up her glass of water and looking from me to Samuel, “I think you’ll both enjoy yourselves.”
She gives us a coy smile, which Samuel eagerly returns.
But I pause mid-chew, watching Heidi and wondering if the suspicious nature of her grin is something to be concerned about, or if it’s just a byproduct of being a Bridezilla who probably eats nothing more than a half a salad a day.
***
Our bellies full of weird looking yet delicious pasta, the most heavenly cheesecake I’ve ever had, and our brains just as full with everything Heidi’s told us about tomorrow, Samuel and I walk along the street leading back to our hotel.
LA’s forever-golden daytime has been replaced by a blanket of night and I take a deep breath as I look around, my gaze going from the busy traffic at Samuel’s left to the interesting looking people who pass us on the sidewalk. Everywhere I look feels exciting, new, and full of possibilities.
We’ve been quiet since we asked our driver to drop us off a couple of blocks away from our hotel, telling the driver we wanted to walk off the gobzillion pounds of food we just ate.
But now, Samuel clears his throat and speaks hesitantly, “So, how are you feeling about tomorrow?”
He glances at me as I say, “I can’t believe it, but I’m actually excited. You are too, right? You seemed like it at dinner.”
Samuel nods, “I am, yeah. I really am.”
I believe him, but I give him a second glance, because his tone says he’s holding something back.
“But?” I prod.
He laughs, “I can’t hide anything from you.”
“Nope.”
He chuckles again.
“I just,” he shakes his head, “Well, it’s not something I want to hide, I have to say it, I just want to make sure I say it the right way. But I have to say it…”
His voice trails off mysteriously and I turn away from the sight of a man dressed as a pirate running past us to look at Samuel.
Samuel’s gaze is straight ahead, but his eyes are wide and he looks like he’s seeing his own thoughts instead of what’s in front of us.
Even so, he turns to me and stops walking.
“Lu,” he touches my arm, “I know we’re doing this show and it’s going to involve a lot of awkward situations with a lot of people, but I just want you to know…”
As he pauses and gulps, like his throat has suddenly gone dry with nerves, I realize what’s happening.
I smile instantly.
This is why I love Samuel so much.
He’s reassuring me that no matter who he ends up choosing -because we both know that despite his best intentions to choose me so we can share the reward, he’s going to end up with some gorgeous hot momma who steals his heart and hopefully not his cash- we’ll always be friends.
He’s being honest with himself and with me, because he values our friendship.
I already want to hug him, but I hold back instead of talking over him.
After all, I hate it when people do that to me, even when they already know what I’m going to say.
Everyone has a right to express themselves without being interrupted.
So, I watch my adorable friend shift on his feet and turn slightly red as he says, “Whatever happens during this show, there’s no one I could really fall in love with except you.”
My smile fading, I stare at Samuel and fear I’ve had a stroke. The kind where you hear people say things that they’re not really saying. Or maybe that’s schizophrenia?
I don’t know. All I know is I’m sure something’s wrong with my brain, because it’s misinterpreting the words that are coming out of Samuel’s mouth.
I look at his lips and then at his eyes, which are still wide and sort of nervous looking.
“What?” I ask, my voice cracking.
His face growing even more crimson, Samuel says, “I’m trying to tell you, I already chose. It’s you. If you… well, if you feel the same way about me, which, if you don’t. That’s okay. I’ve been rejected before. I’d still hope we can be friends, of course.”
He takes a deep breath and appears to have regained some control over his nerves.
He smiles at me, his confidence slowly returning, and chuckles, “You look scared to death. Am I really that bad? Maybe it’s my breath? I can floss more.”
I laugh because that’s the only function my body seems capable of at the moment.
“You…” I try to form words but the only ones that come out of my mouth are, “Me? You like me? For serious?”
Samuel chuckles and takes a step towards me before smoothing his hand along my right arm. A familiar gesture. Something he’s done frequently over the years. But now it’s different.
“From the moment we first met,” he softly says.
I stare at him, elated yet suspicious and, more than anything wanting to cry tears of confused joy.
I laugh again and bring a hand to my mouth, covering it.
“What?” I look around at the people passing us as we stand in the middle of the sidewalk. My gaze returning to Samuel, I ask the first real question that pops into my mind, “Why tell me now?”
“Because we’re about to do this show,” he says, “which I’m grateful for because of the money. But otherwise, it’s a terrible idea and I don’t want to do it, Lu. I really don’t. I mean, I’m going to be in awkward situations with strange women and if things were the other way around,
I wouldn’t want to see you with a bunch of strange guys. You know what I mean?”
I nod.
“So, I want you to know,” Samuel takes a deep breath and looks into my eyes as he says, “none of what happens will be real. What I feel for you, that’s real.”
I grin and nod again, too breathless to speak.
Samuel chuckles a little, as if my shock is amusing. I guess it probably is.
Kind of like those amusing little YouTube videos where magicians perform magic tricks for orangutans.
In this case, Samuel is magic and I’m the shocked orangutan.
“And,” he takes a step towards me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my left ear, “when I couldn’t find you today, I overreacted. And afterwards, it hit me why. And it’s because I care about you in a way I haven’t wanted to admit. But now, it’s just stupid to keep repressing it. You know what I mean?”
Yes, I do know.
But I don’t say this.
Too overcome with emotion to function I just stare at him and laugh. Finally, I look down and whisper, “Wow,” as I shake my head.
This is too good to be true. Is this actually happening?
Samuel clears his throat and when I look up, his smile is faltering. “Am I freaking you out?”
Barely able to speak, I whisper, “In a good way,” and decide to use my lips for something better than speaking.
I lean forward and right there on some street in Los Angeles, I kiss Samuel Kraddick for the very first time.
It turns out that while many unpleasant nouns can be used to describe Heidi Worthington, the word “liar” is not among them.
A mere 24 hours after Samuel and I sat in his car and watched the rain fall while we tried to wrap our heads around the idea of going to Los Angeles with a strange and scary woman who’d randomly promised Samuel a million dollars, we are seated in first class on an airplane that is only thirty minutes away from landing at LAX.
This is my first time on a plane and Samuel has been doing a great job at talking my ear off to make me forget that I’m soaring above the clouds in a death-machine.
I didn’t even have to ask him to distract me, he just sort of knew to step in.
Now, he’s showing me a picture on his phone.
“Heidi came through big time,” he says as he points to a photo of Sara, grinning in her hospital bed, while her mother stands beside her, looking down at her daughter with a mix of affection and fear. “She pulled some strings and got the charges against Sara’s mom dropped.”
“Oh, my God,” I exclaim so loudly the person across the aisle turns to us.
“Sorry,” I apologize to the stranger and then turn back to Samuel, lowering my voice as I ask, “When did you find that out? And does that mean Sara can live with her mom?”
“Yeah,” Samuel says, his eyes sparkling and a grin on his lips. “As long as her mom stays clean and keeps going to meetings, Sara can stay with her. Heidi just texted me a second ago, at the same time my CPS agent who happened to be visiting sent me this picture with the same information.”
“That’s so awesome,” I squeeze Samuel’s arm and reach for my cup of ginger ale. Lifting it towards Samuel, I say, “To Heidi.”
He grabs his ice water and clinks it against my cup. “To Heidi.”
****
An hour and a half later, as we sit in Heidi Worthington’s Century City office, my feelings towards her are anything but thankful.
The moment Heidi’s assistant led me and Samuel into her huge office, my gaze went to the overly shiny white marble floors, tall clear windows offering a perfect view of the famous Hollywood sign situated in Tinseltown's hills, and I was overcome with intimidation.
