You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology (3 page)

“Don’t leave me.”

“Are you kidding? We have kids. One of us has to get out alive.”

Kayla nodded to the stampede as she passed but only the sober driver responded. The others were too intent on their prey. Poor Jared.

Glancing over her shoulder she saw him still watching her, and did a va-voom hip swing, more in bravado than with any real confidence.

For a long time, she hadn’t stressed about the women wanting to flirt and flatter and touch as they asked for autographs and selfies.

Turn him on girls, and I’ll take it from there.

It had even been funny seeing classmates who hadn’t looked twice at Jared in high school, breathless with excitement running into him in the market on their brief visits home. She and Jared had laughed about it. “Hey sex symbol, it’s your turn to change our baby’s poopy diaper.”

On tour, it had stopped being funny. Every new country they traveled to seemed to be full of beautiful, slim, sexy women desperate to get into her husband’s pants. Women who didn’t care that he was married, or if Kayla was in the same room when they propositioned him. She’d watched him becoming enamored of the attention, though not of any particular female. It was in London that Kayla first overheard herself described as the starter wife.

She took her time in the bathroom, partly to avoid the fan girls, partly because she had to wrestle off the stomach and thigh slimming pants she wore to smooth her silhouette in this too-tight dress. Briefly, she considered tucking them in her purse. But as long as she was in public—in this dress—she felt more confident having a garment remember to hold her tummy in.

Besides, she and Jared were really smokin’ together for the first time in months. The shapewear would stop her giving it up too easy. She grinned at her reflection as she washed her hands.
You are such a slut.

After reapplying red lipstick, Kayla went to check her messages before remembering that Jared had her cell.

And her wedding ring. Her hand felt bare without it.

When she exited, the bachelorettes were lining up with their cells to take selfies with him. She checked her watch. Eight-thirty. The babysitter was booked until midnight. No later, she’d told Kayla, she had rehearsals next morning with her band of Christmas carolers.

She waved to catch Jared’s eye.
C’mon, babe, this is our night, remember?

Over female heads, he returned an apologetic, “What can I do?” shrug.

You could have found a secluded booth. You could have chosen a venue that wasn’t the hippest place in L.A. You could say, I’m on a date, please respect my frickin’ privacy.

Kayla exhaled her irritation. The trouble with being a celebrity was that any unwillingness to engage could be blown up on social media. And with Rage’s reputation tarnished, Jared had to court goodwill. Usually, she could make allowances for that. But tonight was different. He’d raised her hopes when she’d been keeping them manageable, keeping them meek.

Adjusting the neckline of her dress, she detoured to the bar and pulled up a stool while she waited for Jared to be done. From past experience, it could take a while.

The bartender was busy serving other people and gave her an I-see-you nod. Hungry, Kayla took a handful of salted cashews from the bowl on the counter. The only thing she’d had to eat in hours was a couple of mouthfuls of pureed carrots left over from the kids’ dinner.

“Is this seat taken?”

The guy was in his late thirties, smoothly polite, wearing a suit and tie that suggested a career in law or dentistry. Not handsome but assured.

“Go ahead. There seems to be a back-up with service.”

They chatted about the weather and the Christmas traffic.

The bartender arrived to take her order. “One mulled wine,” she said. “And a Guinness.” She’d seen Jared’s struggle with warm ale. This would have to be his last, he was driving her home. That was why he’d caught a cab from a jam session with his bandmates.

“You’re here with someone?” her bar companion asked casually.

“Bob and I are on a first date.” She gestured to Jared, the center of a throng of enthusiastic women.

“He’s a lucky guy.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Bob?” On the other side of the counter, the bartender held a Guinness schooner glass up to the light. “You know who he really is, right? Why those women made a beeline for him?”

Kayla affected surprise. “Well, Bob…” her brain scrambled for a surname “…Builder
is
very cute and they are very drunk.” Oh lord, she was hopeless at undercover.

The bartender frowned as he angled the schooner under the spout and eased the beer tap open. “Is that really the name he gave you?” He was a thin, intense guy with expressive eyebrows.

“There might have been a silent ‘the’ in there somewhere,” Kayla conceded, embracing the ridiculous.

