Someone Else's Fairytale (5 page)

This guy had a seriously strange life.

He looked up at me again, as if unsure what to say next. “Look, can I get your phone number?”

“Not to be rude, but why?”

“You seem really cool. Real down to earth. Talking like this? It's been nice.”

“And you seem very nice.” I looked past him at his security guys– that's what I assumed they were –all trying to look like they weren't with us. A group of girls headed in our direction and one of the men got up to block them. “You also have one of the weirdest jobs on the planet. Sorry, that's-”

He laughed. “The truth? Like I said, you seem really cool. I'm in town sometimes to see my family. We should hang out.” He pulled out his phone.

It seemed rude to say no, so I gave him my number, and keyed his into my beat up little flip phone. More women and girls were streaming into the restaurant.

Jason turned and surveyed the scene. “Maybe this'll be good for business for you?”

“I can disarm the alarm so you can go out the back door?”

“That'd be great, but in a few. I can sign some autographs and stuff. Get them to buy food, I hope.” He got to his feet.

“You don't have to-”

“It's cool.” He and his guys all rallied together and turned to face the growing crowd.

I stole away. It was cowardly, but I had the feeling that if these women noticed me sitting at his table, they might lynch me. Besides, it was past time for me to get back to work. I ducked behind the counter and tied my apron on. Abby was wrestling with the Red Stuff machine, which dispensed a mix of cranberry juice and red tea that was very popular in the summer.

“Here,” I said. I grasped the handle and twisted it back so that the machine would work again.

“Okay, so spill. How do you know him?”

Everyone behind the counter looked at me. “Shh,” I said. “I don't want to get beaten up by a bunch of fans.”

“Are you involved with him?” Abby asked.

“Um. No. He's dating Corey Cassidy, right? I barely know him. Like I said, he kind of knows my family and recognized me when I was an extra in his movie. He grew up in town.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Abby. “I have a friend of a friend who had a locker next to him at La Cueva. Junior year.”

“Oh,” I said. “Cool.” He'd just told me that he hadn't been there for his junior year, but whatever. I felt a little sorry for anyone who felt the need to make up a claim like that. Surely they'd done something more interesting in their life than have a locker next to a guy who now pretended to be other people for a living?

The crowd surged as people mobbed Jason for autographs, and we sold four hundred to-go orders for coffee in an hour. It was insane. What was also insane was the number of girls who were crying and shaking as they paid, as if they were in the presence of divinity. Jason was “sooo sexy” and “sooo nice”. I let him and his crew out the back door when he texted me to explain he needed to catch his plane to LA.

“I'll see you, Chloe,” he said as he put his sunglasses on and stepped out into the brightness.

Usually I walked to and from work, but that day I'd driven. Big mistake. I walked around to the parking lot at the end of my shift and found the tires on one side of my car had been slashed. It listed to one side, like a sinking ship. I called my insurance company, then the police – their non-emergency number. “I need to file a report,” I told the woman who picked up. “Someone vandalized my car.”

“Do you know whom?”

“No.”

“Have you got any enemies or-”

“You know, this is really stupid, but I vaguely know Jason Vanderholt. We had coffee this morning and, maybe I'm paranoid but-”

“One of his fans vandalized your car?”

“Dumb theory?”

“No. There's a cruiser that should be there any minute.”

“Thanks.”

“You really know Jason Vanderholt?”

“Not well.”

“What's he like?”

I shut my eyes and turned my face skyward. The sun still shone down, scorching hot. I got a detailed view of the blood vessels in my eyelids. “He's nice. When did you say the cruiser would get here?”

“Should be there any second.”

Much to my relief, a shiny silver police car rounded the corner right then. “Okay, here it is. Thanks!” I hung up.

“So you've got celebrity connections?” the cop said as he stepped out.

I just pointed at my car. “Need to file a report. I didn't see it happen. Don't know about any witnesses.”

“Name?”

“Chloe Winters.”

“Chloe Winters?”

“Yeah.”

He took off his sunglasses and looked at me. He was middle aged, graying black hair, wrinkled skin. Kind, brown eyes. “I'm Officer Baca. You probably don't remember me.”

I shook my head.

“I was a rookie way back when. Helped them airlift you.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I'm good.”

He looked down at my leg. I was wearing a skirt, so he could clearly see the little silver scar on my calf. “I'm glad to hear it. Have a daughter your age.”

“Oh, uh-huh.”

“How long did he get put away? The guy who did that to you?”

