How to Sleep with a Movie Star

  I exhaled and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, Cole was looking at me nervously. I looked him right in the eye.

  “I swear to God, Cole,” I said. “I’d swear on the Bible if I had one in front of me. I swear on . . .” I looked around quickly for something to swear on. “I swear on Cookie Monster,” I said, pointing to my slippers, cringing the moment I’d said it. I sounded like an idiot.

  Cole looked at me for a moment, and I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. Why did I always seem to say and do the stupidest things around him? There was a moment of silence. Then he surprised me by laughing.

  “It’s a pretty serious thing to swear on Cookie Monster,” he said gravely.

  “I know,” I said, trying to match his serious expression with one of my own. “That’s how you know I mean it.”

  Cole looked at me for a moment and sighed. We were still in the doorway, and I felt awkward and strange. I knew he was trying to decide whether or not to believe me, and there was nothing I could do but stand there and wait for his judgment.

  “Look,” said Cole finally. “You know Ivana, my publicist?”

  I nodded reluctantly, biting my tongue before I could tell Cole exactly what I thought of Ivana. It wouldn’t be pretty.

  Cole took a deep breath and looked at me nervously.

  “I want to believe you, Claire, I really do,” he said seriously. “But Ivana is friends with one of your coworkers. A woman named Sandra or Sidra or something, I think.” I gasped. “The thing is, this woman told Ivana that you told your whole office you’d slept with me. That was after the Tattletale thing, and I didn’t really believe it at the time. Then when I saw the article in Mod, Claire, I thought maybe it was true.”

  I sighed. I could feel my eyes filling with tears at the unfairness of it all.

  “Sidra is the woman who came to the door,” I explained softly. I could hardly believe she’d taken her baseless vendetta against me this far.

  “The door?” Cole asked, looking confused.

  “The morning you were here, and we’d just found the purse,” I explained softly. “The woman whose sister was sleeping with Tom.”

  Realization dawned on his face slowly.

  “Oh,” said Cole softly. He looked stunned. I nodded.

  “She’s the one who rewrote the article for Mod,” I said. Cole just stared at me. I pressed on. “She’s up for the position of executive editor, and she was assigned to edit my piece on you. It never even occurred to me that she would do something like this. But this is how she planned to get promoted. And she hated me, because I was more successful at twenty-six than she was by thirty-six. She couldn’t stand it.”

  Cole continued to stare at me, a mixture of doubt and horror on his face.

  “I’ve already filed a lawsuit against Sidra,” I said, surprising myself by delivering my monologue so calmly. “And I’ve tried to call you, Cole. But Ivana called me names and hung up on me.”

  “She did?” Cole asked, looking genuinely startled. “You told her you weren’t responsible for the Mod article?”

  “Or the Tattletale one.” I paused. “She told me to . . .” I paused and took a breath. “She told me to fuck off and hung up.”

  Cole looked embarrassed. I was quiet for a moment. I took a deep breath. I had to tell him how I felt. I had to come clean.

  “Cole, I just need you to know that I didn’t do this. I’m so sorry that all of it has happened, and I’m sorry for any embarrassment it’s caused you. And I’m so sorry that I blew you off like I did. You were so kind to me, and I didn’t appreciate it at the time. Then I believed all the stuff in Tattletale about you sleeping with all of those women, and then I thought you’d lied about Kylie Dane. Then this happened. . . .”

  My voice trailed off. I didn’t know where my rambling was going. I had tears in my eyes again, and Cole looked pained.

  “But I didn’t,” Cole said sadly. “I didn’t lie to you, Claire.”

  “I know,” I said. I took another deep breath. “I know that. But then I called you to apologize for the Tattletale thing, and Ivana answered early in the morning and said you were in the shower, and that the two of you were sleeping together—but then the waitress at the Over the Moon told me that wasn’t true, but I didn’t know what to believe, and it was too late anyhow.”

