Chatper Twenty-Six
Accelerando: gradually increasing in tempo
Charlie
Thanksgiving to the end of finals week passes in a blur. Homework, practicing, my first round of finals, my first jury. Even though it’s stressful, and I don’t get as much time with Damian as I would like, it’s only a few weeks, and it’s nothing like the long, exhausting grind of touring. There’s a goal and an end date for all of it. And now that it’s over, we get a fun trip together as a reward to go see Jonathan and Gabby get married.
Lauren knocks on my door as I’m packing and sticks her head inside. “You guys staying here tonight? Or meeting up in the morning?”
“Here. Damian’s coming over in a couple of hours, so I’m trying to get as much packed as possible before then. What about you?”
She comes in and crosses her arms as she props herself against the wall. “My flight’s not till the afternoon.”
I nod, looking back at my suitcase as I place another pair of leggings inside. “You know, if you want to fly with us, I’d pay the extra fee to change your ticket.”
“Nah.” I glance up in time to see her make a dismissive flip of her hand. “Gabby and Jonathan paid for my first class ticket. And I picked the afternoon flight so I wouldn’t have to get up at the butt crack of dawn. Thanks, though.”
With a smirk, I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure dawn is sometime after we’re in the air. Our flight leaves at seven.”
She chuckles, but it’s the kind of semi-forced laughter you give someone when you’re only half paying attention to what they’re saying.
I stop packing and face her, noticing that her brows are pulled together. “What? What’s wrong?”
Dropping her arms, she shakes her head. “Nothing. I just still don’t understand why you’re not taking your plane. Wouldn’t it be easier? More pleasant, at least? I’m sure it’s not cheaper, but from what I know, that’s not that big of a deal for you. Hence your offer to pay to change my ticket.”
I go back to my dresser, opening my underwear drawer, even though that was the first thing I packed. Staring blankly at my half-empty drawer, I shake my head. “You know why that’s not really an option.”
She grunts. “He still doesn’t know.”
Pulling out another pair of panties that I don’t actually need, I close the drawer and head back to my suitcase, stuffing them down in the corner. “No. He doesn’t.”
“Why haven’t you told him?”
Sitting on my bed, I toss my hands in the air and let them drop into my lap. “Because. Because right now I’m just Charlie. And I haven’t been just Charlie in … forever. Even before I’d really made it, I was always auditioning, always practicing or taking lessons or working for fame. Partly because I liked singing and dancing and playing piano. But my mom pushed it a lot. Like, I was a bad daughter if I didn’t appreciate all the time and effort she put into paying for my lessons and taking me to performances and auditions. And the way to pay her back was by performing in the things she wanted. I’ve always been guided by other people’s expectations. And here I’m not. Yeah, there’s the degree plan and all that, but I chose to be here. I chose to do this. And I don’t want the fame thing, the craziness that comes with it, to overshadow everything else. For once I’m being pushed, challenged, encouraged to grow and learn and do more. For me. Based on my actual abilities, not my connections or how cute I am or sexy I am or whatever. People give me real answers to questions. Not sycophants telling me what they think I want to hear in hopes they can get something out of me.”
I swallow, looking up at her. “You’re the only one here who knows who I am. And while you don’t use it against me or to try to get stuff out of me, even though I know you’d love to ride on my plane”—that has her cracking a smile—“it’s not the same kind of grasping and using that most people do. I can guarantee you at least half the department would sell me out to the paparazzi if they knew.”
Moving closer, she sits at my desk chair. “Okay, I get that. But Damian? You think he’d sell you out? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know you guys love each other.”
I nod, swallowing. “Yeah, we do. And no, I don’t think he’d sell me out. But I don’t want how he looks at me to change. Don’t you think finding out you’re actually dating the world’s missing pop princess would change how you looked at your girlfriend?”
“Well, you know I don’t swing that way.”
“Ha. Be serious.”
