36. Alana

THIRTY-SIX

Alana

Listen to me, mister.

You’re my knight in shining armor.

Don’t you forget it.

~ On Golden Pond

I look at Stevens, “I’m going to take this.”

I step out onto the deck to take Caroline’s call.

“Hey, Caroline.”

“Alana. I know your mother spoke with you. I need you to check a post on the StarNews feed on Instagram. I’m sending the link in a text right now. You know I try to shield you from a lot of this kind of thing and handle it myself, but I need you to be up to date so we can stay ahead of this. I’m assuming you had a man up to your condo. I’m not even going to ask you to confirm or deny that, because, at this point, the truth doesn’t matter. All we need to focus on now is what we do with what’s being said.”

I don’t bother to volunteer the truth since Caroline doesn’t want it anyway, and she’s right. In this case, the truth won’t help. If only I weren’t pretending to date Rex right now, this wouldn’t be a feeding frenzy for the media. I could come clean. Or maybe, not. This kind of fiasco, the one looming on the horizon, is exactly what I’m trying to protect Stevens from.

“Is that it? Just check the Instagram link?”

“For now, yes. But, if I’m shooting straight, no. This is pre-release. You need the press of you with Rex—the happy couple reuniting before the film launches. The tabloids are buzzing about this mystery man and how he went into your place and never came out. It looks bad, Alana. You having a secret relationship when you were just trying to reconcile with Rex does not give the spine we hoped for.”

I let out a sigh. “They’re assuming the man was my guest. There are four tenants in my building.”

“That doesn’t matter. No one’s interested in an Asian mogul of finance, an elderly couple, or a hairstylist to the stars. They are not the reason a delivery man would enter and not leave. And even if they were, you know the media is hungry for news about you. This is a crumb.” She shifts gears so quickly, my head spins. “Okay. Read the post. We’ll talk.”

There’s the telltale click and the line is dead.

I tap the link. There’s nothing really significant beyond what my mother told me. A fuzzy photo of Stevens entering the building. Another one of him pushing three on the elevator panel. How did they get that? Or did they manufacture it? And then speculation as to why a man would be coming into my condo and not leaving. A portion of the post raises the question as to whether I’m cheating on Rex so soon into our attempt to reconcile. There are thousands of comments already. I don’t read any of those. That’s a doom spiral I usually ask Brigitte to take on my behalf.

I drop the hand holding my cell to my side and stare out over the treetops. I look in through the sliding glass doors at Stevens. He’s waiting in my kitchen.

When I walk back inside, he takes one look at my face and asks. “What was that all about? ”

I set my phone on the counter and pick up my slice of pizza, answering him before I take another bite.

“Apparently you were photographed going into my condo.”

“Did they get my good side?” Stevens is all smiles.

“Thankfully, no. The photo is blurry.”

Stevens glances at my face, studying me and obviously sizing up my concern. Then he stands and brushes my hair back, gently bracing his hands on my biceps.

“Hey. It’s going to be okay.” He’s that man playing violin on the deck of the Titanic. “Let’s play Scrabble.”

Yep. Titanic. Stevens is the guy lulling everyone into a state of calm when an iceberg is about to hit the ship. But I can’t help but dance to his tune. He’s just that soothing, that grounding. He makes me forget all about the outside world and the damage they could do.

We walk into the living room to grab the Scrabble board, and like the brilliant, caring man he is, Stevens starts his attempt at distracting me from our reality.

“Ask me what my favorite marine animal is.”

“The sea hare.”

I make a futile effort at resisting his charm.

One foot is here with him, the other is in Hollywood, feeling the avalanche about to fall all around us. He has no idea. He can be cavalier because he hasn’t tried to survive an unnatural disaster of public attack and media smears. It starts with the smallest snowball innocently rolling downhill, and somehow that leads to a cataclysmic release of all the snow on the mountain. You could find yourself buried in the devastation in a matter of minutes. That’s how fast gossip and rumors grow and spread. I want him to take shelter, and he’s grabbing a sled and asking me to hop on for a joy ride.

“Not the sea hare,” he smiles calmly. “Guess again, or just ask me.”

I look over at him, he’s grinning boyishly. Okay. Okay. One last sled ride before the hill collapses .

“Okay. Tell me.” I pull the Scrabble board out of the cabinet and stand.

Rain starts to fall outside. A summer squall.

“Looks like we’re playing inside,” I say.

Stevens grabs the board and walks into the kitchen. He sets the game up on the island and takes a stool.

“Would you rather talk about something more interesting?” he asks.

“Nope. Now that you brought it up, I want to know.”