The feeling did not decrease when Heidi emerged from behind her gargantuan desk to embrace Samuel in an overly familiar hug and usher him into a comfortable chair across from her desk as she asked him how his flight was and if he was excited- and completely ignored my existence.
While her assistant left the room, Samuel turned to me and pointed to the matching plush chair beside his, “Come on, Lu,” he urged.
Only then did Heidi acknowledge my presence with a slow blink and a slightly curled upper lip before turning to Samuel and saying, “I think your friend would make a fantastic personal assistant for you. Don’t you think that would suit her?”
That’s when the trouble started.
Samuel, too sweet to swim with sharks like Heidi, did his best to defend me, but he was no match for her. And I was too intimidated to do more than glance, every few seconds, at the Hollywood sign and discreetly pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Now, Heidi is sitting on the edge of her desk, facing Samuel, with her back to me, as she leans towards him and flirtatiously says, “There’s a fantastic new show on ABN I think you’d be perfect for. And, it promises you a total of $500,000 in addition to whatever you make from paid endorsements and celebrity appearances once the show’s aired and you’re famous.”
“Wait,” Samuel shakes his head in confusion. “B-but, I don’t… I didn’t realize you already had something in mind for me. I thought you were just going to introduce me to a few people and see where that went?”
Heidi throws her head back and laughs, her long blonde locks cascading down her back in pure perfection.
I hate her.
Shifting in my seat, I glance at Samuel and he’s frowning as she leans towards him (a clever way to try and get him to look at her cleavage, which he, surprisingly, isn’t falling for) and says, “Babe, I’m like Yoda in that I don’t try. I do.”
I glare at her in quiet repulsion.
When preppy non-nerds pretend to like Star Wars just because it’s suddenly trendy- that’s when I lose all perspective and get angry for seemingly no reason.
But there is actually a reason. And it is a reason that a non-nerd could not even begin to understand. This in itself proves that they should stay the heck away from The Force.
“You’re quoting Yoda now?” I say. “Really?”
Heidi looks at me as if she’s just remembered I’m in her office.
She probably has.
Without responding, she returns her attention to Samuel and says, “I meant what I said. I can make you a very rich man. In addition to that show, I can also get you up to five guest appearances on a similar reality show, which would pay $100,000 per episode. So, in one year’s time you’d be a millionaire, besides the remaining donation I promised to your nonprofit.”
Samuel is breathing hard and looking at her like he isn’t sure how to respond.
I glance at him and then at her.
It’s like watching a lion toy with its prey.
“You said you’d get Samuel on a “similar reality show,”” I say to Heidi’s back since she’s still not facing me. “I’m assuming that means the show you want him to do is a reality series?”
“Yes,” Heidi says without turning to me. Still addressing Samuel, who has apparently been rendered speechless, she continues, “And we need to get your paperwork squared away as soon as possible. Normally, I wouldn’t throw all of this on you at once. But with my wedding this weekend, we need to get everything done with a capital D before I’m out of pocket for my honeymoon.”
“Okay,” Samuel finally says. “So, a reality show. Um, what’s it about?”
“It’s amazing!” Heidi squeals in a tone that’s far too teenage-ish for a woman her age. “It’s called “Meet me at the Altar.”
My stomach goes into panic mode.
“Meet me at the Altar?” I repeat. “Is this a dating show?”
“It’s going to sweep the entire world off its feet,” Heidi croons, deliberately ignoring me. “You and twenty lucky ladies will live in a huge mansion in the famous Hollywood Hills for four months, all of you getting to know each other. And by the end of those four months, you will have fallen in love with a woman whom you either choose to propose to or choose to give your $500,000 to.”
“Wait, what?” Samuel and I both say at the same time.
Heidi laughs. “Yes, that’s the catch. This is a very transparent reality show. The audience and the contestants know how much money you’ll be making and they’ll also know that the contestants don’t get paid at all. So, it’ll be up to you to figure out which of these women are there to really get to know you, and which ones are simply after your prize money. And audiences will be waiting, breathlessly, to find out if you decide to give the woman of your choosing a promise of everlasting love, or a promise of cash.”
Samuel and I look at each other.
“This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Sam,” Heidi says in that annoyingly squeaky tone which has now become more tween than teen.
“You’ll become a millionaire, find the love of your life, and you’ll be all set to help so many more little kids like Sara.”
At the mention of Sara, Samuel frowns and lowers his gaze to the floor with a slow nod.
He looks up at me and asks, “What do you think?”
I shrug and shake my head, the truth is I don’t even know what to think.
This is literally insane.
“It’s a lot of money,” I say. “But a lot of sacrifice too. I mean, you’d be dating twenty women in front of the entire country.”
“Actually, the entire world,” Heidi cuts in. “It’s the biggest reality show of the season, meaning our international distributors will air the show in Europe, Australia, and some Asian countries. So, he would become an international celebrity, which means more opportunities for our big handsome guy to make guest appearances and collect even more money for the little darlings at his nonprofit.”
Samuel sighs and runs a hand through his curly dark locks as he glances at the window.
“Normally,” Heidi says, “I wouldn’t pressure you to make a decision so quickly, but if you turn this down, I will literally send you right back home to Louisiana and I will call my second choice and get him to sign the paperwork within the hour. Because, babe, as much as I adore you, I have a wedding to get ready for.”
“Who’s your second choice?” Samuel asks.
“Brad DeLouge,” Heidi crosses her arm and smirks as she says the famous football player’s name. “He’s worth $18 million and was number three in this year’s “Most Beautiful” list from People Magazine.”
Samuel frowns. “This doesn’t make sense. Heidi, with all due respect, I barely make $25k a year and I’m not famous. So, why do you think anyone in America would care about me and these women?”
Heidi laughs and gestures to Samuel as she says, “Have you looked in a mirror, babe?”
Finally addressing me, she turns to me and says, “Does your friend not realize what he looks like?”
My cheeks go warm as I say, “He’s very humble.”
“Well, that face,” Heidi says pointing to Samuel, “and that body are anything but humble. Honey, you were made for television. This is your
shot. You’ll never have to worry about money again, and neither will the people you care about most.”
Samuel glances at me and I smile.
“This is a big opportunity,” I say, encouragingly. “And I’ll have your back whatever you decide.”
Samuel looks into my eyes and I watch something begin to change in his.
He turns to Heidi and says, “The only way I’ll agree to this is if Lu is on the show too.”
“Um, that’s not-” I start.
Heidi cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “No, no, Sam. Lu is an actress not a reality star. This show isn’t for her. Besides, would it be fair if we added someone from your past to a group of contestants who you’ve never met? That wouldn’t put the women on equal footing in getting to know you. Lu would, clearly, have an advantage.”
“But wouldn’t that add to the drama?” Samuel says, his tone low and confident. “Just tell the audience, let them in on it too. After all, isn’t that what this show is all about? Transparency? See what happens when you throw in my childhood best friend.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Samuel, I will probably never side with Heidi about anything else. Like, ever. But that is, literally, crazy. There’s no way ABN would want me on their biggest reality show of the season. It’s just unrealistic.”
Samuel pulls a face, scowling as he looks me up and down and says, “Lu, I’m going to be on it and I’m nobody from nowhere. So, why don’t
you think you could be on it? What’s the difference?”
I laugh again and run a hand over my face as I say, “Oh my God, okay. Have you ever watched a reality dating show?”
Samuel shrugs. “Uh, well, not really. I’ve seen commercials.”
“Right,” I nod. “So, you’ve seen the kind of contestants on those shows. They’re almost all white, blonde women from rich families.
Basically, they’re the exact opposite of slightly overweight Black women who work as clerk’s in donut shops.”
Samuel’s face falls and he gives me a weird unreadable look.