Her wry smile fades, and she focuses on a point over my shoulder before returning her gaze to mine. “Yeah. Okay. I can see where you’re coming from. But I think it’s risky to go to this wedding with him and not tell him in advance. How long do you think you can keep this up?”
I sit up straighter and look at myself in the mirror on the wall opposite my bed, reaching up a hand to adjust my glasses. My hair is freshly dyed and cut. While I’ve started eating healthier meals and stopped the excessive eating from when I first got here and went crazy with my calorie freedom, I’m still at least two sizes bigger than I used to be. “I don’t know. I don’t look anything like Charlotte James right now. Everyone expects the super skinny, blond and pink haired star. Not a girl with brown hair and glasses and a few extra pounds on her hips.”
Lauren gives me a doubtful look. “Okay. If you say so. You want to order something for dinner so we don’t have to wash dishes before we leave tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure. That sounds good.”
Standing, she nods decisively. “Alright. I’ll let you finish packing. When Damian gets here we can decide about food.”
The alarm goes off way too early for my liking, and I hit snooze. But Damian nuzzles the back of my neck, his arm slipping around my waist and up to cup my breast. “Good morning,” he whispers, kissing the skin just below my ear.
I arch back into him, feeling him hard and ready against my butt. “Good morning.”
He gives me a squeeze and lifts up on one arm, letting me go to rub his eyes and reach for his glasses. “What time is it?” Reaching across me again, he hits the button on my phone, the one closest to the edge, and picks it up to read the time, letting out a groan. “God. Why did we decide to get the early flight again?” He drops his head back to the bed, snuggling against me again.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “You thought it’d be nice to have time to relax in the room before the cocktail party scheduled for tonight.”
“I’ve never been to a wedding where there’s a cocktail party for anyone and everyone instead of just a rehearsal dinner for the wedding party.” His voice is muffled against my back.
“You’ve never been to a celebrity wedding where they’ve rented out an entire resort in Montecito and have a specific and detailed plan for managing media attention and who gets first crack at the wedding photos.”
He lifts his head again. “And you have?”
“What?”
“You sound like you’ve done something like this before.”
“Oh, uh, no.” Now I’m just lying, which makes me feel like shit, especially after yesterday’s conversation with Lauren. But how would I explain that? And now, when we’re supposed to be getting up to catch a plane soon, is not the time for that conversation even if I wanted to have it. Which I don’t. Yet. Soon. Maybe. I need to figure that out. Because I don’t like lying and withholding. But I also don’t want to change the dynamic of our relationship.
“Lauren’s in the wedding party, you know. She’s talked a lot about the planning. That’s all.”
“Oh, right. Of course. That makes sense.” He sits up, stretching. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.”
Watching him stride into my bathroom, my gut churns with the thought of telling him everything. Filling him in on all the details of my past and the real reason I barely talk to my parents and why my mom was always so concerned about my weight and eating habits. I know I’ve made her out to sound like a horrible, evil bitch in his mind. To the point that he no longer asks about my parents or if I’ve talked to them or suggests attempting to patch things up. The more little bits I’ve revealed, the more he’s grown to think I’ve escaped the clutches of hyper-controlling psychos and managed to be somewhat normal.
That’s not terribly far off from reality, but it’s not the whole truth. A weird burst of laughter bubbles up at the idea of me being normal. I pass as normal here, but that’d vanish in the flash of a high-end camera if my identity was revealed.
No. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe after the wedding. When there’s some time for his initial shock to wear off before school starts again. Because Damian has the worst poker face. And he’s congenitally unable to tell a convincing lie. I saw him try to lie to his roommates once, and they saw through him as soon as he started talking. It was funny at the time.
But if he tried to cover his shock with them …
No.
It’s too much of a risk. I trust Damian not to sell me out once he gets a chance to come to terms with the new information. But his roommates? I don’t know them well enough to make that call. And even if they didn’t directly call up TMZ, who knows who’d they leak the information to? Once word gets around, there’s no stuffing it back in. My cover would be blown and this life would be over.
After we get back. We’ll have some time to ourselves. That’s when I’ll do it.