Extremely Famous (22 page)

I whirl around and see Evan standing in the hallway that leads to the other bedrooms. He’s always been the most sensitive of the three Navy SEALS that Drew hired. Evan gives me the impression that he is concerned about my physical safety but is also concerned with my level of stress. A worry that Steve and Sal don’t seem to share.

With the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other, it’s not farfetched to consider that he’s
well aware of what I’m doing in here. “I’m fine Evan, I won’t need you for the rest of the day. You or Steve can go home if you want.”

I take the bottle and glass and move toward the staircase with every intention of finishing it up in the privacy of Drew’s bedroom. Evan steps to the side and blocks my exit. I look up at him and scowl.

“Move, I’m not in the mood for this Evan!” I snap at him.

He doesn’t touch m
e or do anything inappropriate. In fact, his words just about break me. “I just want you to know that whatever is going on, you have friends that you can call. I can send Bruce to get them if you want.”

I let my stony e
xpression relax just a fraction. “Really Evan, it’s fine.” I can’t cry again and his obvious distress at my frantic state makes tears burn behind my sore eyes.

I try to go around him b
ut he shifts again. “I’ll let you go, just answer one question for me, please.” Evan’s concern is so touching that I silently nod. He takes a deep breath and I see his fists clenching at his sides. “Just tell me if someone…” he struggles to finish his sentence. “Did someone hurt you? Physically?”

The sorrow written so plainly on his face has me letting
my guard down for just a moment. A few tears streak noiselessly down my cheeks. If I had a brother I would want him to be like Evan, kind, sensitive, and fiercely loyal.

“No Evan, nothing like that. I promise.”

He accepts my word and moves aside so I can go upstairs and be alone. There’s not enough tequila in the world to drown out my pain right now, but at least the alcohol will keep me numb enough to stop the panic attacks.

I drink and cry until I can’t do either one anymore.

****

“Sydney, you need to sit down baby, you’re wrinkling your dress.”

Mommy always worries way too much about my clothes. She says it’s because the poppo-razzis can be taking our picture even when we don’t see them. I don’t care about them though. I just want to have fun in the back of the long car. Robbie called it a limo.

“Sydney! Please, stop it,” Mommy says from the other end of the seat.

Laughing, I scoot down the length of the long leather seat again, sliding across it on my belly.

Mommy grabs
my arm and sits me next to her. “That’s enough Sydney. I’ve told you several times and if you can’t sit still then you’ll have to stay home next time.”

“No Mommy, I’ll listen. I promise.” I pout my lips and sit quietly, watching the other cars and houses go past the window. “Can they see us Mommy?” I ask at a red light.

Mommy looks out the window and sees the people in the other car staring at us.

“No, the glass is too dark. They’re just curious because we’re in a limo honey.” Mommy looks so pretty today.
Her dark hair is long and swirls around her shoulders and she’s wearing a blue dress. I wish I had a blue dress, she made me wear a pink one and I hate pink.

“We’re here Ms. Allen,” Robbie says as the car stops.

Robbie has been my Mommy’s bodyguard for a year or so now. We had another guy, but he had to leave. I can’t remember why but Daddy said he didn’t like the way he did stuff.

“Thanks Robbie!” I say as he helps me out of the limo.

“We’ll be back in a little while,” Mommy says to the driver.

“Where are we going Mommy? This isn’t the ice cream shop!”

“I told you that I have a doctor’s appointment first Sydney.” Robbie holds the door open for us as we go into a big building.

When we get to the doctor’s office the lady at the desk lets us wait in the back instead of the waiting room with everyone else. I remember Mommy saying it’s because she’s in the movies and people want to stare at her and take pictures and that’s rude to do at the doctor.

A nurse brings us to a room with a big desk and lots of books in it. It’s so boring in here, there’s nothing to do. I run over to the window and look outside.

“You can see the whole city from here!” I tell my Mommy.

“That’s great baby.”