He starts to say something when Heidi cuts him off, “Actually, maybe your friend is exactly what our new series needs.”
“What?” I say, turning to Heidi so quickly I nearly give myself whiplash.
She slides off her desk and standing, she gazes at me with an appraising eye. She looks me up and down as she says, “Something’s lacking in those other shows. Reality. And your friend is definitely reality.”
Heidi points to Samuel with a huge grin and says, “Sam, I like your idea. We’ll take her on. This will be the only thing anyone is talking about once it airs.”
Samuel nods, grinning, “I knew it!”
Still in shock, I look from Heidi to Samuel and become some sort of parrot that can only say, “What?”
Ignoring me, Heidi gently places one of her long and elegant hands on Samuel’s arm and speaks in a voice that I think is supposed to sound seductive, “You’re incredibly savvy. Are you sure you’ve never worked in television?”
“But, I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, finally coming out of parrot-mode and standing, “I’m not interested in being on a reality show.”
It’s as if I haven’t said a word.
Heidi pulls Samuel to his feet and hugs him as she says, “I’ll get my assistant to bring in your contract, and we’ll have your friend’s paperwork drawn up by this evening.”
Releasing Samuel from her attack of a hug, Heidi picks up her phone and calls her assistant.
Samuel finally turns to me, a huge grin on his face and his eyes sparkling with pride. “You’re going to be on TV, Lu!”
I shake my head. “But this isn’t what I wanted. I don’t want to-”
“Great!” Heidi says as her office door opens and her assistant walks in with a pile of paperwork that weighs nearly as much as she does. “Here’s your contract now, Sam.”
While the two of them sort out the hefty stack of papers at her desk, Samuel walks over to me and quietly says, “I know this is weird and very intrusive but think about it, Lu. None of these women are going to be real. They’ll just be a bunch of wanna-be actresses who’ll pretend to fall in love with me. So, at the end I’ll just pick you and I’ll give you the money.”
We stare at each other, Samuel feeling incredibly proud of himself for sorting this all out and me, realizing how much he doesn’t understand his effect on women.
Out of twenty wanna-be actresses, at least one of them is going to legitimately fall in love with him and I’m going to have to watch it unfold until the very end, when he chooses her over me.
I knew it would happen someday, I’ve been bracing myself for it since the moment I realized I had feelings for Samuel.
But I had no idea the entire world would witness it with me, nor did I realize they’d also witness my reaction to it all.
Everyone who watches this stupid show is going to see what I’ve been trying to hide.
That is, unless I really am a good actor.
Samuel is beginning to frown as he says, “I’m not going to do this unless you’re with me, Lu. Please.”
His green eyes bore into mine and as he takes one of my hands in his, I hear myself say, “Okay.”
And just like that, my fate is sealed.
Samuel Kraddick is going to break my heart, and the whole world is going to watch.
Unless I learn to be okay with the entire world knowing my secret, I’d better be a damn good actress.
****
My cell phone at my right ear, I enjoy the glow of the Los Angeles sun, which is refreshingly warm, unlike the blistering heat of Baton Rouge’s summertime sun, as I stand outside on the balcony of my fourteenth floor hotel room.
I look out at the city while Aunt Celia exclaims, “You and Samuel are going to be on a what?”
Cringing, I take a deep breath before repeating what I’ve just explained.
I understand Auntie’s reaction. It’s the same reaction I had while listening to Samuel and Heidi talk about me as if I weren’t even in the room with them.
“We’re going to be on a reality show,” I say. “Because it pays extremely well.”
“You already have a job that pays well,” Aunt Celia shouts.
I wince and hold the phone away from my ear.
“Lu,” Auntie says, “you don’t want to do this. Come home. Tell that Heidi woman you’ve changed your mind and come on back home.
Samuel doesn’t want this either. The things that happen in that city you’re in, you don’t want any part of that world. Trust me.”
I sigh, knowing what she’s going to say next.
I decide to beat her to it.
“Aunt Celia,” I say, speaking as gently as I can. “I know my parents made some mistakes when they were out here. But they were also really brave and, um, I actually, um, I admire that about them. And I think maybe that same bravery is in my blood.”
The line goes silent and I glance at my phone, thinking the call must have dropped.
But the phone indicates that Aunt Celia is still on the line.
“Hello?” I ask. “Can you hear me?”
“I wish I couldn’t,” she huffs.
I sigh again. “Auntie, this isn’t my first choice either. But it’s so much money and it’s just one of those once in a lifetime opportunities you can’t say no to.”
“Just like Adam and Eve at that tree,” she says in a low voice. “That was a once in a lifetime opportunity too, wasn’t it?”
I cringe, a streak of guilt tearing through me.
Deep down, I agree with her.
But I’ve already given Samuel my word … and this is an adventure. As painful as it’s going to be, will it be any worse than wasting my life away in non-adventurous Baton Rouge?
“I’m sorry I’m making you unhappy,” I quietly say. “But, I have to try.”
“Try what?”
I falter.
She’s right.
I have no idea what I’m doing or what it is that I want to “try.”
I’m just desperate to get out of Baton Rouge and maybe a little desperate to do whatever will make Samuel happy, and this seems to be what will make him happy.
“To try something different,” I finally say.
“Well,” Aunt Celia says, her voice tantamount to a low growl. “I can’t tell you what to do. You’re a grown woman now. Just remember where you come from. Don’t do something stupid just so you can fit in with the crowd. Alright?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, watching two people walk down the street, surfboards under their arms.
I grin. Wow, I’ve never seen surfers in real life. This is so cool.
“Bye, Lu,” Aunt Celia says.
“Bye, Auntie,” I look down at my phone and she’s already ended the call.
My gaze still on my phone, I think of my Aunt, imagining the disappointed look she’s undoubtedly wearing while she closes shop at Cee Cee’s, all by herself.
Guilt tears through me as I picture her, moving slowly on account of her bad knees, to flip the “Open” sign to “closed.”
How long is it going to take her to clean the kitchen all on her own?
Without me, it’ll take at least an extra hour.
And this is just Day 1.
Heidi said the series is going to last four months.
Can my Aunt even manage on her own for four months?
Why didn’t I think of that?
I close my eyes and shake my head as the guilt intensifies.
I’m so selfish.
All I thought about was how pleased Samuel would be to have my support, when I should have been thinking about the health of the woman who raised me.
Sighing, I open my eyes and, still tightly gripping my phone, wonder if I should just do what Aunt Celia suggested and tell Heidi I’ve made a huge mistake.
Samuel won’t like it, but maybe that’s just the right thing to do.
I shift on my feet, a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach while I consider this.
My gaze inadvertently returns to the two surfers. It’s a guy and a girl, both sporting golden skin that’s been kissed by the sun and long messy hair. Their boards are now on top of a small and sort of ratty looking Jeep they’re standing beside. They’re holding hands and looking into each other's eyes while they laugh about something.
I tilt my head, watching them, feeling a smile form on my own lips as my worries about Aunt Celia subside and my thoughts shift towards the couple below.
They look so happy.
I wonder what they’re talking about.
And, I wonder if I’ve ever been as happy as they are in this moment.
I watch them lean forward and meet each other’s lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.
My smile fading, I stare at them in envy.
There are so many things in life I’ve missed out on.
It’s no one’s fault, really, it’s just the hand I’ve been dealt.
Would it really be so wrong if I took just four months out of my life to do something… different?
My gaze leaves the couple and goes in the direction of the ocean. I can’t see the water from my view, but I can see people happily sauntering towards the beach in their swimsuits and loungewear as they gab with their friends on the way over.
