Silver Lining
The next few weeks were consumed by Ashe’s schedule. With photo shoots and interviews to publicize an upcoming movie he’d filmed a year earlier, his mornings were spent on make-up chairs and in front of photographers and show hosts. Every evening he performed onstage as Coriolanus, with two performances on Saturdays and Sundays.
It was exactly what he needed. While this hectic schedule left him with barely enough time and energy to function, Riley moved out. He knew it was going to happen; he had expected it but he was still bereft.
During one of the rare moments they’d had alone together, four days after that dreadful evening, they’d had a simple conversation. For once neither Lance nor Ben was hovering, reminding Ashe of some appointment, interview or photo shoot.
“I think it would be best if I move out,” she’d said as they were having a late lunch at Le Bernardin. They’d barely started on the appetizer. “You need your space, especially with everything that’s going on right now.”
“You mean you need your space?”
“That, too. You’re still edgy as if you’re wondering what Catriona still has up her sleeve,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I just think it’s best for us not to live together right now. It’s not like we’re breaking up or anything, it’s just—life. We’ll never get to see each other, what with your crazy schedule and me taking full ownership of the café, changing the name and decor and overseeing the alterations, hiring new baristas and training them.”
She was rambling, of course, because they were breaking up. It was better than silence. Ashe reached for her hand over the table and was grateful that she didn’t pull away. She’d been easing away from him since the party, trying to be subtle about it, discouraging him even when all he wanted was to gaze at her. Sometimes she’d pretend to be asleep when he wanted to hold her. Ashe couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t in her nature to be confrontational, and she had just been waiting for the right time to tell him.
As he looked at her from across the table, he felt a hollowness in his chest growing wider and deeper with each passing minute. He wanted to tell her to reconsider, to stay with him, for there was so much ahead of them. However, he also understood her need to stand apart from him, to stop being seen simply as ‘his girlfriend, the former drug addict’ or ‘just a barista’.
“I wish I could turn back time; we’d have stayed at home that night.”
“But you can’t.” She squeezed his hand. “They say to be careful what you wish for, and it was what I wanted to see—you in your world or your old world … I don’t know. All I know is that I should have listened to you and stayed home.”
“I wish you’d reconsider, Riley, I really do.”
“I have considered it, many times,” Riley replied. “I do think we need to start over. Maybe I just jumped into this relationship thing with you too fast and I’m the one who needs the time to do things on my own and not have you take care of all of them. Think about it, Ashe. This thing with the book, Catriona and the paparazzi. It’s true, some of it you needed to take care of, like … like your crazy ex-girlfriend. But my Dad, the book, and Paige, you didn’t need to take care of those things. They’re my responsibility, not yours. It will give you time to focus on the play and your career for a change, and it will give me time to be me,” she paused, sighing, “and grow up. Really grow up and accept that not everything is as rosy as I tell myself they will be. You also can’t keep saving me all the time either.”
For a month after Riley and Miss Bailey moved out Ashe worked himself ragged if only to stop himself from thinking about her in his empty condo. What was the point of owning such a beautiful place when she wasn’t there to come home to?
They saw each other for lunch two or three times a week, but it wasn’t the same; they were always in a rush. He was due at the theater or some interview, and she had meetings with city planning officials, architects, and general contractors. He felt left out of her life, and nervous that she’d make the wrong decision over a light bulb for the coffee shop or which wood paneling to choose. At least her next-door neighbor, Wayne, was helping her with the overall design now that Ashe was out of the picture, although Riley still sent him all the floor plans out of habit. And being her angel investor, she even sent him the list of expenses.
It was some consolation that the moments they spent together weren’t limited to those rushed lunches. When Broadway went dark on Monday nights, Ashe spent the evening with Riley, turning down invitations to dinners and parties at the Standard or the Polo Lounge as much as possible.
Word had gone around that Ashe Hunter was back on the market, his engagement broken. He didn’t know exactly how the story had started, but someone had photographed Riley loading her luggage into a cab in front of his building and had run with the story. It was more exciting than the news of his engagement because the break-up had ensued so quickly. One theory doing the rounds was that he’d learned of Riley’s arrest record and dumped her, while others maintained that Riley had learned of his BDSM history and had promptly dropped him.