The doctor comes into the room and closes the door. He sits at the desk and Mommy sits in a chair.

“Sydney, come sit next to me.” Mommy points to the other chair. I don’t want to sit, but I do it because I really want ice cream after.

“So this is your daughter?” the doctor asks my Mommy.

“Yes, this is Sydney.”

“Hi Sydney, how old are you?” he asks me, smiling down from his big desk.

“Six! But I’ll be seven in December,” I tell him proudly.

“So,” the doctor
says as he looks at some papers. “Your last pregnancy was six and a half years ago and you’ve been unsuccessful conceiving since, correct?”

“Yes, nothing has happened
.”

“I’ve been reviewing your file and it seems as though your endometriosis has gotten worse over the years since giving birth.”

“That’s true, it has.” Mommy looks worried. I don’t want to be here.

“Conceiving and carrying one child to term with your severity of disease is a rare event. Most likely, you will not be able to have any more children,” the doctor tells Mommy. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you.”

“So there’s no chance?” Mommy asks him, her voice quiet.

“I wouldn’t say no chance, but most women in a similar situation to yours are completely infertile. The fact that you have a child is nothing to take for granted
, Ms. Allen. I would recommend a complete hysterectomy. I’m actually shocked that you’ve managed this long with your severity of disease. It’s usually quite painful.”

“Sometimes it’s painful, I just didn’t want to give up hope on having more children.”

The doctor and Mommy keep talking about stuff, but I stop listening. My Mommy is sad and I want to leave. Maybe ice cream will make her feel better. It always helps me when I’m sad.

“Mommy, can we just go get ice cream? You’ll feel better if you eat some.”

****

I wake up to a pitch black room, my head pounding from the combination of tequila and multiple hours of crying.

That dream brought a flood of memories back. I had forgotten that my Mom couldn’t have more children. I always attributed my lack of a sibling to their busy schedules.

Sitting up in the bed, nausea washes over me.

Ugh!

I run into the bathroom and dry heave over the toilet. At least being sick will take my mind off of everything else.

“Miss Tannen?” I hear Steve calling out from the bedroom.

“One minute!”

Jesus, I can’t even be alone in my own home
! Bitterly, I realize that I’m not even in my own home.

Through the door,
I hear the familiar ringtone that I assigned to Drew and know why Steve is here.

“Just leave the phone on the bed Steve. I’ll be out in a second.”

The door clicks shut and I get up and rinse out my mouth. Before I can reach the bed, my phone rings again.

“Hey, sorry,” I croak out hoarsely.

“What the fuck Sydney! I’m worried sick over here. You sound awful, are you okay?” Drew’s panicked voice makes my tender head pound.

I clutch my
head and wince. “Don’t yell at me, I don’t feel well.”

“Jesus Syd, you’re not answering your phone anymore? I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour. Yesterday I had to call Evan to get you. I’m just about ready to come home
and find out what the fuck is going on! You’re freaking me out!”

I cannot have him cut his tour short and show up here. Not while I’m still falling to pieces.

“No! Don’t do that, I’m fine. I’m just under the weather.” Two lies in two days, it’s a new low for me.

“Do you need to go to the doctor? I can have someone come to the house if you’re not
up to go to the doctor’s office.” His concern is touching but I can’t deal with this right now.

“Drew, I said I’m fine, please.
” I hope my thoroughly exasperated tone lets him know that I don’t want to discuss this anymore.

“Okay, I get it. Just… just answer your phone Syd. I can’t take it when I can’t reach you for hours on end. It makes me nervous.”

Drew’s pleading almost breaks down my resolve, but I swallow and press on as though nothing is wrong. “I’ll have it on me all the time, I promise.”

“Sydney, you would tell me if… if something was… was going on, right?”

“Drew, I can’t do this. Not now. I have to go, okay?” I take the flood of emotions and shove them down into the deepest part of my brain.

