Damage Control

chapter 14

    The deal Hadyn and I struck was that he and I would spend a week in LA and then I would go home for the rest of my winter break. I had called my old waitressing job and they had agreed to let me pick up a few shifts just so that I wouldn’t be drowning in expenses.

    Fangs of Passion already paid for Hadyn and Joe to travel back, so adding another seat wasn’t too much of a hassle. Or so Hadyn said.

    Melinda and George practically had a field day when I asked for some time off. Melinda, bless her, teared up when I told her that I could finally go home to see my family.

    And speaking of which, I wondered how they would react when I showed up. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to actually call them and tell them I would be coming back. 

    So within a few days, I was on the plane with Hadyn and Joe sitting in a private jet, which I never thought I’d have the experience doing.

    Joe promptly took four melatonin pills and decided to clock out in the back as soon as we entered the plane, so Hadyn and I had the front half to ourselves.

    “Sorry about how cramped it is,” Hadyn apologized as soon as he finished pouring me a coke. “It’s usually bigger because Paige demands it,” he finished, referring to the his costar Paige Branson who was the lead female in the show.

    I rolled my eyes. “Apology not accepted. We need to switch freaking private jets right now,” I replied, sarcastically.

    He winked at me over his cup of tea. “Just making sure.”

    I had never been on a plane before. Hadyn pretty much passed out shortly after our quick conversation. I was practically a human ball of anxiety once we were on the runway. The anxiety, though, quickly turned into awe as soon as we were in the sky.

    Being in the air was both amazing and terrifying. Of course, I was thinking of all the ways we could die, but seeing the earth and little towns that were reduced to grids from being this high was absolute awesome in the most literal sense.

    And Hadyn was asleep on his chair.

    About five hours later we were landed in Santa Monica, which was the closest private airport.

    Joe was the first one off the plane with his suitcase and duffel bag. Hadyn gave me a little eye roll, but still kept that familiar happy-go-lucky smile.

    “It’s not that hot,” I commented, as the we entered the cool air.

    Hadyn shrugged on his duffel bag. “We have our own version of winter. It’s 50 degrees I think.”

    We both hopped onto the golf cart that was waiting for us with our bags and rode to the pick up area where another car was waiting.

    He lived in Calabasas, which was about a half hour drive. It was about midnight and I could feel the effects of jet lag continuously slap me in the face.

    The car stopped in front of a gate. Hadyn had to get out to enter in the passcode and the doors swung open.

    We drove along a windy driveway and my stomach turned with anticipation of seeing his home.

    With a breath of relief, we turned up to a modern styled home that was white with wide windows.

    It was obviously designed with care and intelligence; the front was almost concave with white steps leading up to the glass doors. A two-door garage was on the bottom of the driveway and on top of that was even more windows.

    Hadyn said a thanks to the driver and we unloaded our bags and marched up the stairs, me lagging behind him.

    “Your house is pretty,” I told him, looking around. There was a palm tree to the right of us and a beautifully landscaped garden with lush green plants.

    “I didn’t design any of it,” he laughed, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door and entered yet another passcode before the door chimed and he was able to open it.

    The interior was even more amazing than the exterior. It was definitely more of a minimalistic style, with white couches and white marble floors with white granite tables.

    “Just out of curiosity, what’s your favorite color?” I joked, running my fingers over the table.

    Hadyn rolled his eyes and dropped his suitcase and bags onto the floor. “I’m actually quite a fan of dark green,” he replied. “Like I said, I had nothing to do with the designing.”

    The entrance of his house opened into a large room that served as both the living room and kitchen. A flatscreen television was to the right and there was a wall with a large opening that lead into the kitchen area to the left.

    Behind the living room was a window that practically took up the entire wall. And through said window, I could see the backyard, which was dimly lit enough to make out a pool that was shifting colors from purple to orange to blue to green and so on.

    When I turned to face him, I could see that he was blushing. Laughing, I approached him and asked why he was so quiet.

    “It’s just so different than your place,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

    “Yeah, it’s better. You have no neighbors, you have a pool, and your place is cleaner than a museum.”

    He shrugged. “It’s more of a museum than a home,” he said, quietly.

    Looking at him and his house in all its glory, I realized that he sort of fit in really well. The house was beautiful and had sort of a cold beauty to it, which complimented Hadyn’s ethereal appearance.