The envy that rests somewhere beneath my heart, like a pool of residue that’s been slowly leaking from it for years, is still very much present.
But I also can’t help but feel relaxed as I watch these crowds of various sorts of people from all kinds of backgrounds wear similar expressions - they all look happy.
If so many people can be happy, why can’t I?
Sure, I’m not gorgeous like Samuel or savvy like Heidi or from a huge amazing family like a lot of the girls from my neighborhood, but I am just a regular person.
And the difference between a place like Los Angeles and a place like Baton Rouge is that here, it looks like even regular people have the opportunity to be happy.
I look down at my phone, my decision solidifying in my mind.
I’ve already said “yes” to Samuel, but now I’m going to say “yes” to myself.
I’m going to do this, not just for Samuel, but because it’s a chance for me to meet new people, see new things, and to try living in a place where dreams seem tangible.
This may not be the sort of adventure that ends with me finding love, but I’m going to make sure it’s an adventure I enjoy.
I slip my phone into my pocket and, excitement already welling up in my chest, step into my hotel room and head for my suitcase.
I packed a bathing suit, thinking I wouldn’t really get a chance to wear it.
That suit will be worn today.
Grinning, I get changed and join the happy beach-goers.
****
Trying not to worry that my ratty old pink bathing suit looks like the sort of two-piece a self-conscious tween would wear, I wander through the sand, smiling at people who smile back at me.
It’s weird how much that happens in Los Angeles.
Back home, the only time people acknowledge me on the street is when I’m literally on my street, like when I’m walking to my house or from the bus stop to Cee’s Cee’s. That’s when I get a, “Hey, girl, how you doin?” and a smile.
Otherwise, when I’m out and about in the city, I don’t exist.
But here, it’s as if I’m a real person.
A dark-haired couple, both clad in beachwear, head my way, walking hand in hand.
As they approach, they smile at me and my heart actually lifts a little as I grin back.
“Hi,” they each say as they pass, their smiles widening. “Pretty day, isn’t it?”
“Uh,” shocked out of my mind, I grin and stammer, “Y-yeah. Sure, yes.”
As they continue on, I turn around and watch them leave.
Did that really just happen?!
Did a complete stranger, who was a different race than I am, actually speak to me just because?!
Oh my gwaaad!
Feeling more light-hearted than I have in weeks… no, let's be honest, years, I shake my head in happy disbelief and saunter up to a
smoothie stand. The line isn’t too bad, only three people would be ahead of me.
Back home, I don’t get smoothies when I crave them. I tell myself the same thing Aunt Celia’s told me since I was a child, “Why waste good money on something you can make at home? We have fruit and a blender. Make your own smoothie.”
But I’m trying new things now.
So, I plant myself behind the third person and turn around, taking a look at the crowded beach and its gently crashing waves.
Seagulls cry above the murmur of the crowds and passing traffic at my right.
I exhale, another ridorkulous grin taking hold of my lips.
Silly as it may seem, considering that I’m just standing in a line to get a smoothie, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I don’t usually feel this way.
Most days, I’m wondering where I belong and how I’m supposed to find that place.
But here, everything’s different.
There are no expectations for me to fulfill, I can just explore and-
“Are you a surfer?”
I jump, startled as a male voice interrupts my internal monologue.
I turn to the voice and my mouth falls open at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered, greek god lookalike with golden blonde hair, dark hazel eyes, and lightly sun-kissed skin.
I blink stupidly into his eyes and inadvertently let my gaze slide down to his bare chest, which is so perfectly proportioned it should be more illegal for him to go shirtless than for me.
Good Lord. Is this being even human?!
I’m gawking. Stop.
I force my gaze back to his eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says with a grin that lights up the entire beach.
I giggle and nod.
He laughs at my reaction and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so sexy I nearly wet myself just watching him.
“You,” he points to me and I smile, but I notice that a slight blush has crept into his perfectly proportioned cheeks as he says, “you look like a surfer. But then, I don’t see a board. So, maybe you’re not?”
I smile and shake my head. “As much as I wish I could say I am, I’m not. I’ve never even been surfing before.”
“Oh,” he looks at me in surprise, his eyebrows going up. “Really? Then, you’re not from here, are you?”
Still grinning stupidly, I shake my head again. “Louisiana. Well… yeah, Louisiana.“
I dismiss the thought of saying California and him asking why I left.
No reason to turn into every director of every Batman movie ever made and open with the tragic tale of my parent’s death.
He laughs at my odd response, “Are you sure?”
I smile, “Yeah, um, I’m Louisiana.”
Did I just forget to say the word “from?”
Before I can correct myself, he chuckles and sticks out his hand for me to shake, “I’m Wisconsin.”
I smile and shake his hand, which is warm but not clammy, and firm but not aggressively so.
“Nice to meet you, Wisconsin,” I say, looking into his eyes and noting that they suddenly look a bit more green than hazel. “Do you surf?”
He shrugs. “From time to time, when I can. It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”
A woman moves in line behind Wisconsin and looks from him to me, before pointing to the Smoothie stand and saying, “I think you’re next.”
“Oh,” I glance back and realize the two people ahead of me are now gone. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” the woman says with a smile.
As the teenager behind the counter dons a shockingly pleasant smile and asks how he can help me, I take a moment to lift my jaw off the floor, silently wondering how Los Angeles manages to get even their customer service staff to be friendly and polite.
“Um,” I glance at the menu, quickly scanning my options. “I’ll take a mango passionfruit swirl. A small.”
“Sounds good, coming right up,” the teen says. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
Ah, that’s why everyone’s so happy. Because they make tons of money selling ten dollar smoothies and what not.
I reach into the tiny armband purse containing my debit card and phone when Wisconsin steps up beside me and says, “I’ve got her.”
“Oh,” I turn to him in surprise. “That’s okay, you don’t have to-”
“We out-of-towners have to stick together, right?” he smiles.
My heart skips a beat and I’m once again giggling for no reason. “Well, thank you. That’s so sweet.”
“My pleasure,” he grins and turns to the teen. “Can you add a second mango passion fruit smoothie to that order. A large?”
After Wisconsin’s shelled out somewhere near $425,168 for our order, we get our drinks and end up walking along the beach, too engrossed in conversation to realize we’re walking aimlessly and we still don’t know each other’s names.
Despite wanting to save him from the grim tale that brought my childhood to a screeching halt, I eventually find myself saying things to Wisconsin that I’ve never even talked to Auntie or Samuel about.
Tossing my empty smoothie container into a nearby trash can, I tuck a wild strand of hair behind my ear and say, “My Aunt never told me how they died. Even when I asked, she never said a word about their suicide pact and how faithful they were to following through with it. I had to do my own research and figure it out, which is what happened when I was fourteen.”
“Oh my God,” Wisconsin stops walking and turns to me, a look of horror on his perfectly chiseled face. “You learned your parents committed suicide when you were fourteen? That’s so horrible. Were you mad at your Aunt for not telling you?”
Appreciating Wisconsin’s empathy, but not wanting him to think I’m weak and worthy of pity, I tug at my ponytail and start walking again.
Wisconsin does too.
“No, it sucked. But I wasn’t angry,” I say. “I knew my Aunt was just doing what she thought was best. And it’s not like I was old enough to really know my parents when they died. I barely remember them.”
“How old were you when they died? Four?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t remember them at all?” Wisconsin slowly asks.
I lace my hands together in front of me as we pass a group of people playing beach volleyball.
That’s not entirely true.
“I don’t remember their faces or their voices,” I say, thinking of the feeling I always get when my thoughts revert back to my parents. “But I remember the way it felt to be around them. Like, feeling safe. Like I was part of a family.”