I can’t cry anymore
, especially on the phone with him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Pick up the phone.” His tone is decidedly stiff and I know I’ve hurt his feelings by rushing him through the call.

I can’t think about him right now, I just need to get off of the phone without freaking out.

“I’ll pick up, bye.”

I hang up before he can say anything else, throw the phone down and run into the bathroom. I spend the next hour alternating between vomiting and crying, sometimes both.

After two and a half days of drowning my sorrows in incredibly expensive tequila then some equally expensive bourbon, I dry out long enough to
shower and make my meeting with Adam Reynolds at his apartment.

I still look like shit. My eyes required a rather large dose of Visine this morning and my skin is slightly swollen, but it was the best I could do considering my recent activities. Adam swings open the door to his penthouse and immediately notices.

“Bloody fucking hell Sydney, what’s happened to you?” Adam exclaims loudly, making me shudder in pain from the volume of his voice. I can’t even appreciate his toned body, clad in tight, ripped jeans and an even tighter, white Rolling Stones T-shirt.

“Adam, nice to see you too. Can I come in?” He steps aside and lets me enter, Steve shadowing me into the foyer.

Evan and Steve have become even more protective than usual the last few days. I’m sure it’s because they’re forced to be second hand witnesses to my self-destruction. They couldn’t actually see me drinking and crying in the master bedroom, but they’re not stupid. Or deaf. I get the impression that they feel helpless, like Drew does when he can’t just fix my problems for me.

Men, sometimes they don’t get that there’s no fixing what’s broken.

Adam stares at me and he looks concerned for my well-being. “You haven’t answered me, Sweetheart. Why do you look like you’ve been on the piss for the last twelve hours?”

Surprisingly, Adam is right on the money with his assessment of my disheveled appearance.

“Can we just discuss the apartment Adam? I’ve had a rough night, as you can see, and I want to get an idea of your preferences so I can start the design.” I’m so exhausted emotionally and physically that I don’t have the energy to spar with him today.

“Sure, sure, no problem.
” He’s eyeballing me discreetly but thankfully, keeping his thoughts to himself.

He shows me around the penthouse, pointing out
what he does and doesn’t like. I make notes on my iPad while I try to ignore my throbbing headache. When we’re done, he offers me a cup of tea and I’m grateful to accept, hoping it will calm my uneasy stomach.

“Feeling better?” he asks as I sip my PG Tips with milk, made personally for me by sexy rock star Adam Reynolds in his
very own kitchen. As crappy as I feel, that thought makes me giggle.

Adam raises an eyebrow at me, curious as to the source of my laughter.

“Sorry.” I put down my mug so I don’t spill it. “This whole situation is just ridiculous.” I wave my hand around pathetically.

He smiles at me, his hazel eyes dancing with unspoken amusement
. “And what may I ask is so hilarious about this situation?”

“Nothing, just you making tea for me. The tabloids would go nuts for something as stupid as this.” I shrug my shoulders and drink some more, letting the warmth and the caffeine heal my throbbing temples.

“Consider your laughter my pleasure,” Adam says smoothly.

After avoiding it most of the morning, I finally meet his gaze. “Thanks Adam.”

“For what?” He doesn’t take his eyes off of mine.

“For making me forget my problems for a few hours. I appreciate it, and the tea.” I stand and begin gathering my things.

Adam places a hand over mine and I stare at his tattoo where it begins at his wrist. “Sydney, if you need anything just ring me up. Honestly, I’m your friend.” I look in his bright hazel eyes again and see nothing but sincerity. “We all have problems we’d like to forget, right?”

Somehow it seems as though he’s not just talking about me anymore.
“I will. I’ll call you in a few days when I have something to show you.”

Adam walks me to the front door where Steve is patiently waiting for our meeting to end.

“Right, see you later Syd.” I turn just in time to watch the door close behind us.

What a weird day.

