CHAPTER SEVEN
Curiosity Killed the Relationship
“Thought he'd never leave."
I heard the voice before I saw its source, and it made me jump like a cat on an electrified grate. “Fuck! Adam, you scared the hell out of me!”
What was it with guys just showing up out of nowhere? Adam emerged from around the corner of the building, swaying on his feet in the driveway. He was wearing his suit from the night before, although it was now rumpled and the tie was gone. The light, floaty feeling of being with Nick escaped me like air from a deflating balloon.
“What are you doing here?" I said, wrapping my sweater around my body.
"You didn't answer my text." The words came out slurred. He might have been drunk or high, maybe both.
“No I didn’t. So what made you think skulking around my house at five in the morning was a good idea?"
“Your lights were on. Figured it was either a late night or an early morning. Looks like it was both." I didn’t like the way he leered at me with his mocking, skeleton grin.
“Go home. I have nothing to say to you.” I started walking back to the stairs.
“Nick Archer, huh?”—he clicked his tongue—“Moving up in the world I see.”
“That’s none of your business.“
“Come on, Katie," I bristled at the nickname, then reminded myself he was using it deliberately to annoy me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I kept walking but he carried on rambling, oblivious. “That dude can’t make you happy. You’re just another pretty piece of ass to him. He doesn’t know you like I do.”
“You don’t know me at all.” I paused to look at him. There was nothing left of the affection I once felt. Only revulsion.
“Sure I do.” He leaned so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I backed away. His laugh was dry and brittle. “I know how much you love that crappy apartment of yours. I know you belt out Adele songs in the shower. And when you step out you smell like peaches. I know what turns you on and the squeaking sound you make in the back of your throat when you come. I can revisit that memory anytime I want.“
He tapped his temple. I let out a disgusted groan. He’d seen too many movies. He thought he was being menacing, but he didn’t have the acting chops for it. Instead he came off as infantile and whiny. Plus, he was so wasted I could have knocked him over with a finger.
“You can leave now or stay and explain yourself to the cops. Your choice.“ I turned around and continued walking.
He called out, “Don’t kid yourself, Katie! You think Nick Archer is going to sweep in and save you from your pathetic, boring life? Like in a stupid fucking movie? Get real.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said over my shoulder. “He’s a good guy. Not that you’d understand.”
“You sure about that, babe?”
As I climbed the stairs I tried to control the tremors of anger pulsing through my body. When I reached the top I forced myself to face him, maintaining my cool with tremendous effort. “Don't call me babe."
“You don’t want to piss me off, Katie.” His expression darkened. He climbed a few steps and stopped about halfway up. “There might be some things lover boy doesn’t want getting out there. I’m just saying.”
Adam was baiting me. Had to be. He’d always been full of shit. I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to see it. Yet there was something about the way he talked about Nick that made me uneasy.
“This conversation is over,” I said to Adam as I opened the door. “Stay away from me or I’m getting a restraining order.“ I stepped inside and slammed the door without looking back.
People who knew both Adam and I often wondered how we ended up together. On the surface, we were nothing alike. Born and raised in Malibu, he embodied the California stereotype, handsome in a boyish sort of way, with a mess of floppy, bleach-blond hair and skin the color of a toasted almond. He had a lithe, surfer’s body, though he didn’t surf much. He hated sand and saltwater, but most of all he hated getting up early in the morning.
I was a navy brat who moved five times before high school, until my mom divorced my dad and came out to Los Angeles to be closer to my grandparents. I was petite, but average in every other way. I’d lived in L.A. since the age of 14, but my skin was so pale I could have passed for a tourist. Despite the superficial differences, though, Adam and I actually shared a lot of common ground. In the beginning, at least.
We met on the set of a movie I was covering for a now-defunct entertainment magazine. I was a freelancer, fresh out of journalism school and looking for a break. He was an aspiring actor. He had a small part in a big movie, which meant a lot of "hurry up and wait" on the set — short bursts of activity followed by long periods of standing around doing nothing. I noticed him leaning against a wall by the craft services table. Adam could lean like no one I’ve ever met, stretching out his long frame to claim a wall or doorway or the edge of a table as his own personal space. I was struck by his casual confidence, how he was so at ease in such a chaotic environment. I asked him the way to the bathroom and when I came back he was still there, waiting for me by the snacks. We bonded over our mutual love of black licorice and agreed on the pointlessness of two-bite brownies. He went home with my phone number on a napkin in the back pocket of his chinos.
Adam's acting career never really took off. If he'd put any sort of effort into the craft he might have had a decent shot at it, but that wasn't his style. While my friends who wanted to be actors busted their asses in workshops, performed in showcases, and auditioned all over town, Adam hung out with his buddies and let the jobs come to him. Some did. He had a part on a soap for a while, filmed a pilot that didn’t go to series, and landed a few speaking roles in primetime dramas. He was scarily good on an episode of Law & Order in which he played a rich playboy accused of murdering his girlfriend. I should have known something was off then. I found out too late he didn't really want to be an actor at all. What he really wanted was to be famous.
When the cash started rolling in I didn't question it. He came from money and always seemed to have it, so the change was hardly noticeable. He liked to spend, especially on me. It’s easy to pass judgment, but when you go from being a broke college grad to living the life of the privileged one-percenter overnight the change in altitude can be dizzying. It wasn't unusual for him to charter a private plane to Vegas for the weekend or reserve a luxury box for a Lakers game at the last minute. Clothes, electronics, concert tickets, all I had to do was ask and he’d put it on his black card. And yeah, maybe I didn’t question it because I didn’t want to. I enjoyed the perks, so much I couldn’t be bothered with any nagging doubts. I was really good at rationalizing.
It all came crashing down about three weeks before our second anniversary. I’ve always been curious by nature, which is a nice way of saying nosy. I shake Christmas gifts, read spoilers online, jump ahead to the ends of books. It’s part of the reason I wanted to become a journalist. So when Adam dropped a few hints about some big trip he was planning for the holidays I couldn't help myself. I snuck a peek at his laptop one morning while he was in the shower to search for clues about where he was taking me. Instead, I discovered his YouTube channel, which led me to the home page for his celebrity sex video site. There were at least four videos starring Adam, performing for the camera with different aspiring starlets. They were all dated within the last year.
I broke up with him as soon as he got out of the shower, droplets of water trailing from the ends of his straw-colored hair, making small dark circles on the towel at his waist. I cut Adam out of my life, stopped answering his calls, and ignored his messages. I pretended I wasn't home when he knocked on my door. He sent me flowers, food, jewelry, even a brand new laptop. I sent them all back. I only kept up with him online, and I did it anonymously, so he wouldn’t know. Even as his following on YouTube grew and he became a social media star, I managed to avoid contact with him in person. Our two-year relationship may have lacked a sense of closure, but this strategy had served me well. Right up until the morning he showed up at my door to ruin what might have otherwise been a perfect night with someone I actually cared for.