Neither of us say anything and the laughter of the jovial volleyball players hangs in the distance, just below the squeal of tires and blare of horns from nearby traffic.
I glance at Wisconsin and he’s looking at me with blatant curiosity.
“I guess that’s kind of weird,” I say. “Not to actually remember your own parents even though you spent the first four years of your life with them.”
“No, it isn’t weird,” Wisconsin says, “a lot of kids who go through traumatic events don’t remember entire months, even years, of the time leading up to the trauma. They have to block it out to survive.”
I frown at him. “Are you a therapist or something? You sound hella knowledgeable.”
He laughs. “Nah. It’s more like I’ve been to tons of therapists since I was a little kid.”
Startled that he would admit this so openly, I look way and try to think of an appropriate response.
He laughs. “I can tell you haven’t been here very long. Everyone in here has a therapist on speed dial, and they’re not afraid to talk about it, constantly.”
I grin. “I always assumed that was a stereotype. But it’s true?”
“Oh yeah,” he nods. “And so is the stereotype about every waiter and waitress you meet being an actor.”
“Are you an actor?” I ask. I’ve actually been wanting to ask him that for a while now. “Because you definitely look like you could be. Or a model or something.”
The moment I say this, my face flushes with warmth and I realize I sound just like Heidi when she was flirting with Samuel.
Wisconsin grins. “Yeah, guilty as charged. And thank you for the compliment.”
I laugh, instantly relaxing. “You’re welcome.”
I watch him run a hand through his hair.
I really like this guy. I hardly know him, but he’s so chill and friendly. And, he actually approached me and struck up a random conversation! That’s happened to me exactly zero times until now.
“So, what show are you going to be working on?” I ask.
He glances at me and starts to say something, but then stops and grins.
The sudden sheepish look in his eyes makes me laugh.
It’s cute as all get out.
“What?” I tease. “Is it some huge blockbuster you’ve been sworn to secrecy about?”
He looks up and wags his head from side-to-side in a gesture that says, “Sort of.”
I pause in stride, my mouth automatically forming an “O.”
“Oh, wow,” I finally say with a squeal. “Are you serious? You’re going to be in some huge movie? That’s amazing!”
Wisconsin laughs, “It’s not quite a movie, but it’s fairly a big deal. It’ll be my first job that pays more than chump change.”
I laugh, but in the back of my mind I’m also wondering what someone who lives in Los Angeles considers “chump change.” Probably anything less than 10k.
“That’s so incredible. You left home to follow your heart, and now look at you, ” I say, wistfully. “You’re getting exactly what you want.”
As the sun begins its descent in La La land’s clear blue sky, it splays golden light across the city.
Bathed in its warmth we stare at each other, neither of us saying a word as the sounds of the city swirl and dance around us. Car horns, someone screaming a string of curses at the backed up traffic, bleating seagulls, and reggaeton music blaring from the window of a nearby apartment, comprise the overtures of our romantic comedy.
Well, at least that’s what it feels like… which is cool because until this moment, I’ve never felt as though I were starring in a Nancy Meyers film.
Usually, I feel more like I’m stuck in a Shakespearean tragedy.
“As of yesterday, when I booked the job, that’s all I thought I wanted,” Wisconsin says with a slow smile.
My cheeks warming and an uncontrollable grin forming on my lips, I have to glance down just to get my bearings.
Holy Grail! Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Or am I reading too much into-
“Louisiana, would you have dinner with me?” he asks in a low voice.
Still grinning, I laugh and nod, “Sure. I’d love that.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear while we smile at each other and my arm purse rings.
Well, not the purse itself, but my phone, which is stuffed into the purse.
Samuel’s ringtone, which is the theme from The Office, is suddenly part of our romantic comedy’s original motion picture soundtrack.
“Oh, sorry,” I cringe at Wisconsin, but he just shrugs and smiles.
“Get it if you need,” he says. “I’m an actor, I totally get it. Phone calls can be life or death.”
“Yeah,” I laugh for no real reason except that I’m giddy and bring the phone to my ear, “Hey!”
“Thank God,” Samuel says. “Where are you? I texted you, like, fifteen times. And I knocked on your door for so long I’m pretty sure someone called security on me.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, glancing at Wisconsin, who’s giving me a curious look. I slide the phone away from my mouth and whisper, “It’s my friend who I came here with. I didn’t tell him where I was going and he got worried.”
Wisconsin nods understandingly and offers me another, guess what? A smile.
Of course he offers me another smile. Because he’s just so chill like that!
As I bring the phone back to my ear, Samuel asks, “Who are you talking to?”
“Uh,” I pause, wondering how to describe Wisconsin without sounding like I just picked up some rando at the beach because that’s exactly what I’ve done. “I’m at the beach, just chilling. What’s going on with you?”
“Oh, just losing my mind a little. Damn. I can’t believe how scared I got …” his voice trails off and he laughs. “I’m kind of embarrassed now. Just go ahead and delete all of my texts. They never happened.”
My curiosity getting the best of me, I start scrolling through my messages to find them as I say, “They can’t be that bad. I mean, it’s not like you called LAPD to come look for me.”
As soon as I say this, I open his most recent text, which says:
Samuel: I’ve called the police, so whatever’s going on, we’ll find you. Okay? Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.
Shocked, touched, and guilty, I say, “Samuel! Oh my God, you did call the police?”
Beside me, Wisconsin laughs.
“Uh, yeah,” Samuel sounds sheepish. “Huge overreaction. Sorry. That’s, apparently what happens when you grow up the way I did and then work with kids who frequently get kidnapped by their estranged fathers. Sorry.”
“Aw, Sammy,” I say, using the nickname I haven’t called him since we were kids. “It’s sweet that you cared enough to be worried.”
Wisconsin clears his throat as he turns away and looks out at the ocean.
I’m being rude.
Samuel chuckles, “I don’t know. You were only gone for three hours. I think I just need therapy or something. Maybe dinner. Speaking of dinner. Um, your best friend, Heidi,” he laughs again, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “She wants to go to dinner with us. We’re supposed to meet her in, like, forty-five minutes.”
I glance at Wisconsin longingly.
I’d much rather spend my evening with him than with Bridezilla.
“Okay,” I quickly say. “I’ll get back to the hotel then. I’ve got to go. Bye, Sammy.”
He says goodbye and I hang up, swiftly apologizing to the hot guy I’ve been idiotically ignoring, “I’m so, so, so sorry about that. That was my friend-”
“Sammy,” Wisconsin says with an amused grin, his eyebrows lifting as he looks down at me. “Who is a loud-talker and slightly needy?”
I shrug and admit, “He is a loud talker, but he’s not usually this needy. I think he’s just going through a lot right now. But I apologize. Um, I do have to get back to my hotel, unfortunately. That’s what he was calling about. We came out here for a…” I frown, wondering how to describe what we came out here for. “Well, for a job, I guess you could say. And the woman who’s hiring us is demanding to have dinner with us tonight. So, maybe you and I can meet up tomorrow night?”
I clasp my hands together and peer up at him hopefully.
He sighs, disappointment in his eyes. “Won’t work. My gig starts tomorrow. But, hey,” he points to my phone, which I’m still holding in my right hand. “Let me see that.”
I unlock it and hand it over.
“I’m in your contacts,” he says, punching his name and number into my phone. While he’s looking down, I take the opportunity to stare at the perfection that is his skin and hair and eyes as they gleam against the backdrop of ocean blue water and pinkish-golden skies.
He’s lovely.
“I’m so glad I came to the beach today,” I quietly say.
He looks up and meets my eyes.
“I’m glad you did too,” he smiles.
As he gives me my phone, our hands touch, his lingering on mine.