Bruce is waiting with the Mercedes SUV out in front of Adam’s building. Steve opens the back door for me and I get in, my stomach still churning from drowning my pain in buckets of alcohol. The ride is short so I don’t have to worry about losing my tea all over the back seat.

The SUV glides into Drew’s underground garage and Bruce cuts the engine.

“Should I stay here Sydney?” he asks before I have a chance to exit the vehicle.

“No, I’m not sure what my plans are for the rest of the day. Can I just call you?” I ask the kind older man, avoiding his stare because I don’t want to see the pity that I know is written all over his face.

I jump out and run up the stairs before either of the men can see me break down. Honestly, I just want to be alone.

I enter Drew and Jane’s office and sit at his large, messy desk, shoving my clutter over to one side so I can set up my laptop. I figure if I work on some basics for Adam’s penthouse, I can distract myself for a good four or five hours. Not as good as the wonderful numb feeling that the tequila brought me, but with the baby’s due date only eight days away, I have to find a distraction.

I devote the rest of the afternoon in Drew’s office, even eating at his desk so I don’t have to spend any more time with Steve or Evan than necessary. They try hard to make it look like they’re not scrutinizing everything I do, but I know that they’re watching me unravel. I only hope that they’re not reporting my behavior back to Drew. The fact that he hasn’t left the press tour to show up here makes me think that they’re keeping this quiet.

It’s almost dinner time when my phone rings and I wonder how I managed to spend so many hours working. I hardly had time to think about the miscarriage while I flipped through design books and chose colors for Adam.

Swiping the screen I answer Drew’s call.

“Hey.”

“Sydney,” Drew’s smooth voice flows through the phone. “How’s your day been?”

“Long,” I tell him truthfully. “I got up early and went to the 6
th
Avenue penthouse and have been working on it ever since.”

I leave out the Adam part of the equation, filing it in the giant stack of things that I’m not able to deal with right now.

Typical Sydney behavior, shove everything aside and pretend it’s not happening.

“It sounds like you’re feeling better
. I was worried that you were getting really sick, Syd.”

Our conversations the last few days have been short and Drew has been frustrated with me. Once, I answered the phone after having too much to drink and he noticed that I was off. I told him that I took too much cold medication and immediately felt like shit for lying to him.
Again. Three for three, a new low for me.

In the back of my mind I’m aware that I’m reverting back to my old standbys to cope; secrecy and pulling away. I don’t
think I have the strength to face this. The girl that I worked so hard to become is dissolving before my eyes. Old Sydney, with all her weaknesses and issues seems to be taking root in her former stomping grounds and is thriving.

“I am feeling much better,” I tell Drew. Another lie. What a shitty fiancée I’ve turned out to be.

“That’s great Sydney, I was half a day from hopping on a flight for home.”

I can picture Drew stalking around his hotel rooms, wearing his Andrew Forrester mask during his interviews and appearances, running his rough hands through his messy hair; and I feel
guilty for stressing him out yet again. Rhys and Jane are probably so pissed at me for making him an irritable nightmare on the press tour.

“You don’t have to come home Drew, I’m fine. I would hardly see you now that I’m working on this project. It’s keeping me pretty busy
.”

“Five more days and I’ll be home.” Drew’s voice has a seductive tone to it that would normally melt me into a puddle of hormones. Today, I’m too tired
, too hung over, and too sad for my usual reaction.

“I can’t wait,” I say in the perkiest voice I can manage.
“What city are you in anyway?”

“Rome, we leave for Tokyo tonigh
t. That flight is going to suck.” He sounds more exhausted than he led me to believe. Maybe I’m not the only one putting on a false front. “Twelve hours on a plane. At least we’re in the studio jet and not commercial. I couldn’t handle it.”

“No kidding, people probably wouldn’t leave you guys alone. All of you on one flight together. It would be a madhouse.” The fans would mob Drew and Zane, and probably Chad as well. He’s just as recognizable as the actors, being
the award winning director of several films on the American Film Institute’s top 100 list.