  I paused for a breath. Cole was just staring at me. I plunged back into my monologue.

  “You were so nice, and I didn’t know what to think,” I rambled, quickly, feeling a blush heating my face. “I mean, you’re Cole Brannon. And I’m, like, nothing. I’m just this plain, boring girl who worked for a magazine you probably hate. And if anything had happened between me and you, it would be so unprofessional, and I’ve never done anything unprofessional in my whole life—and I never wanted anyone to think that I slept with the people I interviewed or anything, because I’ve worked so hard to get where I am—and I never did it by doing anything inappropriate.”

  He continued to stare at me in impassive silence.

  I sucked in a deep breath and continued. The words were pouring out of my mouth like they had a life of their own.

  “I liked you so much, but I knew nothing could ever happen, because that would be crazy—because, I mean, someone like you could never like someone like me, but I couldn’t help myself from having these totally inappropriate feelings for you—even though I knew it was impossible. And I know it’s just silly to think you’d ever be able to feel anything for me when you have women like Kylie Dane and Ivana Donatelli around you all the time. I knew you just felt sorry for me, and that’s why you sent flowers, and that’s why you came by—and it made me feel even worse to know that not only could you never possibly fall for me, but you realized exactly how pathetic I was.”

  He stared at me for another moment, and suddenly, the silence felt oppressive. I didn’t know what was going on in his mind, but his face betrayed a storm of emotions.

  “You’re not pathetic,” he said finally, looking troubled. “I never thought you were. You’re not plain, and you’re not boring. I thought you were really something special. Something different.” His voice trailed off, and he looked confused. I felt tears well up in my eyes.

  “I’m just really sorry,” I finally whispered.

  “I have to go,” he mumbled suddenly. Before I could say another word, he had turned away and was hurrying down the stairs, his eyes downcast. I watched him until he disappeared, listening in the hallway until I heard the front door of the building open and slam closed. I knew he was gone.

  I slid down the doorframe and started to cry.

  Celebrity Sightings

  The next six days passed without another word from Cole. I stayed home a lot, pathetic as that was, just in case he decided to come back. I felt like a preteen waiting by the phone, convinced that her big crush was going to call. But my big crush, or whatever he was, never called and never dropped by. By Saturday, I was sure he wouldn’t again. I’d done everything I could to convince him. I’d finally had the chance to tell him everything I wanted to tell him, and he’d made his decision. He had decided to stay away. I wouldn’t forget the look of disappointment on his face as he backed away from me into the hallway.

  I’d decided midweek that if I couldn’t get Cole to forgive me, the least I could do was set the other aspects of my life right. So I’d applied for a job as an associate features editor at Woman’s Day, where Jen, a friend of mine from college, worked. There, I’d be about as far away from celebrity writing as possible, and it actually sounded good to me to edit and write about “15 Ways to Spring-Clean” and “20 Family Vacations You Can Take on a Budget.” There was nothing demoralizing about that. Maybe I’d even be helping people. I’d been called in for an interview the following Monday, and I was elated.

  I dropped by my attorney’s office on Wednesday to check on the progress of my lawsuit, and Dean Ryan sounded hopeful. He had looked over the case and had come up with a dollar figure that
he thought I could reasonably sue Mod for.

  It was over a million dollars.

  But that wouldn’t bring Cole Brannon back to my door. It was too late for that.

  On Saturday morning, Wendy had gotten up early and disappeared before I woke up, leaving a note saying she’d be gone all day. She had comforted me all week, telling me she was sure that the Cole Brannon thing would somehow work out, but I suspected she was probably drained from playing counselor and needed some time away. I felt sorry for burdening her.

  I went shopping for the first time in months and splurged on a new pair of Seven jeans and two new Amy Tangerine tees I’d had my eye on. After all, if Dean Ryan was right, I’d be a millionaire soon. However, even the shopping spree and the dollar signs dancing in front of my eyes did nothing to cheer me up. I grabbed a soft pretzel from a street vendor on the way home.