His eyes twinkle as he says, “Call me anytime. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“See you later,” he leans forward, plants a light kiss on my lips, which I totally wasn’t expecting, and then jogs away, leaving me breathless as I stare back at him.
For a long time, I just stand there, watching his back muscles move underneath his flawless, tanned skin while he jogs into the sunset.
It’s only after I’ve come to and summoned an Uber that I realize I forgot to ask Wisconsin what his actual name is.
As the Uber pulls up, I hop inside and frantically scroll through my 320 contacts for “W’s,” hoping he thought to add himself under
“Wisconsin.”
It isn’t there.
I plop back in my seat and roll my eyes.
Of course this would happen.
See? My life is more Shakespearean tragedy than Meyersian rom com.
****
An hour and ten minutes later, smelling of beach and sweat because I haven’t had time to shower, I’m beside Samuel as we enter a swanky restaurant with low lighting, floors made of the shiniest cedar I’ve ever seen, walls of the same caliber, and a staff comprised of people who look like they should be supermodels.
I glance at them, silently betting they’re all actors and models who will someday be famous.
Gawking at all the pretty’s makes me feel like a pile of hot garbage, but determined not to let my inner feelings sabotage this experience, I turn off “envy mode” and force myself to be open and present.
So, as we approach the maitre de, I turn to Samuel and whisper, “This is so exciting, isn’t it?”
He glances at me with a nervous look in his eye and a weak smile. “Yeah.”
I reach over and give his arm a squeeze.
He’s been quiet ever since I got back to the hotel.
I hope it’s not because of me. I hope I didn’t worry him so much he’s made himself sick.
Sometimes I forget how sensitive he can be.
“Hey?” I say, slowing and coming to a stop a few feet away from the maitre d's station.
Samuel looks at me, his eyes wide and so unsettled it’s painful to look at.
Whatever’s going on inside of him needs to be fixed.
“Hey,” he offers me that same weak smile.
I take both of his hands in mine and grasp them tightly as I face him, “I know today’s been weird, but we’re in this together. So, everything’s going to be okay.”
He looks into my eyes and speaks quietly, “I know.”
The two words don’t at all match the desperately sad expression on his face.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
His eyes not leaving mine, he says, “I’m just realizing, I didn’t think this through.”
I can’t help but smile at this. “You just realized that?”
He seems to relax a bit, and grins as he says, “I know. I’m not the brightest star in the sky.”
“Actually, you are,” I quickly say, recalling the way he reacted when he learned Sara had been hospitalized. “You’re doing this to help other people. That’s what fuels nearly every crazy decision you make. You’re always trying to help someone.”
His eyes soften as he watches me, and the anxious set of his jaw relaxes even more.
“Way back when we were kids,” I say. “The entire reason you introduced yourself to me was because you wanted to help me. And, I’m really glad you did. And, I’m glad you’re doing this. It’s for a good reason, so that means it’s going to work out.”
I give both of his hands a squeeze and grin. “Just take a deep breath and remember that talking to Heidi is only a means to an end. Six months from now, you’ll never have to see her again.”
Our eyes still locked, we take a deep breath in tandem and slowly release it.
His breath smells like minty freshness and hopefully, mine does too.
I, at least, had time to brush my teeth and wash my face before slapping on a dress and jumping into our Uber.
“You’re right,” he finally says, “this might be completely insane, but it’s temporary. A few months from now, I’ll forget all about it and watch the kids enjoy all the money we got for them.”
He’s so sweet, I think as I watch Samuel return to his normal state. Most people would’ve formed that sentence very differently. They would have said something like, “...a few months from now, I’ll forget all about this and enjoy all the money I’ve made.”
Even I would have looked at it from that perspective.
But not Samuel, he’s as selfless as they come.
And all of a sudden, I selfishly want to lean forward and kiss him.
As soon as the feeling creeps into my thoughts, I release Samuel’s hands and take a step back.
He seems startled, but recovering quickly he grins and asks, “Does my breath smell? Because you can just tell me, you know.”
Flustered, I simply wave him off and start walking towards the maitre d, who is beginning to eye us suspiciously.
“May I help you?” he asks, throwing a surreptitious glance at my plain black dress, which was on sale at Walmart when I bought it seven years ago.
“We’re here to meet Heidi, uh,” I frown, suddenly realizing I’ve forgotten Bridezilla’s last name.
“Worthington,” Samuel says, taking his place beside me.
I get a whiff of his cologne, fresh and intoxicating.
Oh God… what’s wrong with me? It’s just cologne. Not a big deal at all.
“Yes, one moment please,” the maitre d says with a reinvigorated smile as he appraises Samuel with an appreciative arch of his eyebrow.
By now, this doesn’t even make me jealous.
I’m so used to him being the one checked out when we’re together that even this doesn’t distract me from my hormonal reaction to his cologne.
Because I’m sure that’s all it really is, his stupid cologne.
At least, that’s what I need to tell myself so I can survive the next four months.
A gorgeous and skinny waitress with caramel skin and a Pakastani accent whisks us away, guiding us through the low-lit restaurant that smells like cedar wood and freshly cooked food that’s been seasoned to perfection.
As Samuel and I follow her, winding in between small circular tables strategically situated throughout the dining room floor, I glance at the patrons and gulp, noting that they’re also looking at both Samuel and I with equal curiosity.
In Baton Rouge, walking into a restaurant is nothing like this.
Should I stumble and fall while in a Baton Rouge Applebeas, I’d be lucky if one person glanced at me for more than two seconds, I think as I lock eyes with a gorgeous, skinny-as-a-turkey-neck blonde who’s dripping in diamond jewelry.
And there’s definitely a difference in the way people dress around here. Back home, flip flops, shorts, and LSU t-shirts are the standard uniform for an outing.
The blonde smiles at me and I nearly pass out in shock.
Geez, I’ll never get used to being acknowledged by people of other races.
It’s cool, but it’ll definitely take getting used to.
I smile back and slow my stride as we approach the foot of a narrow, winding staircase.
“Nice,” Samuel says, looking up in surprise, “I didn’t realize there was a second floor.”
“Neither did I,” I agree.
The waitress pauses on the first step, briefly turning to us with a pleasant smile.
Gosh, these LA folks smile so much. I love it!
I grin back at her, already adjusting to this aspect of the friendly culture.
“There are actually three floors,” she says and then lowers her voice to a whisper and leaning closer, adds, “The third floor is reserved for our celebrity guests, it’s a bit more private. To give them a break from prying eyes. You know?”
“Oh, of course,” I nod as if I’m totally used to going to restaurants that have floors sectioned off for their famous patrons.
“And, of course,” the waitress says, looking at me and then at Samuel with that friendly smile, “that’s where Ms. Worthington is waiting for you.”
“Right, of course,” Samuel and I say in unison.
“So, let’s get you guys situated,” the waitress says as she turns back to stairs and begins a careful ascent.
Samuel and I look at each other, each of us wide-eyed and grinning like giddy fools.
“We’re celebrities,” he whispers and nudges me with his elbow.
I giggle and shake my head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe any of this is happening. It’s like a ….” I make my way up the stairs, seeing as our waitress is now well ahead of us since we’ve been gawking at our newfound status like a couple of swamp billies, and search for the word I need to complete my thought, “Well? I don’t know the word. What’s the opposite of a nightmare?”
Samuel, slightly behind me on the narrow staircase, chuckles, “A good dream, Lu. I think that’s what the opposite of a nightmare is commonly called. How long were you out in the sun walking on that beach?”
I laugh and my thoughts drift to Wisconsin, whose name I don’t even know and who I’ll most likely never see again even though his name is so totally in my phone… sigh. My life is a mess. Even when it’s good. It’s just still a flat, frigid mess.