The guy beside her laughed. So he had kids, then. No wedding ring either, so probably divorced. That saddened her. She wanted—needed—to believe in happy endings. Wasn’t that why she was here? To reclaim hers.

“He’s Jared Walker, the guy in that reality show last year,” the bartender said helpfully. “He was picked up as the bass player for Rage.” He placed the schooner on the counter and lifted the lid on what looked like a fancy crockpot. Steam rose fragrant with oranges and spices and sweetness.

“I don’t watch much TV.” Weren’t bartenders supposed to be discreet like priests and hairdressers? She’d never get used to strangers discussing her life as though it was a soap opera.

Expertly, he ladled mulled wine into a clean glass mug. “You’ve gotta know Rage, it’s a mega rock band.”

“I prefer yodeling, myself.” Kayla accepted her drinks and handed him a fifty-dollar bill.

He paused en route to the cash register. “Even on a Swiss mountaintop, you’d have heard about the lead singer, Zander Freedman. He’s been all over the news. Lip-syncing live concerts, everyone’s trying to get their money refunded.”

“That’s bullshit…I mean, it sounds like a media beat-up.”

“No,” he argued, making no further move to the till. If the bill had been less than a fifty, she would have told him to keep the change. “Freedman admitted to lip-syncing at a charity fundraiser.”

“The fundraiser, not the concerts,” she corrected, unable to stop herself. “The charity would have lost a lot of money otherwise…I hear. Shouldn’t you have your Christmas decorations up?”

“Hey, I’m a big fan,” the bartender finally went to the cash register. “I’ll be lining up to buy tickets when Freedman recovers from vocal surgery.”

Kayla said nothing. It wasn’t public knowledge that Zander’s singing voice might not recover.

“I never listen to entertainment gossip,” said the guy beside her and she rewarded him with a smile. “What interests me as a
lawyer
is Freedman’s tour insurers saying his vocal issues are pre-existing. If they don’t pay out tour cancellation insurance, he’s screwed financially.”

“I really do think this place needs Christmas decorations.” Kayla held out her hand for the change.

“Anyway, your hot date?” The bartender counted her change on her palm, lots of small bills for a tip. “It’s Jared Walker…no, don’t take the Guinness yet. Now the bubbles have settled I can pour the head.” Picking up the glass, he returned to the pump.

Reluctantly Kayla climbed back onto her stool, wishing she’d ordered a Bud.

A redheaded waitress put her tray on the counter. “Oh, I
loved
him on that reality show when he was auditioning for Rage. And his story was so moving. His wife entered him in the audition without his knowledge. And he wrote her that beautiful song. Soooo romantic.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘Kayla’s Song.’” The bartender frowned at Kayla and she remembered he’d overheard her telling the lawyer that this was her first date with “Bob.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the lawyer staring.

Busted.
“It’s okay, that’s me.” She held up her left hand and realized it was bare. “I took my wedding ring off to”
—play sexy stranger games—“
because I have, um…eczema.”

“
Both
of you have eczema?” said the blond waitress who’d tried flirt with Jared. She gave the bartender an order slip. “Her name is Betty and
Bob—
” she drew air quotes “—removed his wedding ring, too.”

Squealer.

Suddenly, Kayla was being stabbed to death by several pairs of disapproving eyes. “We
are
married. Look, I’ll show you my driver’s license.”

The bartender plonked the Guinness in front of her. “Hey, no judgment from me. Whoever he’s with is great for business.”

Kayla stopped foraging in her bag for her driver’s license. “That’s good to hear. I’ll send him with our kids next time. They’re four and eleven months.”

Dropping a small bill, she grabbed the drinks off the bar and headed toward their table. Jared was standing, probably to avoid having women piling on his lap for the selfies. It had happened, she’d witnessed it. Smiled through it.

She stopped for a gulp of mulled wine.

Veil askance, the soon-to-be-bride, was hanging off him, clearly on the disorderly side of drunk.

“Okay, here’s my date,” he said, gently freeing himself. “Great to meet you all, and have a wonderful wedding, Paula.”

“But this is the best part.” Paula grabbed his arm again. “You know how there’s this thing where you get a celebrity free pass from your guy to fuck your crush. Well, you’re
mine.
Can you believe it? And I’m still single. It’s like we’re meant to be.”