  I was watching Pretty Woman on DVD, alone—in sweatpants, on the sofa, with a Healthy Choice frozen dinner on my lap—when there was a knock at the door. It was 6:45. I froze for a moment, hoping against illogical hope that it was finally Cole Brannon.

  But that was ridiculous. Tonight was the New York premiere of Forever Goodbye, his new movie, and of course Cole would be there. If I hadn’t quit Chic last week, I would have been there too, standing along the ropes of the red carpet—because a star like Cole would draw an A-list crowd eager to be photographed and interviewed. I could have returned to Chic with pages of celebrity quotes in reply to their silly questions. But instead of having a chance to see Cole Brannon again, I was snuggled up on my sofa in sweatpants and a Braves T-shirt, feeling pathetic.

  Nonetheless, the knock at the door made me hope against hope that maybe Cole Brannon had swung by on his way to the Loews Lincoln Square Theater to tell me he believed me after all.

  Yes, I was bordering on delusional. But who else would be at my door? None of my friends just dropped by unannounced.

  There was another knock. I could feel the color rise to my cheeks, and suddenly, I was having trouble breathing. I looked in the mirror, smoothed my flyaway hair, and thanked myself for putting on makeup that morning. But when I opened the front door with a pounding heart, half expecting to see Cole’s tall frame filling the doorway, I was once again disappointed. More than you can imagine.

  Instead of Cole, it was Tom. Talk about a letdown.

  “Hi, Claire,” he said quietly. His clothes were rumpled, and he looked like he badly needed a haircut. He looked pathetic and beaten, but I wasn’t moved by his appearance.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped.

  “Estella and I broke up,” he announced.

  “I thought you’d broken up months ago, like you told me that day at Friday’s,” I said. I’d known for a long time that he’d been lying about that, but I pushed him anyhow. He reddened.

  “Um, no,” he said.

  “So, you lied,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he admitted. He nervously tugged at the bottom of his T-shirt. “Can I come in?”

  “No,” I said, moving to block the doorway as he looked hopefully inside. “I don’t think you can. Why don’t you just tell me what you want. You’d better not be asking me for money, because, so help me God, Tom—I’ll kill you.”

  Tom looked scared for a minute. I felt a rush of satisfaction.

  “Um, no,” he stammered. “Actually, no, I wasn’t going to ask you for money. I, uh, remember what happened last time.”

  I had a mental image of Tom standing in the middle of Friday’s, drenched in twenty ounces of ice-cold soda. It was a good memory.

  “Well, what then?” I demanded. I was quickly losing my patience.

  “Look, Claire, I wanted you to know that I’m sorry about everything. I was a real jerk.”

  “No kidding.”

  “No, really, let me finish.” Tom took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t that impressive. As I looked at him, I wondered vaguely how I’d ever found him attractive. His nose was too big, his eyes were too small, his hair was stringy, and his teeth were crooked. I could no longer imagine what I’d ever seen in him. “I know I treated you really badly, and you didn’t deserve that at all. I just want to make it up to you.”

  I stared at him in disbelief for a moment and finally shook my head.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked, incredulous. “How are you going to make any of this up to me?”

  He played nervously with the hem of his shirt again for a moment, tugging at a thread that had come loose. Then he looked at me again.

  “I heard you were going to sue Sidra,” he said. “Apparently your lawyer sent her a summons to appear in court.”

  “So?” I said petulantly.

  “So I thought that if I offered to testify, it might help.”

  I gazed at him coolly for a moment.

  “What could you possibly have to say that would help me?” I asked finally. He seemed to consider the question for a moment.

  “I overheard Sidra and Estella talking about how to ruin your career,” Tom said finally. I raised an eyebrow. Part of me wanted to reach out and wring his neck for doing nothing to prevent my downfall, but I was too interested in what he had to say.

  “Go on,” I said. Tom sighed and looked at his feet.

