Page 80 of Anyone But the Superstar

Too busy trying to help my mother, I bought Camilla the dress, hoping it was her weird way of collecting some sort of break-up alimony. Like maybe that’s how celebrities and socialites say they’re sorry.

I should’ve known better.

It was as if the dress was Camilla’s test, and once I passed (or failed, depending on how you look at it), she felt free to do and say whatever she wanted.

When she wore the dress, she told everyone I bought it forher. I couldn’t deny it. This led the press to believe that we were still together.

Her next demand was that Jack get her a job in show business, but I ignored it. Soon after, pictures of me meeting with a previous co-star, a woman currently in the middle of a nasty divorce, were sent to all the newspapers.

‘Felix Jones: Cheater and Home Wrecker’ headlined all the gossip rags that week.

Still, I couldn’t say anything. Because the truth was my friend had graciously met with me during a troubling time to give me the benefit of her experience after she had to admit her soon to be ex-husband into rehab earlier that year.

The only smart decision I made was to confide in Jack. Because when I did, he did three things – got Camilla a part in a popular reality TV show, hired a ferocious gang of lawyers, and did not blame me. For Camilla or my mother.

But he should’ve.

Pushing off my knees, I stand, staring into the bathroom’s oval mirror.

Knock. Knock. ‘You okay?’ Anne’s soft voice barely travels through the thick wood door.

‘Be right out.’ I wash my hands to stall some more, then re-don the role of unaffected man.

Taking a breath, I open the door.

‘You okay?’ She repeats the question I never answered.

Flashing her a dimmer version of my red-carpet smile, I begin my act. ‘Fine.’ The small smile is part of the expression I use whenever I’m asked something I don’t want to answer. The one that usually gets me out of tough spots.

Yet I’m not surprised when Anne’s frown doesn’t clear. Like she can see right through me. Like she’s used to people gaslighting her.

Folding her arms across her chest, skepticism written all over her expression. ‘Uh huh.’ But after a moment, when I remain quiet, the suspicion morphs into concern. ‘Oh my God.’ She grabs hold of my arm. ‘Did something happen with your mom?’ Her grip tightens. ‘Is that what the phone call was about?’

Earlier, before I braved my childhood fears and collared a cat in rhinestones, I would’ve thought Anne’s questions sweet. That she cared, not only for me, but for my mother. But now, with her cheerful lace albatross of a dress staring me dead in the eye, I can’t help but see her questions as probing. Her grip as desperate. And I wonder if the real reason she told me she liked me was because her internship is at an end and that was the only way to prolong her connection to information she could use later?

One more question I don’t have the answer to.

Someone’s laugh echoes down the hall.

The sound, loud and carefree, much like Anne’s on the night we first met, makes me determined to get answers to that question, and to all my others. Even if the answers aren’t what I want to hear.

‘Felix?’ Anne’s eyes, wide and blue, probe mine.

Summoning my skills, I wash my expression and answer Anne like I would an interviewer asking questions I don’t want to answer. ‘Everything is fine.’ I gesture down the hall. ‘Shall we go meet your astronauts?’

20

LIZ

Something’s wrong.

And I don’t mean the fact that my sister is apparently not coming. Although thatshouldbe my main concern.

‘Holt, that brisket was fantastic.’ Felix wipes his mouth with his napkin, avoiding my eyes as he’s done the entire meal despite the fact that I’m sitting directly across from him.

‘Hear, hear, bro.’ Rose, sitting to my left at the end of the table, raises her iced tea glass. ‘Although you could’ve just cooked it all here.’

Holt, Rose’s brother, shrugs. ‘I like my kitchen.’