“Why are you suddenly sighing?” Samuel asks as we pass the second floor, which is laid out exactly like the first, and continue to ascend the staircase. “Do you need me to give you a pep talk now?”
I hadn’t even realized I’d sighed out loud.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need that at some point,” I laugh. “But I’m good. It’s just that I met someone while I was at the beach. And it was so random
but wonderful and…” Thinking of Wisconsin’s hazel eyes and the way he ran that hand through his silky hair as he looked at me with that curious intensity makes me forget I’m in the middle of a sentence.
Behind me, Samuel says, “Is the “someone” the guy I heard in the background when I called you?”
“Yeah,” I say, inadvertently sighing again.
“He must not have been so great if you keep sighing,” Samuel says.
“I’m a frequent sigher,” I say as we approach the third floor. “You know that. But the sighs keep coming, like, even more than usual because this guy was perfect and I forgot to ask him his name. So, even though he put his number in my phone, I have no idea what name he put it under. And I have like, a billion contacts in my phone since Aunt Celia insists I keep all our business contacts in my phone instead of hers. Isn’t that tragic? I meet the perfect guy, and then because I’m the world’s biggest ditz, I lose him.”
“You’re not a ditz. I think maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Samuel says and is cut off as our waitress stops at the third floor’s landing and turns to us with her trademark grin, “Here we are, just follow me.”
“Sure thing,” Samuel says.
As we follow her through the dining area, I note that it’s laid out much differently than the first two floors. Here, there are no circular tables that allow guests to view each other with ease.
Instead, booths line the right and left walls, and they’re huge, the kind that seat about fifteen people. Each of them are situated beside tall windows that offer breathtaking views of the evening sky.
In addition to the booths laid out on either side of the floor are three large closed-off private dining areas directly in front of us. All three of them are accessed through glass doors, which offer the only view into each room.
One of the glass doors opens and a woman with so much botox and plastic surgery that she looks like a science experiment exits with a cell phone to her ear, which she’s whisper-shouting into.
I follow her with my eyes, my mouth falling open as I realize she’s no run-of-the-mill science experiment, but one of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills’ most disliked stars.
“Wow,” I mutter.
Samuel, not hearing me and oblivious to the identity of the woman who’s now passing us to get to the stairway, says, “When something’s supposed to happen, it happens. And when it randomly goes wrong, there’s a reason for that. I know that sounds simplistic. But as far as I can see, that’s how the universe works.”
“Maybe so,” I say, still distracted by our fellow patrons.
As we continue to follow our waitress, I catch glimpses of some of the guests seated at the large booths at our right and left and instantly recognize a well-known actor who stars in all kinds of action movies, an ABN news anchor, and four of the Lakers’ stars all seated together, each paired with a gorgeous woman as they laugh and chat in what looks like a fun conversation.
My heart skips a beat and chills claim my spine
Wow.
I’m in a room full of celebrities.
Dizzy with so much glee I’m able to produce a sincere smile as we approach Heidi’s table, I grin widely and hold out my hand for her to shake as she stands.
Completely ignoring me and my outstretched hand, she turns to Samuel and gives him a kiss on the cheek followed by a dainty hug.
I retract my hand, embarrassed, “Hi, Heidi.”
She looks me up and down, one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows arched. Finally, she says, “Well, look at you,” in a slow and meaningful way.
I smooth down my dress and try to ignore the shame that sends heat to my cheeks.
“Yeah, I know,” I chuckle and thrust a thumb in Samuel’s direction, “He’s the looker. I'm the sidekick. Obviously.”
Heidi appraises me with a tilted head and narrowed, calculating, eyes, “If that’s what works for your friendship, then, sure.”
Samuel laughs a hair too loudly and slides one of his arms across my shoulders. “No, it doesn’t work for us,” he says with a joviality that I can tell is forced. “Because it’s not true. But anyhow, long time no see, right, Heidi?”
He chuckles again. This too is forced.
I glance at Samuel and though his eyes are on Heidi he gives my shoulder a quick squeeze.
“I know, right? We’ve seen more of each other in the past 48 hours than I’ve seen of my fiancée all year,” Heidi’s smile returns as she flutters her fake eyelashes at Samuel and then motions to our booth, “Please, have a seat. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us. So, our food will be here within minutes.”
We make ourselves comfortable and I notice a long loose thread near the waistline of my dress.
This is not surprising seeing as I’ve washed the thing at least two hundred times in the seven years that I’ve owned it.
But it’s also an unsettling reminder of how awkward this entire adventure is going to be.
Heidi and Samuel start chatting about the show, and I sit quietly, sipping a glass of ice water as I look at Heidi.
She may be from Baton Rouge, but I can tell it’s nowhere near my Baton Rouge.
Her chocolate skin is so unblemished it looks airbrushed, and her hair is the perfect touch of sunrise gold, colored to perfection. It’s highlighted by the bright yellow strapless mini she wears.
The dress, deceptively simple looking, is made of a thick material that I’m sure makes it worth more than the total of my last three paychecks combined.
Heidi’s gorgeous.
And when she looks at me, she sees someone she can’t relate to, even in the slightest, because I am decidedly not gorgeous.
And in a few weeks, I’m going to be in a house full of women just like her.
Samuel is going to be my only friend.
Except he’ll probably be busy falling in love-
A heavenly smell interrupts my depressing mind-ologue.
I turn left and my eyes widen at the sight of two waitresses carrying large trays, one filled with salads that look more like Picaso pieces than salads and the second tray containing large dishes of fresh pasta covered in an odd looking reddish-black something or other that could pass as a staple on Yoda’s home planet. That said, the alien-looking pasta smells divine.
“Your street corner graffiti salads and fresh gluten free tagliarini sunrise with vegan butter and white truffles,” one of the waitresses says.
“Quickly please,” Heidi snaps, her tone dripping with annoyance, “we’re in the middle of a business meeting.”
I’m so taken by the food, I barely even glare at Heidi for being such a dragon to my fellow food service sisters.
“Of course,” one of the waitresses says in an apologetic tone.
I eye the pasta dishes eagerly, my worries about being friendless on Meet Me at The Altar temporarily taking a backseat to the little piece of heaven being placed before me.
Heidi and Samuel are talking about something, but at this point, I don’t even hear them.
All I see is the alien food I plan on tearing into like a wolf.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling at the waitress as she sets a large plate of pasta and a small abstract portrait of a salad in front of me.
She nods and the two women scurry away before Heidi can yell at them for no reason again.
I pick up my fork, ready to dig in when I realize I’m the only one doing so.
Pausing with my fork midair, I glance at Samuel and he’s staring at Heidi wide-eyed.
“Are you serious?” he slowly asks. “Tomorrow?”
I frown. “Tomorrow what?”
Ignoring me, Heidi says, “I’m not MMAA’s only producer, and everyone has a say in how the show is designed. So, another producer wanted to add a few twists, and that means we need to shoot earlier than anticipated. But it’s no biggie. This just means we’ll wrap even sooner than anticipated. Which is good, right?”
“Uh,” Samuel blinks back at her.
She smiles and continues on as if he’s said, “Yes, Heidi, that’s great, you goddess, you!”
“I knew you’d understand,” Heidi says with a gorgeous grin, “So, we’ll need you in the mansion tomorrow. And I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you. Living in a mansion with twenty beautiful women and a full service staff. The stuff of dreams, right?”
I drop my fork and as it clangs against the pasta plate, Heidi jumps, startled.
“Sorry,” I automatically say, so floored I hardly notice the dirty look she gives me. “We’re starting everything tomorrow?”