“Probably.
Listen, I gotta go Syd. We’re headed to the airport for a midnight flight. Because we lose time we land in Tokyo at 8 or 9 tomorrow night, I think. It all gets jumbled up after so many cities.”

“Okay babe, I love you
.”
And my heart is breaking while I’m here all alone.

“Love you too Syd. I’ll call you tomorrow, today, whatever it is when I land.”

I manage to chuckle at his confusion. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye,” he breathes into the phone before it disconnects.

I stare at the phone in my hand. It’s almost 5 o’clock. I’ve been working all day and am suddenly anxious and jittery. I don’t want to be stuck in this room anymore. I look around and it feels as if the walls are getting closer to the desk.

I close my MacBook and run out of the office, heading straight for the master bedroom on the fourth floor. Sitting on the bed, I put my head between my legs and focus on breathing, curling my body up as small as it will go
and rocking back and forth.

The tears that I held back for Drew
’s sake, spill over and down my cheeks. I think I’m having a nervous breakdown, that’s the only explanation for this. The after-effects of being attacked by a madman and losing my baby slam into me like a Mack truck. All of the coping I thought I had been doing over the summer was just more denial. A refusal to think about, let alone accept what had happened.

I can’t lose it like this, alone, trapped in a house that’s not mine. I grab my phone and
impulsively dial the one person I shouldn’t be calling.

“Hello. Syd?”

“Adam?” I say in between sniffles and tears.

“What’s wrong Sweetheart?” I can hear the
genuine concern in his silky voice.

“I… uh, I just wanted to talk I guess.” Why am I calling him? I d
on’t want Leah’s sympathetic looks or sad face. I just want someone fun, someone who doesn’t know about the miscarriage.

“Well, fortunately I know how to talk
.”

“This is going to sound weird, but do you have a disguise? You know, that you wear out when you don’t want anyone to know you?”

“Yes, I do actually. Why?”

“Can you meet me at Nevada Smith’s in an hour? It’s a bar near NYU.”

“Okay, and you want me to dress inconspicuously I take it?”

“Please. I’ll have mine on too. Black wig, punk outfit. See you there.” I hang up and take a deep breath. This is a bad idea, but drinking myself to death at home alone is even worse.

Feeling stable enough to get up now that I have a plan, I change my clothes, pulling on skinny jeans and a black tank top. I shove my feet into a pair of scuffed combat boots and rummage in the closet for the accessory that I need the most. After swearing for a good ten minutes, I finally find my Joan Jett wig in a duffel bag on the floor.

I open the bedroom door and call out to Steve or Evan or whoever wa
s chosen to babysit me tonight. “Steve? Evan?”

Heavy footsteps clomp up the stairs stopping when Evan appear
s at the top of the landing.

“Miss Tannen?”
He has a quizzical look on his face. He’s probably not used to me speaking after two and a half days of either crying or silence from me. I know my face is still red and swollen from my most recent breakdown, but that actually helps me in my mission tonight.

“Hey Evan, can you have Bruce get the car ready to go out in about thirty minutes?”

I avoid eye contact as I speak. Uncomfortable asking for this and simultaneously pissed that I even have to ask. I don’t think he’s going to like seeing me meet Adam out at a bar, but it’s really none of his business who I meet.

“Sure, should I tell him the destination?” I know he’s trying to decide if I’m stable enough to go out right now.

I press my lips together tightly. “No. I’ll let him know once we’re in the car.” I stand with my arms crossed, glaring at him full on.

I can see him deliberating his options, does he hassle me for the location or let it drop? He can’t stop me from going wherever I want to go and he knows it.

“Alright,” he says reluctantly. He turns and clomps back down the stairs to get Bruce.

I close the bedroom door and walk on legs that feel like jelly until I’m standing in front of the full length mirror in Drew’s massive bathroom. I pull my hair up into a low bun and yank the wig down onto my head. Tucking in a few stray strands of hair, I step back and assess my reflection.