    “Don’t you have any photos?” I asked.

    He shook his head. “They’d look too out of place.”

    “Well, why don’t we go and print some tomorrow? I promise, it’ll look better.”

    A smile finally cracked and he nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

    As it turned out, we didn’t end up printing photos. Joe woke him up bright and early and announced that he was to make an appearance for a magazine interview followed by a photoshoot.

    Hadyn kept apologizing and I kept trying to reassure him that it was fine. Which it was; I was excited to see what being Hadyn Michaels was all about.

    We arrived at a studio where Hadyn was quickly whisked away to do wardrobe.

    There was a craft table by his makeup trailer, where he would be coming to as soon as he was finished with his clothes.

    I busied myself with piling a plate of fruit and rice chips, which were apparently all the rage right now.

    “Oh, God,” a voice sneered, breaking me out of my reverie.

    I turned and found myself facing the one and only Macy Hawthorne. I gave her a smile and stuck out my hand for her to shake.

    She looked at it like I was offering her a dead puppy, rather than a normal form of greeting.

    “Alright,” I muttered, retracting my hand and popping a rice chip into my mouth.

    “You’re even blander in person,” Macy commented, grabbing a bottle of water.

    I stared at her and took in Macy in all of her glory. She was absurdly skinny and tall with cascading blonde princess curls and piercing blue eyes. Her cheekbones were unnaturally sharp and hollow and her nose was dainty and perfect.

    She wore high waisted gray leggings and a matching crop top with chunky sneakers. A pair of giant sunglasses were perched on her head, pulling her hair out of her face.

    “You’re even bitchier in person,” I retorted.

    Macy narrowed her eyes and took a step closer, towering over me. “He’s bored,” she stated. “He’s restless and is wondering what if he never got famous. He’s living through you. You’ll have maybe two more months until he will realize that you’re too busy working a nine to five job and he’s too busy going on tours and filming. Then you’ll only be known as the talentless, boring girl that once got lucky and dated one of the most handsome men of our generation.”

    So maybe I shouldn’t have laughed at her. In her defense, she needed drama and attention at all times because that was her career.

    But her words were just so goddamned dramatic and the way she looked down at me reminded me of a middle school drama novel.

    “Mace? What’re you doing here?” Hadyn asked, wearing a denim button-down and black jeans with laced up boots.

    Macy turned away from me and embraced Hadyn, kissing his cheek. “Hello, my love,” she gushed. “Didn’t they tell you? It’s our interview. We get to talk about us.”

    Hadyn frowned and glanced at me. “And what exactly were you two laughing about before I came in?”

    I looked at Macy, who was silently glaring at me. “You never told me that Macy was a fantastic comedian,” I told him.

    Hadyn laughed and and shrugged, looking at his fake ex-girlfriend. “I didn’t know you were a comedian,” he remarked.

    He came over to me and sat in the chair that faced the large mirror with lights around the perimeter.

    “You know me,” Macy said, through clenched teeth.

    There were two mirrors and chairs next to each other. In front of the chairs and below said mirrors were white tables filled with makeup products and hairstyling tools.

    Two artists came in and began the process. Hadyn’s makeup was done in about twenty minutes, while Macy’s took a little over an hour.

    “You look weird,” I told Hadyn. I squinted, trying to see his pores, but his face was smooth and painted so that he looked more like a doll than a person.

    “This just helps the editors more,” he sighed, looking at his reflection.

    I grinned at him. “Will you let me do your makeup?”

    He snapped his head back at me and laughed once. “Absolutely not.”  

    “Lame.”

    “Counter,” he proposed. “Only if I can do yours first.”

    That was funny. “Okay,” I laughed. “Deal.”

    We shook on it and I ignored Macy’s deathly glare that put all the mean girls back home to shame.

    When Macy finished getting ready, we all shuffled down onto the set where they took photos.

    It was just a blank white set with paper taped onto the floor and wall. The photographer clearly wanted them to still look madly in love, which I tried not to get too jealous about. He made Hadyn grab her from behind and the both of them were laughing about it. Then, there were more sultry shots of them just staring at each other so intensely, I wondered just how well Hadyn could act.

