Chapter Sixteen
‘You’re late,’ Pete says as I hurry into the diner. I barely had time to shower and run a brush through my hair after Hale and I had finished; the ‘once more’ he had promised had turned into ‘twice more’, and would have been a third if I hadn’t caught sight of my alarm clock just as it ticked over from Fashionably Late to Unfashionably Late to It’s A Good Job You’re The Boss, That’s All I Can Say.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Shower trouble.’
‘I bet. I told Dina she could take off. Figured you’d be along soon enough.’
‘Thanks.’ It’s a good job the place is still mostly empty; Dina, sweet as she is, is really just around to give me and Mom a helping hand. I wouldn’t trust a sixteen year old to be the only wait staff on hand, even though I was more than capable when I was that age. Still, no harm done.
‘Have fun last night?’ Pete asks.
‘Hmm?’
‘On your little date with loverboy.’
‘It wasn’t a date,’ I say, a little defensively than I perhaps would have liked.
Oh, if only you knew.
‘No?’ he asks.
‘Nope. Well, sort of. Maybe.’
‘Saw your boy’s bike parked outside your apartment when I left work last night,’ he grins. ‘Saw it there this morning, too. Funny thing, that.’
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘Funny thing.’
‘You want to be careful,’ he says. ‘People around here just love to talk. Word gets out, you’ll be more popular with the old gossip set than Wheel of Fortune.’
‘So?’ I ask. I mean it, too: why shouldn’t I care? I’m happy. I think Hale’s happy. Hell, I’m one step away from shouting it from the rooftops and getting a notice put in the Eden Enquirer myself. ‘Let them talk, if they want. It’s not like I can do anything about it.’ And I wouldn’t even if I could, I think. Whatever the town might think about Hale, it doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is what I think about him.
And, of course, what he thinks about me.
That’s apparently enough for Pete too. ‘I’m happy for you, kiddo,’ he says, pushing two plates of eggs and toast towards me. ‘So now you can go and make Table Six happy too.’
~~~
Meredith has been in town for all of two days, and she still doesn’t seem like she can quite believe her life has brought her to this; every time I’ve seen her, she’s had a sour expression on her face, like someone who isn’t sure if she’s stepped in dog dirt or if everything surrounding her just smells like that all the time. That’s why, when I see her enter the diner – willingly, I might add, and with a spring in her step – it’s almost difficult to believe it’s the same woman.
‘Coffee, black,’ she says to me as she seats herself at the counter and picks up one of our menu cards. Even the brisk tone can’t hide the fact that she’s smiling while she says it.
‘He’s not here yet,’ I say as I pour.
‘Who’s not here?’
‘Hale. I figure that’s why you’re here? A meeting or something?’
She takes a sip from the coffee, and doesn’t even grimace. ‘Oh, I wasn’t looking for Hale,’ she says. ‘I just thought I’d experience a little of the… local colour, you know?’ I try and ignore the fact that she’s just described my life with the same tone she’d use if she was an explorer making first contact with a tribe of pygmies in the Amazon.
She’s still scanning the menu; it’s hard to believe that she’s still keeping up the pretence of actually wanting to eat here. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘What’s a “grit”, exactly?’
‘A what?’
She points at the laminated card. ‘A grit.’
‘Grits,’ I say. ‘Sort of a… corn-mash thing.’
‘Like polenta?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe?’
‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘Best not.’ In the end, she settles on a grilled cheese sandwich and a salad, which isn’t on the menu – there’s not much call for it, somehow – but which I know Pete at least has the ingredients for, even if he does have to pull them out of individual cheeseburgers.
‘You seem like you’re in a good mood?’ I venture. ‘Everything going well?’
‘Oh, spectacularly. Couldn’t be better.’
‘Anything interesting?’
She smiles. ‘Actually, I was hoping to speak to you about that. Thought I should probably let you know, given that you’re involved now.’
‘Involved?’
Did Hale tell her? He can’t have, surely? I mean, when would he have had the time? And why would he have? It’s not like he ever seemed particularly close to Meredith.
‘I saw you,’ she says. ‘Last night. Going into… what’s the name of that charming little Italian place?’
‘Isabella’s.’
‘Isabella’s,’ she says. ‘That’s the one. I mean, I was going to say hello, but you seemed to be having such a nice time with each other that it seemed almost churlish of me to interrupt you. So I just took a few quick photos of you and left.’
‘You did what?’
‘Photos, darling,’ she says. ‘Not many. Just a couple. You looked quite stunning, I have to say. You scrub up nicely.’