Lance and Ben were at a loss as to how the stories had started, nor did Betty have any idea, though she did nothing to deny the various theories when asked by reporters. “No comment,” was her favorite response, which was almost akin to saying that whatever theories they came up with about Ashe being unattached were probably the truth. Betty believed that news of Ashe being back on the market was better than no news at all, regardless of the reason behind his alleged split; any day when Ashe was in the public eye was a good day for his publicist.
“It’s not like you’re running naked through Central Park or getting yourself strung out on drugs. Or worse, walking out of a hotel with some new girl hanging all over you,” she told Ashe one afternoon when they met for a late lunch. Even though he was known to be reclusive, Betty made sure to position him in the public eye, scheduling him for editorials on fashion and lifestyle magazines to help promote his current and future projects and making use of his previous career as a model. At least he had future projects to promote, and most of his endorsements remained the same.
For his latest editorial shoot, he had modeled five suits and tuxedos from high-end designers, trying to ‘smolder’ (the photographer’s words, not his) as he leaned against doorways and looked out the window of a hotel. The last shot showed him reclining in front of a full-length window overlooking Manhattan, with his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned abs. At least the work-out sessions were paying off; he definitely had more time to do them now that he was spending less time with Riley.
“But I have to say that I love this new look of yours; very chiseled like you’ve matured,” Betty added, retrieving her phone and pulling up an app on her screen. “The photographer sent me some shots from your shoot yesterday and your abs are to die for, Ashe! He posted a few of them on his social media accounts, and naturally, all the lifestyle and entertainment rags snatched them up.”
Ashe sipped his water and smiled vaguely as Betty scrolled through pictures with the hashtag #AsheHunter. He could tell Betty that he had abs ‘to die for’ because he was too miserable to do anything but work out, act, eat and sleep. What was the point? Since Riley had moved out, everything in his life had become bland. For one thing, Riley wasn’t testing a new recipe for him to taste and he even found himself missing the failures, the ones that ended too bland, too salty, or burned. Nothing made him happy; not even accolades, applause or standing ovations. He was back to smiling his rehearsed smile, the one that Riley always called his perma-smile because it didn’t reach his eyes. When he wasn’t smiling his expression was somber, and why not? She was gone. Why did falling in love hurt so much?
“How’s Riley?” asked Betty, breaking into his thoughts. “Date night tonight?”
“She’s well. Yes, it’s date night tonight,” replied Ashe as Betty gave him a commiserating smile. “She’s turning out to be quite a businesswoman as she brings the Library into its next incarnation.”
“After almost ten years, it was overdue. Thank goodness she’s taking over; the place was starting to look really run-down but I think it was mostly because of all those books. If she replaced the shelf area with more tables, that place would be rocking,” Betty said. “I think she knows it; that’s why she’s renovating, right?”
“Right.”
“I hear paps are still hanging out there,” added Betty.
“There are two of them who still wait outside every day,” replied Ashe. “They’re there before Lance and Ben arrive for their coffee.”
“So you have them on a sort of stake-out at the Library?” Betty asked, frowning. “Why?”
“Because paparazzi have been following Riley ever since Catriona showed up in the picture and they haven’t stopped, not even after our … separation. For the past three or four weeks, at 8:45 a.m. on the dot, they pull out their cameras and they leave at 9:15,” said Ashe. “Monday to Friday, as regular as clockwork.”
“Are you there at that time? Is that why they’re taking pictures?”
Ashe shook his head. “No.”
“Then who? Is there another celebrity hanging out there? Gareth, maybe?”
“Definitely not,” replied Ashe. “Gareth doesn’t go there these days.”
“Oh well, who knows what they’re after. As long as you’re showing up in whatever your stylist recommends and not in your PJs, you’re fine,” said Betty, stirring her iced tea. Ashe nodded; with various designers sending him clothes to wear, he had every trip outside his front door covered. He had his own favorite pieces of clothing, but sometimes it didn’t hurt to wear the latest new thing—a beanie, a pair of jeans or a blazer. Even his choice of sunglasses made it onto the fashion pages, and no matter where the pictures appeared, Betty always made sure to credit the designers. It was all about his brand, after all.