  “Estella was pissed that I was so upset about your walking in on us. She thought I was still in love with you or something.”

  “Were you?”

  Tom’s hesitation was all the answer I needed.

  “Um, yes?” he said finally.

  “Don’t bullshit me,” I snapped. Tom sighed again.

  “Anyhow, she knew her sister worked with you, and after Sidra saw you with Cole Brannon that morning, she suggested to Sidra that she spread a rumor that you’d slept together. Just to other people at work, you know, to make you so embarrassed that you would quit.”

  I frowned. This wasn’t news to me.

  “And the Tattletale thing?” I asked. “Was that her too?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “That was just because she was jealous of you,” Tom said with a knowing smile. “I don’t think she really dated George Clooney, you know.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” I said dryly. “And how is it that you know all of this?”

  “She can’t keep her damned mouth shut,” he said sourly. “She was always over at Estella’s, bragging about what she did.”

  He paused.

  “So would that information help you?” he asked finally, arching an eyebrow at me.

  “I believe it would,” I said, remaining expressionless. I knew him well enough to know what would come next. “So you’re just going to get up there and testify or give a deposition or whatever, just out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “Yeah,” Tom said, smiling at me. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned in closer. “Well, I mean, it would certainly help if you could give me a little bit of money to help me out right now. Estella threw me out, and I could kind of use a little bit of cash, just for the short term.”

  “No,” I said instantly, without even thinking about it. Tom looked angry.

  “I don’t have to testify, you know,” he said, looking surprised. Evidently he’d expected I’d shower him with cash once I heard what he had to say.

  “Actually,” I said brightly, “you do have to testify.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Um, yes, actually you do,” I said slowly. “See, it’s called a subpoena. It will be delivered to you by my lawyer, and it’s going to say that you have to testify or get thrown in jail.”

  Tom blanched. I smiled.

  “Now see, the problem with getting thrown in jail is that you appear to have no money. And I’m not coming to bail you out. But look on the bright side,” I continued innocently. “Of course, it would be great inspiration for your next novel. You are writing a book, right?”

  Tom coughed.

  “You’d really subpoena me?” he as
ked.

  “I sure would,” I said, smiling at him. “You got me into this, now you’re going to help get me out of it.”

  Tom stood on the doorstep and glared at me for a moment.

  “Fine,” he muttered finally. “See you around.” He turned and walked away, and I smiled as I watched him go.

  *

  Moments later, I was feeling better than I had in a while, curling back up on the couch with my Healthy Choice dinner and the remote control. I’d rented Pretty Woman and Ghost, and pathetic as it was, I was looking forward to a night alone with two of my favorite flicks.

  I tried not to think about how miserably I had screwed things up with Cole. I knew that one day I’d get over it. For the first time I could remember, everything else in my life had finally fallen into place.

  I knew that Tom’s information would help my case against Sidra, because it would actually be solid testimony from a witness. She’d never work in magazines again.

  As for Tom, he was clearly just as scummy and shameless as ever—but in a way, that was comforting. It reinforced the reasons why I was no longer with him, and it made me feel like the world had some order to it.

  I had just gotten up to throw out the plastic TV dinner tray and pop some popcorn when there was another knock at the door. Damn it. What did Tom want now?

  “What is it?” I yelled toward the door as I turned away from the microwave. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  I padded to the door in my beloved Cookie Monster slippers, my hands balled in fists at my side. Couldn’t he just leave me alone? He’d taken a year of my life from me. He didn’t deserve another millisecond of my time. As I pulled the door open angrily, my eyes flashing, I was fully prepared to tell Tom off once and for all.

  But the man at the door wasn’t Tom.

  It was Cole Brannon.

  In my doorway.

  Larger than life, in a gray Armani suit and a black tie.

  I almost fell over.

  “Hey,” he said simply. I just stood there and stared. I had completely given up hope that I’d ever hear from him again.