“Twenty five years maximum or something? It was a few consecutive sentences, but I don't know how all that works with parole or whatever.”

“Not long enough.” He started scribbling away on his notepad. “Okay, this is your car?”

I nodded.

“You got insurance?”

“Yeah. Tow truck is coming.”

“Just gimme a sec to write this up.” He looked up at me again. “It really is good to see you. Had nightmares about that incident for years, but you look great.”

“They slashed your
tires?”
Matthew was over for the evening, his last evening in
Albuquerque
before he went home for a couple of weeks. I'd just taken enchiladas out of the oven, so the whole kitchen smelled like warm corn tortilla, melted cheese, and green chile.

“I know, it's so stupid,” I said.

“So, wait, Jason Vanderholt-”

“Just stopped by to apologize for digging up family dirt. It's nothing. And I told my coworkers what happened with my car, so they all know not to tell anyone he came by to see me.”

“Maybe he should pay for your tires.”

“No. Come on. I was able to repair them for twelve bucks. They weren't even slashed, really. The person used nails or screws or something like that.”

“If the person had keyed your car-”

“I wouldn't pay to fix that.”

“But... you drive a sports car.”

“Which is kind of a long story. Dr. Winters bought that for my mom to buy her off, I guess, right before they broke up. She doesn't want the thing anymore, but it still runs, so she gave it to me. I would never get one like that for myself. And it's old. It's ten years old.”

Matthew was perched on the kitchen's one barstool. The house was small and badly designed, and there wasn't really anywhere to eat, just one square of counter space with that barstool. Lori and I had talked about getting a table off Craig's List or Freecycle, but in order to make room for it, we'd have to move the couch out, and that would leave us no place to lounge and watch television.

“So, rumor has it that Jon wanted to take you to Tia Anita's tonight,” said Matthew.

Dang, I thought. Caught. “How did you know?”

“From Lori. Things definitely over with him?”

“Yeah, they've been over for a month.”

“But he's not getting the clue, huh?”

“Nope.”

“At least he remembers your favorite restaurant. You sure you wouldn't rather go? They're getting a new chef soon. The food might not be the same.”

“I'm positive. And yes, I'm totally using you tonight as my excuse. Sorry.”

“I don't mind. Not if you cook.”

I got out a spatula and pried apart the rolls of tortilla. Gouts of steam spurted up where I parted the melted cheese. Matthew came around and got plates down from the cupboard and I put two enchiladas on his and one on mine. Strings of cheese reached after each serving that I had to cut with the blunt spatula edge.

“You want water?” I asked. “Or I think we have juice.”

“Water's fine.” He carried the plates into the living room and put them on the coffee table. He was too polite to eat on the couch, even though it wasn't a very nice couch. Instead he parked himself on the floor.

I filled two water glasses and went to join him.

“Dare I ask why you're so abruptly and completely over Jon?” he asked.

“We had the Talk.”

“What's the Talk?”

“It's when I explain to a guy that I'm not going to sleep with him.”

“Oh.”

“More info than you want, I'm sure.”

“You've never spent the night with any of your boyfriends?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I'm twenty-one and therefore a societal freak-”

“You're not a freak. Or we're both freaks.” He held up his left hand with his purity ring. “So you want to wait until marriage?”

“For now. In a few years I'll re-evaluate, but while I'm getting my degrees and working my way towards a career, it's just a stress I don't want to deal with. I can't think about out-of-wedlock sex without thinking about the potential consequences, given my childhood was one big long consequence, you know? And Jon's not interested in marriage right now. He's ruled it out while he's still in school.” He was a med student.

“Well, and most people nowadays don't marry people they haven't slept with.”

“I know... but things were falling apart anyway. We just weren't on the same page about it all. He went on and on about how long we'd been together, like there's a time limit, and you know? Maybe there is. Maybe it was time to go our separate ways, if it wasn't what he wanted. Now you know why I never have a relationship that lasts longer than six months.”

“Well, given the type of guy you date...”

“What type is that?”

Matthew took a bite of enchilada and chewed, slowly. I could tell he was stalling. Putting his thoughts together. “I don't wanna sound mean.”

“We're friends. Shoot.”

“Okaaay, first of all, you aren't religious. Most of us chastity types are. And you don't date religious people.”

“I'm a Christian.”

“When's the last time you went to church?”

“I go on Christmas sometimes. Easter.”

“Yeah, well, I go every week. But besides that, you date... guys who are... um...”