‘Of course it does. Look. He’s four. If we can manage the way his story is told now, it will become the accepted account of his life. Once he’s old enough to realize we’re his real parents, it won’t be a big deal.’
‘Except when he figures out that you and I were happy-happy at least once, which should absolutely be our secret code word for sex.’ I flutter my lashes and affect a feminine voice. ‘Reid, since you have River this weekend, I’m going to happy-happy my new personal trainer!’
‘Shut up.’ She punches me in the arm just hard enough to bruise. ‘I don’t do people who work for me. Gross. And trust me, you’ve been getting a lot more happy-happy than I have recently.’
‘Jealous?’ She tries to punch me again and I block her and laugh. ‘Didn’t you say you’d decided to do the season finale of Life’s a Beach, along with that brainless beefcake you were involved with – what’s his name – Xavier something-or-other? I’m sure he’d be game for a little happy-happy.’
Hiding her face, she laughs. ‘Ugh! We were involved all of once – he was all pretty and no skill.’
‘Unlike yours truly.’ Grinning wickedly, I waggle my brows and she rolls her eyes.
‘Christ, your ego always was ginormous. Unbelievably, it appears to have grown. How does your new girlfriend handle that thing? Or is that what you like about her being an ordinary girl – ass over elbows because hot superstar Reid Alexander is paying attention to her.’
I feel like she’s just poked my good mood with a pin. ‘Dori’s not like that.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’s never been awestruck by me or impressed by the whole celebrity thing, whether I wanted her to or not. She doesn’t think of me like that.’
She arches a brow. ‘So you say. But you can’t escape who you are, Reid, and neither can she.’
And with those words, Brooke verbalizes exactly what I’m worried about. The odd solidarity building between us today served as somewhat of a distraction from my uneasiness concerning Dori, but that’s all it was – a distraction.
‘I’m going to step outside and call her,’ I say.
But of course, Dori doesn’t answer. I disconnect when it rolls to voicemail, and then send her another text, in which I try to sound like I’m not about to lose it because she hasn’t answered me since she got out of my car forty-eight hours ago.
22
DORI
Reid: You never told me how you did in the exam. Everything okay? Depressed to be the ripe old age of 19?
I stare at Reid’s last text again and know I have to answer him. He’s in Austin, with the mother of his child – who I didn’t know existed until two days ago. All Sunday evening, I thought about what he said. How he hadn’t known the baby was his. That he didn’t know how to tell me.
I inferred from these words that he didn’t want to tell me at all, and I should be angry or tolerant or hurt over the lie. I am all those things – but over his child’s existence, not over the fact that he didn’t tell me. Once I got over the shock of it, I can see why he didn’t want to tell me.
Because he feared I’d react like this. Maybe he even knew I would.
It’s been hours since that last text, but when I answer it, he replies immediately.
Me: I survived the exam. 19 is a weird age to be. I think I should feel older. Or younger. I can’t decide.
Reid: I’ll give you a heads-up on 20 in 3.5 weeks. I suspect it may be more of the same.
Me: At least it will be a different decade. Observable progress.
Reid: True.
Reid: We met with Brooke’s attorney and caseworker. They’re going to try to make this as simple as possible, so the process isn’t extended thanks to me joining it.
Reid: Can I call you now? Or tomorrow night when I’m home?
Me: I’ve got a study group in a few minutes and a guest lecturer symposium tomorrow.
Reid: Ok. I’m heading to Utah on Thursday morning to start shooting scenes there, but I’ll text you.
A few photos of our night out in San Francisco made it on to the gossip sites. It took a couple of days for anyone to identify me, and even still, there are sceptics – because in that blue dress and heels and Reid’s shoulder partially blocking my face, I look nothing at all like that girl from Habitat. Nothing like an ordinary girl from LA.
The most vocal disbelievers think I’m someone minor from his last film, or the new one that begins shooting in a couple of days. According to rumours, taking a bed-to-bed sampling of the female cast members is customary for Reid Alexander. I’ve tried to get Kayla and Aimee to stop sending me links to the photos and stories – but they’re far too excited to ‘know’ a celebrity like Reid.
My mind drifts back a few months, to when we’d begun hanging out at his place, to the night I taunted him about having a popular novel with predominantly female fans on his bedside table. Brushing aside my snarky tone, he informed me he was up for the lead role in the film, as though this was no big deal. Deliberately, he gave me that lazy smile and asked if I thought he could bring him to life on the big screen.
He knew exactly what those words would do, once unleashed in my imagination.
Before I could hide my astonishment, he teased me by guessing that I was one of those ‘brainy’ girls who only got in trouble for reading past lights-out. (I was.) Before I left that night, he’d kissed me – a lot – while a tiny sliver of my mind’s eye was unable to stop picturing him as that brooding character I knew too well.