    Then, three chairs were pulled up to the white set and the ex couple plus the interviewer sat down.

    “So,” the interviewer began, opening up his notepad. “I’m just gonna be blunt and ask what we’re all dying to know. Why did the two of you call it quits?”

    Hadyn let out a small laugh, which to me looked more uncomfortable than polite. “I think Macy and I both realized that we were just better off as friends,” he answered. “And we are. I mean, hopefully the photos we just did show that there’s no animosity, no bad blood at all.”

    Macy nodded. “Exactly. And we also don’t know what the future will hold either. Some paths will cross again and others won’t. I’m hoping for the former,” she added.

    I let out a slow breath after her answer. I knew that Hadyn said that they were just friends and barely that; that the relationship was for publicity. But they way that they bantered, the way that they were so comfortable around each other had me second guessing.

    The interviewer nodded and smiled. “So, we shouldn’t lose hope just yet.”

    Macy smiled back. “I’d say so.”

    The interviewer scanned his pages before reciting the next question. “Yet, Hadyn, you’ve already seemed to move on. Tell us more about the new lady in your life.”

    Hadyn glanced at me, giving me a look that warmed me up to my toes.

    “Yes, I’m sure you’ve seen on my social media. We met while I was in New York for that convention. Ever since, it’s been lovely.”

    The interviewer nodded. “How long were you two broken up before you moved on to the mystery girl?”

    “Four months,” they both answered at the same time.

    Macy laughed. “We both took it kind of hard so we didn’t talk about it. But obviously, now it’s just another milestone in our relationship.”

    “And Hadyn, tell us more about the mystery girl. Who is she? How did you two meet?” The interviewer asked.

    I could tell Macy wasn’t enjoying the spotlight being shared with me. She looked to the side, disinterested in the conversation.

    “I can tell you about us, but I think we’re both agreeing to keep our personal lives private. For now. We met accidentally and she absolutely hated me at first. But with my charm and good looks, she eventually caved and we’re both enjoying getting to know each other and spending time together. She’s in school studying to be a teacher.”

    The interviewer laughed. “So, polar opposites,” he remarked.

    Hadyn nodded. “Exactly. But it’s going really well so far, so I’m pretty optimistic.”

    “And Macy?” The interviewer asked. “Anyone have your eye, lately?”

    She looked at Hadyn for a second too long before shifting her attention back onto the interviewer. “It’s been the same for me,” she replied.

    The interview finished shortly after a few more questions and they were finally released. Macy, surprisingly was ready to leave before Hadyn was.

    “Just so you know,” she sneered, pulling her Gucci handbag a big higher over her shoulder. “You’ll never replace me. He’ll come running back.”

    I stared at her, determined not to let her words get to me. “It was nice to meet you, Macy,” I responded, icily.

    She didn’t bother responding. Instead, she met up with an older woman wearing a pencil skirt and blazer and the two of them left.

    Shortly, Hadyn came out wearing the clothes he initially brought and his face looked much more normal. He didn’t have an imperfection on him, but he looked a lot less like a dolled up dead body than before.

    “Macy’s a b***h,” I greeted him as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

    He sighed and led us to his car, which was an SUV done by Mercedes. “She was born in the spotlight,” he explained. “Unfortunately, she’s very similar to a lot of the people I work with.”

    I opened the front seat door and managed to hoist myself up onto the actual seat. Why was everything in California so much bigger?

    “Why are you not like that?” I asked when he shut his door and put his keys into the ignition.

    “Like what?” He asked back, turning around and reversing out of the lot.

    I looked at him as he drummed his fingers against the wheel and peered in both directions before whizzing out of the studio. “A superficial jerk,” I answered.

    He glanced at me with a smile dancing on his lips. “Funny you say that,” he said, lightly. “I remember you calling me both an asshole and a fuckhead.”

    I laughed. “Those were just the first words that popped into my head at the time. But nice memory.”

    “Thank you,” he grinned, glancing at me.

    The temperature on the dashboard read 65 degrees, which was about 45 degrees warmer than New York at the moment. The sun was in the sky and we were driving past monuments I had only seen in photos. I was also in my dream car with a guy that was not only chiseled enough to be a Greek God, but was also surprisingly sweet and fun to be around.

    Maybe things were finally letting up.