I let the almost-compliment fly right by me. ‘Why would you take photos of us?’ I ask. I’m gripping the dishcloth I’m holding so tightly that if I open my hand I’m pretty sure I’d find a diamond in its place.
‘You do know what my job is, right?’ she asks, fishing her phone out of her purse. ‘I’m Hale’s publicist. I’m here to create publicity for him. That’s the only reason I didn’t drag him back to New York with me two days ago.’
‘But…’ I start. ‘His dad…’
‘Died two years ago.’ She looks at me the way a teacher might look at a student who claims to have forgotten her homework for the fourth time in a row. ‘Come on, Carrie, give me some credit. Of course I checked up on his little story. This isn’t my first time, you know?’
I nod. If there’s one impression I got of Meredith, it’s that she’s a woman who knows her job.
‘So anyway,’ she says, skimming a finger across the screen of her phone, ‘I took the liberty of uploading them to a few places. Made it look like a fan just caught a glimpse of him, and… well, you know how the internet works. Stoke the fire, poke the embers, and watch the whole thing catch.’ She points down to a picture of the Hale and I from last night. She’s right, I do look good – not just because of my dress, or my makeup, but because there’s a glow on my face that comes from something more than the candlelight. I’m looking into Hale’s eyes, and I look happy. Blissful, in fact.
Beside the photo, there’s a counter that reads COMMENTS: 495. As I watch, it ticks up to 498, and then to an even 500.
‘Made quite the splash,’ Meredith says. ‘People are going crazy talking about who Hale’s mysterious new squeeze is. They’re all coming out of the woodwork to cast their little theories. Honestly, you can’t buy exposure like this. And of course, the bump has caught the attention of some of the smaller gossip sites, and if they get reporting on it… well, I mean, who could resist that? It’s free advertising. If TMZ decides it’s worth picking up, God willing, we might even sell out Denver.’
The Meredith train is rolling merrily down the tracks, but all I can think of is how many people saw that picture. How many people have suddenly found themselves with a window into my life.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asks abruptly. ‘After all, this is the only reason we agreed he could stay – as long as I was allowed to use it for promo material. You heard him say it himself. I’d just hate to have to drag him back to the city so quickly, especially how well you two seem to be getting along…’
As implied threats go, it’s not the most subtle, but it does the job: I know as well as she does that, if there was no other choice, Hale would go back to New York. He should, anyway. Sure, I’d want him to stay, but I’d be pushing him to go and make something of his big break – and besides, maybe he’d find his way back to me when the tour swung down south.
Maybe.
What’s the harm, really? So I got my photo taken while on a date with an up-and-coming rock star. So a couple of his fans might get a little jealous. Somehow I’m sure I’ll cope. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, I don’t mind.’
‘There’s a good sport,’ she says. ‘Anything for the ticket sales, right?’
‘Sure.’ Personally, I couldn’t care less about the ticket sales, or how much money it puts in her pocket – but I know how much Hale’s music means to him. For him to be a success, for him to really feel like he’s made it… I mean, a little invasion of privacy is a small price to pay, I suppose.
Besides, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t at least a small part of me that was enjoying it. I did look good in that photo, after all, and so did Hale. There was a strange sort of satisfaction in knowing that hordes of anonymous fangirls were wondering who I was, and what my relationship was to the man they had a crush on, knowing that I was the one he’d spent the night – and the morning – in bed with. If they only knew about that, I thought to myself. They’d pitch a goddamn fit, I’m sure.
‘There’s a good girl,’ Meredith says, and then, after a slight pause: ‘I can’t tell you how nice it is to finally find one who’s a good sport about these things, I really can’t.’
There’s a ding from the kitchen: the order-up bell.
‘One?’ I say.
‘Hmm?’
‘You said it’s nice to finally find one who’s a good sport. One what?’
‘Oh, you know,’ she says, not looking up from her phone. ‘One of Hale’s… companions? Conquests? Lovers?’
Partners. Girlfriends. Soulmates.
Too far, perhaps, but it’s all I can think of: the idea of being just ‘one of’ anything, especially after the night I spent with him, leaves my stomach tied in knots. It didn’t feel like I was just ‘one of’, not then – not when I had Hale’s full attention, not when I could have sworn that we were the only things in the world that mattered.
Things had all seemed so simple, then. Right.
‘I’m not…’ I begin, but Meredith casts that professorial glance my way again and cuts me off in an instant.
