THE RULES OF FAME

Chapter 7 -Why would I...?

VAnessa Louvier

As soon as the director yelled "cut," I slipped away and ran towards my trailer. I couldn't face Tate. I had kissed him thinking of Peyton, and that felt so wrong. I know it was for the sake of the movie, but deep inside, it was killing me.

I closed the door behind me and took a brief respite. A knock on the door made me jump. f**k, please don't tell me he followed me all the way here...

"Vanessa?" My agent called me, and I took a deep breath.

"I´m coming," I said, composing myself, and I opened the door.

"Is everything alright?" she asked. Lorna, the assistant my agent has appointed to me, said.

"Yeah, I'm fine... it was just a very hard day," I mumbled, and she nodded.

"Your dress for tonight is already at your place. The makeup artist is scheduled for about an hour more. So I think you should go home, take a shower, and get ready for your date," Lorna said, and I nodded.

"I am not in the mood for it," I mumbled, "I should cancel..." I said, and her eyes almost popped out of its sockets.

"What? Are you crazy? This is a golden opportunity. He asked you out, and the PR around you and the movie is pure gold," she said, and I took a deep breath.

Yes, I wanted to be current, but having an affair with a coworker splashed all around the tabloids was not the way to do it. "I don't want the media to know," I mumbled, and she sighed.

"You can't help it, but you can take control of the narrative... it is up to you. Hide and let them build up the story around whatever is going on, to be public, and take control of what it really is. It is up to you, either way, it happens," Lorna advised, and I nodded.

She was right, but it was hard to be seen in public with someone who was not Peyton. I was still in love with him, even if he was with Shanty.

"Alright," I sighed, and she nodded.

"Great..." she smiled, and I turned around.

"Unzip me," I said, and she did it... I had to leave the wardrobe in the trailer, so I could be cleaned and replaced for the next shot tomorrow.

I quickly changed into pants and a T-shirt and headed home.

I took a shower, and the makeup artist Lorna had booked for me was amazing. He did my makeup, but he also offered to fix my hair. I was dolled up and a nervous wreck in less than forty minutes.

"Now, let's get you into your dress..." he said, and I took a deep breath. I had allowed Lorna to pick the outfit for tonight. I honestly didn't have time, and I really didn't care. I was not out to impress Tate; my heart only wanted Peyton. Peyton Bell, the guy who stole my heart and never returned it to me. The one whose number I stare at every night, hoping he will call me, and on many nights, I have been tempted to dial.

The stylist walked out with a white short dress that was stunning to say the least. It was short and had a one-shoulder neckline. On the covered shoulder, it had a bow that had two long stripes that went behind me. The skirt was short, but it had an uneven front. The small pearl beads around the plain white fabric were stunning. "Wow," I said, and he smirked.

"That is a hell of a good dress..." I said, and he nodded.

"Get ready, it is almost time," he said, and I nodded.

I wore the dress, and it fitted me perfectly; it was as if Lorna had taken my wardrobe measurements and had the dress styled and fitted to fit me like a glove. I wore a set of pearl heels with a bow in the back, and a golden clutch just to give it an accent.

The stylist made sure I looked perfect, and then he left. And suddenly the weight of the whole thing crashed up on my shoulders. "I am not ready for any of this," I mumbled, and reached into my clutch to cancel, but at that very moment, Tate texted me.

"I´m downstairs," he said, and I sighed.

Too f*****g late.

On my way down, I kept reciting my little mantra for the night: "Tate is a good guy, we are just getting to know each other. Dinner date does not mean anything. Peyton has chosen Shanty, and I need to move on... Maybe Tate is the one," over and over.

The doors of my building opened, and Tate was standing outside a fancy black car, holding a simple red rose. Tate was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt, no tie. His suit fitted his broad shoulders to perfection, and for a brief instant, I realized that maybe Tate was the perfect excuse to forget about Peyton, about his betrayal, and about the pain I feel inside my heart just knowing that he is now with another — Shanty nonetheless.

She straightened his back and smiled. "Wow, Vanessa, you look stunning." He said, "Thanks for accepting my invitation," and he handed me the red rose, and I smiled.

"You are welcome," I said, and he opened the door of his car for me, offering me his available hand to steady myself while I managed to sit on the passenger's seat, without flashing everyone around us.

No, the paparazzi hadn't heard of us at that point, but the few passersby could have had a good show if he had not been a gentleman.

"Thanks," I smiled, and he nodded.

To my surprise, he was driving. I had expected him to have a driver, but I guess he wanted to have privacy? Normalcy? Whatever it was, it was a breath of fresh air for me.

He climbed onto the passenger's door and smiled. "I booked a VIP area at the best restaurant in town," he said, and I smiled. I couldn't do anything else, I was out of words, and out of excuses as to why not to enjoy this outing.

Peyton has moved on, and it is time for me to do the same. I had promised to give Tate a fair shot, and that is what I intend to do tonight.

"You look gorgeous," he said, and I smiled.

"You clean up alright yourself," I smiled, and he laughed. He has been named "People's Most Handsome Man Alive" this year. He was truly handsome, well-built, and completely hot, with a capital H. Maybe that's what it is; he seems so perfect that he feels unreachable, but he is here within reach, nonetheless.

He drove in comfortable silence after that, and I took a deep breath; this must be what it is when you are that rusty in dating. A nice outing filled with awkward silences, cringeworthy pauses, and amicable smiles. We parked, and as soon as he pulled up to the curb of the restaurant, a bunch of photographers scrambled around the place.

A man in a black suit opened my door. "Miss Louvier," he said, and I stepped out of the car, allowing him to walk beside me. That was behind me, escorted by another man in black. "Sir, your table is ready," someone said to Tate, and he smiled.

He reached out to me and wrapped his arm around me, placing his hand on the bare skin of my back. Tate was a natural at handling the media, so we posed for two minutes, and then he nodded at everyone, leading my way into the restaurant.

He pulled out a chair for me, and then he sat across,

"So, Vanessa... Who is the guy?" he asked, and I gasped. What was he talking about? Is he talking about ¨Peyton? Should I tell her about Peyton and me? Why would I do that when I want to move on?