“Have you heard the news about Collette and Catriona?” asked Betty as the waitress brought their food to the table. Ashe shook his head, thanking the waitress as she placed a plate of Thai chicken pizza in front of him.
“Do I want to?”
“Well, it’s been a few months since you and Gareth dropped her as your manager, and I’ve just heard that two other clients have let her go as well. They’re really big clients; I’m sure you know who they are.”
“Did they say why?” enquired Ashe, though he didn’t care who the big clients were or whether he knew them. He was too busy to think about anything else.
“Word got out about the money she took from an investor.”
“What money?”
“Eighty thousand dollars which she took as a ‘Fast Track to Fame’ fee, which apparently doesn’t sit very well with some people. Who knows how that story got around? It’s doing some pretty hefty damage if you ask me,” Betty replied. “Many people have stolen a lot more.”
Ashe frowned. Eighty thousand dollars was the same amount that Collette had taken as her fee from the hundred grand with which Clint had provided her to get Gareth and Riley out of New York and settled in Los Angeles. Was Betty talking about the same thing? As far as Ashe knew, what Collette had done and the amount she’d made from it had never been announced in the media.
“Isn’t Catriona one of her clients?” he asked.
“Catriona is the only high-profile client she has left,” Betty replied. “She’s got other up-and-coming actors under her wing, but nothing like the last two who’ve just let her go.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because word is out that Catriona and Collette are in talks with a studio about a movie based on her life,” replied Betty. “Prop or not, that leaked BDSM contract’s got legs, from what I hear.”
“Is Abe involved?” asked Ashe, remembering how Abe had pre-empted the leaked contract by claiming it was a prop for a project in development.
“No, not Reign or you’d have heard about it from Abe, I’m sure,” answered Betty. “No, this one’s with another outfit. Cougar trains a boy, that sort of thing. You know how those BDSM stories are taking the world by storm at the minute. Who cares if the last movie bombed with the critics? It’s still making money, tons of it, and now people want to know the secrets of a Dominatrix; a real one training a young man to be a Dom. You’re the young man.”
“Good for her,” he said. He’d mellowed since his last encounter with Catriona. Riley was right; he’d been a different man since Catriona had reappeared in his life. Now that he hadn’t heard from her in almost four weeks, he’d relaxed. Whatever was going to happen would happen. He’d lost one product endorsement contract for a carbonated drink in Japan, but other than that, nothing had changed.
“‘Good for her’?” exclaimed Betty. “Those two women are going to ruin you, Ashe!”
“Let them try,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Bets. If Catriona is so desperate to reveal to the world what I truly was or that she made me, then let her. Time will tell whose career will survive the longer.”
Betty’s eyes narrowed as she watched him, then she shrugged. “Well, if you’re not worried about it then I won’t be. I just thought I’d let you know. Besides, it’s not like you lost all of your endorsements, just that one in Japan. Lucky for you, being a Master doesn’t hurt selling cognac or fast cars.”
“Before I forget, these are the paparazzi who’ve been stalking the Library,” said Ashe, pulling out his phone and pulling up a picture on the display. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his past any longer. “Do you know them?” He pointed to two men sitting in an old Honda Civic, the long lens of one man’s camera resting on the open window.
“I don’t know their names, but they’re freelancers, and they’ll take any job you throw at them as long as the price is right,” replied Betty, grimacing. “Are you sure it’s not Riley they’re photographing? They wouldn’t need to hang out five days a week to do that, though. I think we’ve spun her ring enough in the press.”
“She doesn’t wear it to work,” said Ashe. “Lance said the men wait in their car or stand outside looking in as if they’re searching for someone; it’s not Riley because she doesn’t come in until after lunch. As I said, they turn up first thing in the morning.
According to the lads, it’s not me either. I joined them last week, and those paps didn’t even take one shot of me.”
“Ouch! That must have hurt,” said Betty, chuckling. “So who could they be trying to photograph? It has to be someone more important than you.”
Ashe texted a message on his phone and set it aside. “I’ll find out tomorrow. I’ve just told the lads I’m joining them for coffee in the morning; in my jammies, if necessary.”