‘Sure, sure,’ she says. ‘Whatever the party line is, that’s fine with me. But you did go to bed with him last night, did you not?’ She leans across the counter, like we’re engaging in some conspiratorial girl talk. ‘Your man at the grill might not have noticed, but I’d recognise that glow anywhere. You, if you’ll pardon me saying so, got lucky last night. Seems the date was a little more romantic than I’d anticipated. He’s quite the charmer on the quiet, isn’t he? Once you get past the whole smouldering thing.’
‘That’s none of your business,’ I snap.
Meredith smiles. ‘You’ve forgotten what I do for a living, Carrie. It’s precisely my business. If Hale finds himself doing something that could possibly damage his brand…’
‘And is that all you think I am?’ I can’t stop the blood from rushing to my cheeks, can’t keep my voice level no matter how hard I try. ‘Just something that’s getting in the way of Hale and his goddamn concert?’
For a moment, I can almost believe that Meredith recognises she’s gone too far. She takes a slow swallow of her sandwich, wipes the crumbs from her face, and looks me dead in the eye with a face like a department store mannequin: beautiful and expressionless.
‘Oh, honey,’ she says. ‘You don’t… I mean, you don’t think you’re special, do you?’
And just like that, the elaborate house of cards I’ve built up around myself on the foundation of Hale’s soft, sweet kiss comes crashing to the ground. All it takes is that look in her eyes and the wry little smirk that crosses her lips. It’s not cruelty, not jealousy: that, I could cope with, although I wouldn’t be thrilled. It’s not even amusement, as though she’s revelling in my discomfort. It’s not even the pity that bothers me, although it’s thick as molasses and just as cloying. It’s the fact that the expression on her face seems so familiar that gets to me. I’m not the first person she’s had this conversation with. I’m not the first girl who let herself think there was something there beyond empty words.
I want to argue my case, to tell her that she’s wrong, that of course I’m special, that Hale would never, but the words stick in my throat. How am I supposed to know what Hale would and wouldn’t do? Until three days ago, he was practically a stranger to me – an almost-forgotten memory of times past. And it’s not like I thought he was a saint or anything, but…
But what? I think. You know Hale. Charming. Handsome. Good with a guitar. Why wouldn’t he have racked up a whole raft of women? Why wouldn’t he be with a different girl every night, if that’s what took his fancy?
Why would you be any different?
‘I know what it’s like, sweetie,’ she says, breezing past me. ‘Believe me… after Hale and I split up, I was positively distraught. But life goes on, you know? Onwards and upwards. Keep on keeping on, all that.’
Muhammad Ali could have learned a few things from Meredith about the one-two punch; first I felt winded, but now it’s like I’ve been knocked on my ass.
‘You and Hale?’
‘Oh, didn’t he tell you?’ she asks, her voice just a little too high to be sincere. ‘Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. I mean, he wasn’t going to tell you all the gory details about all the women he’s been with. That would rather spoil the mood somewhat, don’t you think? And you seemed to be having such a nice little…’ She pauses, and I see a sadistic little glint in her eyes. ‘Well, what would you call it? A “date”, I suppose? Is that even the right word?’
It was easy to deny it to Pete; a little too easy, in fact. In hindsight, under Meredith’s wilting smirk, I want to take it back. Of course it was a date. Of course it was – and a perfect date at that. The kind of memory I would have hoped to treasure forever, but for the hope that it would be the first of many. I won’t let her take that from me.
And yet it’s already gone. Rotted from the inside out. Now, I’m just one more distraction. One easy lay. Jesus Christ, all he had to do was click his fingers and I came running. I was all over him like white on rice. My God, he must have thought it was so easy…
Stupid, I think to myself. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let myself there was anything more to it than that?
And yet the answer is clear. It’s because that’s what I always do. I always dream big. I always aim higher than Eden, than the diner, than the men I’ve dated in the past. Than this crappy job in this crappy town.
Than my crappy life.
But no matter what, I won’t let Meredith see me cry.
‘Are you OK, Carrie?’ she says sweetly, and in that instant it takes everything I have in me not to slam her face down onto the countertop, to break that expensive nose, to chip all the teeth in that perfect smile, and I know – I know – how Hale felt all those times when we were kids, when he’d get into fights because it was the only way he knew how to channel that kind of desperation outwards, because if he kept hold of it there’s no way he’d be able to stop it burning him up from the inside out.
‘I’m fine,’ I want to say, and I want her to believe it – anything to not give her the satisfaction – but when the door chirps and my mother walks in to take over the afternoon shift, I find myself pushing past her at a run, my cheeks already wet and the world a blur around me.