Heidi’s brief jaunt with positivity comes to an end.
Sighing, she says, “Yes. That is what I just said. Twice. Tomorrow you and Samuel will begin your stay at the mansion. The day will be used to prepare for shooting, and the next day, we commence with filming. Would you like for me to repeat it a third and fourth time? Or, are we good?”
“Oh, my god,” I mutter as Samuel curses under his breath.
“Is this really a problem for you two?” Heidi looks at both of us like we’ve lost our minds.
Samuel, quickly bouncing back, shakes his head. “No, we’re surprised. That’s all. But, tomorrow is just going to have to work.” He turns to me and smiles, “We’re good with that. Right?”
I shrug helplessly, “Yeah.”
“Wonderful,” Heidi seems to relax and sits back in her seat as she picks up her fork.
I glance at her meal and notice it only includes a half portion of the street corner graffiti salad, which is basically a thin slice of cucumber, one pea with a dot of something red on it, shards of kale and what appears to be glitter on top of it all. She doesn’t even have the pasta dish like me and Samuel.
Heidi dives into the salad like it’s actual food and gestures as she speaks, “The girls are just wonderful. We picked a great bunch. I mean, you’ll have to watch your back of course, Sam. One or two of them are all about the money. But for the most part, they’re down-to-earth and as easy to get along with as any of your friends back home. You’ll both fit right in with them.”
This gives me hope and I nod, “That’s good.”
“Yeah, it is,” Samuel smiles brightly as he picks up his fork and goes for the salad in front of him. “This is exciting.”
I reclaim my fallen fork and start on my pasta while Heidi tosses her long hair and dons a smug expression, “And I’ve demanded this show be as diverse as our viewing audience. So, you will not be the only POC talent. There are three other Black contestants, two Hispanic women, and a contestant who was born in Mainland, China.”
My heart lifts even more.
“That’s awesome,” I say, “This is exciting.”
And I actually mean it this time.
“Yes,” Heidi says, picking up her glass of water and looking from me to Samuel, “I think you’ll both enjoy yourselves.”
She gives us a coy smile, which Samuel eagerly returns.
But I pause mid-chew, watching Heidi and wondering if the suspicious nature of her grin is something to be concerned about, or if it’s just a byproduct of being a Bridezilla who probably eats nothing more than a half a salad a day.
***
Our bellies full of weird looking yet delicious pasta, the most heavenly cheesecake I’ve ever had, and our brains just as full with everything Heidi’s told us about tomorrow, Samuel and I walk along the street leading back to our hotel.
LA’s forever-golden daytime has been replaced by a blanket of night and I take a deep breath as I look around, my gaze going from the busy traffic at Samuel’s left to the interesting looking people who pass us on the sidewalk. Everywhere I look feels exciting, new, and full of possibilities.
We’ve been quiet since we asked our driver to drop us off a couple of blocks away from our hotel, telling the driver we wanted to walk off the gobzillion pounds of food we just ate.
But now, Samuel clears his throat and speaks hesitantly, “So, how are you feeling about tomorrow?”
He glances at me as I say, “I can’t believe it, but I’m actually excited. You are too, right? You seemed like it at dinner.”
Samuel nods, “I am, yeah. I really am.”
I believe him, but I give him a second glance, because his tone says he’s holding something back.
“But?” I prod.
He laughs, “I can’t hide anything from you.”
“Nope.”
He chuckles again.
“I just,” he shakes his head, “Well, it’s not something I want to hide, I have to say it, I just want to make sure I say it the right way. But I have to say it…”
His voice trails off mysteriously and I turn away from the sight of a man dressed as a pirate running past us to look at Samuel.
Samuel’s gaze is straight ahead, but his eyes are wide and he looks like he’s seeing his own thoughts instead of what’s in front of us.
Even so, he turns to me and stops walking.
“Lu,” he touches my arm, “I know we’re doing this show and it’s going to involve a lot of awkward situations with a lot of people, but I just want you to know…”
As he pauses and gulps, like his throat has suddenly gone dry with nerves, I realize what’s happening.
I smile instantly.
This is why I love Samuel so much.
He’s reassuring me that no matter who he ends up choosing -because we both know that despite his best intentions to choose me so we can share the reward, he’s going to end up with some gorgeous hot momma who steals his heart and hopefully not his cash- we’ll always be friends.
He’s being honest with himself and with me, because he values our friendship.
I already want to hug him, but I hold back instead of talking over him.
After all, I hate it when people do that to me, even when they already know what I’m going to say.
Everyone has a right to express themselves without being interrupted.
So, I watch my adorable friend shift on his feet and turn slightly red as he says, “Whatever happens during this show, there’s no one I could really fall in love with except you.”
My smile fading, I stare at Samuel and fear I’ve had a stroke. The kind where you hear people say things that they’re not really saying. Or maybe that’s schizophrenia?
I don’t know. All I know is I’m sure something’s wrong with my brain, because it’s misinterpreting the words that are coming out of Samuel’s mouth.
I look at his lips and then at his eyes, which are still wide and sort of nervous looking.
“What?” I ask, my voice cracking.
His face growing even more crimson, Samuel says, “I’m trying to tell you, I already chose. It’s you. If you… well, if you feel the same way about me, which, if you don’t. That’s okay. I’ve been rejected before. I’d still hope we can be friends, of course.”
He takes a deep breath and appears to have regained some control over his nerves.
He smiles at me, his confidence slowly returning, and chuckles, “You look scared to death. Am I really that bad? Maybe it’s my breath? I can floss more.”
I laugh because that’s the only function my body seems capable of at the moment.
“You…” I try to form words but the only ones that come out of my mouth are, “Me? You like me? For serious?”
Samuel chuckles and takes a step towards me before smoothing his hand along my right arm. A familiar gesture. Something he’s done frequently over the years. But now it’s different.
“From the moment we first met,” he softly says.
I stare at him, elated yet suspicious and, more than anything wanting to cry tears of confused joy.
I laugh again and bring a hand to my mouth, covering it.
“What?” I look around at the people passing us as we stand in the middle of the sidewalk. My gaze returning to Samuel, I ask the first real question that pops into my mind, “Why tell me now?”
“Because we’re about to do this show,” he says, “which I’m grateful for because of the money. But otherwise, it’s a terrible idea and I don’t want to do it, Lu. I really don’t. I mean, I’m going to be in awkward situations with strange women and if things were the other way around,
I wouldn’t want to see you with a bunch of strange guys. You know what I mean?”
I nod.
“So, I want you to know,” Samuel takes a deep breath and looks into my eyes as he says, “none of what happens will be real. What I feel for you, that’s real.”
I grin and nod again, too breathless to speak.
Samuel chuckles a little, as if my shock is amusing. I guess it probably is.
Kind of like those amusing little YouTube videos where magicians perform magic tricks for orangutans.
In this case, Samuel is magic and I’m the shocked orangutan.
“And,” he takes a step towards me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my left ear, “when I couldn’t find you today, I overreacted. And afterwards, it hit me why. And it’s because I care about you in a way I haven’t wanted to admit. But now, it’s just stupid to keep repressing it. You know what I mean?”
Yes, I do know.
But I don’t say this.
Too overcome with emotion to function I just stare at him and laugh. Finally, I look down and whisper, “Wow,” as I shake my head.
This is too good to be true. Is this actually happening?
Samuel clears his throat and when I look up, his smile is faltering. “Am I freaking you out?”
Barely able to speak, I whisper, “In a good way,” and decide to use my lips for something better than speaking.
I lean forward and right there on some street in Los Angeles, I kiss Samuel Kraddick for the very first time.
The End