The other girls nodded as though that made perfect sense, all except the sober driver, who shot Kayla an embarrassed glance.

Jared disentangled again. “I’m married,” he said firmly and all at once, Kayla was back in Edinburgh.

Her lungs constricted. It was suddenly difficult to get air. In her mind’s eye she saw the French journalist kiss him, and Jared extricate himself—“I’m married”—unaware of Kayla watching across the road. Her relief became dread when she saw his sexual speculation as he watched Simone walk away. His gaze collided with Kayla’s, and a flash of guilt confirmed it.

He’d laughed off the attraction and that frightened her most, because it meant Jared didn’t feel in control of the changes in himself either.

It was the last straw. She’d booked flights home for her and the kids.
Before we hurt each other more than we can fix
.

At the airport, Jared had shown her a tattoo on his shoulder, new and still red and swollen. The kids’ names and hers. “You,” he’d said. “Always and only you.” And Kayla had clung to the gesture with the same desperation, she suspected, that had driven Jared to make it.

He loves me
, she told herself now.
He committed to me.
And mostly believed it.

“Yeah, but celebrity free pass,” the bride-to-be repeated doggedly. “It means, I can, like,
do
it with you.”

“I can’t do it with you,” Jared said. “My wife and I don’t have that arrangement. Here she is now.”

Far from being embarrassed, Paula looked at Kayla and pouted like a child. “You can’t have a man like this and not share him. That’s not
fair
.”

“Fair?” Kayla put the drinks on a nearby table because her hands had started shaking. “You know what isn’t fair, Paula? Your sense of entitlement. You think a bridal veil gives you some kind of pass to grope any guy that catches your eye?”

“Lighten up, it’s just a bit of fun,” one of her bridal party muttered.

“Yeah?” Kayla’s anger exploded, all sound and fury after months of being repressed. “If any of you were getting this kind of attention from a group of drunken males, would you still call it fun? Or would you call it sexual harassment?”

“I think you’ve made your point, honey,” Jared said quietly, holding out a hand to her. Kayla ignored the call to sanity.

“Oh, I haven’t even started.” Some part of her brain screamed,
Listen to him
, but her rage sent up sparks when she tried to apply the brakes. She could only barrel along the train tracks and who cared if the bridge was out?

“You’re all drunk and having fun and yeah, I could make allowances, but I’m so fucking tired of doing that.” She eyeballed each and every one of them. “The only part of Jared you own is how his music makes you feel. His dick isn’t attached. He’s not a celebrity squeeze toy, he’s a human being, and
my
husband. And you’re ruining the first date night we’ve had in forever.”

She returned her glare to the bride who was sobering fast. “Oh, and by the way, Paula, there
is
no free pass on commitment, not if you want trust. And if you don’t know that Relationship 101 stuff, then you have no business making vows next weekend. Because marriage is more than losing ten pounds to fit into your wedding dress and playing princess for one day. Marriage is real life and hard work, sometimes the hardest work you’ll ever have to do. And that’s even
before
you add kids to the mix.”

She ran out of combustible fury, and stopped. Right outside OMIGOD-you’ve-done-it-now station.

She became aware of her surroundings first, then the quiet. Every conversation in the bar had fallen silent. The bartender stood with the cocktail shaker motionless in his hands.

“Guess they
are
married,” murmured the waitress.

A guy raised his cell to peel off a shot and Jared turned his head to glare. The cell lowered. “We’ve been under a lot of pressure, with everything that’s going down with the band.” As he spoke, her husband moved away. It hurt, until she understood that he was drawing attention with him, giving her privacy to steady her ragged breathing. “I’m sure you all understand that it gets to us sometimes.”

As conversations resumed around them, he turned grave, beautiful eyes on the bachelorettes. His sisters laughingly called it Jared’s “come to Jesus” face—
You’ve disappointed me, but with love and patience we’ll get through it
.

It was the same expression he’d adopted when their four-year-old drew on the wall with crayons yesterday.

It was not the look Kayla wanted from him tonight.

The women shuffled, shamefaced and uncomfortable.