“It’s the sea cucumber.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. They are scavengers that feed on small food items in the benthic zone. That’s the seafloor to you non-science-y people.” He winks. “They also eat plankton, algae, aquatic invertebrates, and waste particles in the water column. They eat with tube feet that surround their mouths. And they can range in size from less than an inch to over six feet.”

“Six feet! That’s quite a cucumber.”

“It’s the giant red.” He smiles at me like it’s an inside joke we’re sharing.

As much as I want to resist him, I feel my resolve crack. He’s soothing the sting of Caroline’s call with his presence and the ease between us.

“Of course it is.” I chuckle.

“I find it fascinating how they eat with their feet and breathe by dilating their anal sphincter to suck water into their rectum, where specialized structures called respiratory trees, or butt lungs, extract oxygen.”

“So, they basically breathe through their butt?” I cover my mouth and look away, but I can’t control the laugh that bubbles up.

Stevens looks at me seriously for a beat and then he starts laughing. “There she is.”

“Why are you so hot right now?” He purposely picked that animal to talk about so I would laugh in the face of the media avalanche, and I love him for it.

“You think I’m hot, while I’m telling you about an animal who breathes through his hindquarters?” He gives me a purposely smoldering look.

This whole tactic is working very well. It’s the best sled ride of my life and I never want to get off.

“You are.” I place my hand over his. “Very. I’m pretty sure you could read me something from a high school biology textbook and I’d find you irresistible.”

“Is that right? I’ll have to dig up one of my old textbooks for our next date.”

I walk around the corner of the island and cup his face. “Thank you for making me laugh.”

He kisses me gently. It’s a sweet kiss, one meant to comfort and assure me—and it works.

My phone rings and I pick it up. I notice I never shut the Instagram app, so I swipe that out before I answer the call

Caroline.

And just like that, the slope gives way and everything is sliding downhill in a swell of white.

“Alana!” Her voice is nearly a shout, definitely panicked. “You left your camera filming live on Instagram. Your whole conversation just now, and the kiss you shared with that dark-haired, definitely-not-Rex man went through to all your followers.”

I fall backward onto a barstool. Stevens’ face is etched with concern.

I did this. It was bound to happen, but I was the trigger.

“Stay put. Don’t do a thing. Hang up your phone. Stay off social media. Only take calls from me and your mother and Brigitte. I’ll be in touch.” Caroline pauses. “And breathe.”

I stare across the kitchen, numbly trying to make sense of where we go from here. I’ve got nothing. The thought of packing everything essential and stealing Stevens away to Fiji or Lake Como flashes through my mind. I could manage to pull off an escape. We could be on a plane in a few hours. But then what? We’ll have to face this someday. Like he said before. It’s part of the whole package.

Brigitte calls next.

“What is going on? Your mom isn’t answering my calls yet. They go straight to voicemail. I’ll be hearing from her, though. You can be sure I will. All I know is my feed is blowing up with posts that have links to the major gossip sites. We’ve got headlines like: ‘Alana Graves: Cucumber Fanatic,’ and ‘Sea Cucumbers. Who knew?’ There’s one, ‘Doing a Deep Dive on Alana’s New Love Interest.’ I thought that was a clever play on words, actually. And then we’ve got the question I’ve been asking for weeks summed up in this title, ‘Do Biologists Have More Fun?’ Talk to me, Alana. What happened?”

I fill Brigitte in on what I know from the Instagram post about Stevens coming up to my apartment to the huge mess I created by accidentally bumping the live video option on my phone and leaving it on while Stevens tried to cheer me up.

My other line rings through. Stevens is sitting next to me. I haven’t even had a chance to directly tell him all that’s going on, but he heard my explanation to Brigitte, so he knows. His hand is over mine on the countertop and his face is as placid as ever. He’s naive, unscathed for now. But that’s all about to change.

“Bridge, my other line is ringing. It’s Caroline. I’ll call you back.”

“Whatever you need, I’m here. You’ll get through this. No. We’ll get through this. You’re never alone in these disasters. And they do blow over. Hang in there, babe.”

I hang up with Brigitte and take Caroline’s call, holding eye contact with Stevens the whole time. If I were Rose, I’d make space on my driftwood for Jack. No. I’d give Jack my driftwood. Someone’s got to drown here. I won’t let it be him.

“Hey, Caroline.”

“Okay, give me the whole story. Who is this man? Obviously you’re seeing someone. I need everything. You should have kept me in the loop. You don’t start a relationship and not let me know. I can spin this. I can’t get ahead of it. But we can turn it around, I hope. You are in a relationship, yes? This isn’t a fling or some weekend of fun with a biologist, am I right?”

“He’s my boyfriend.” I stare at Stevens as I say the words and he smiles a broad, reassuring smile.

He quietly mouths the words, “I’ve got you.”

I smile back at him. He’s got me. I know he does. And I’ll never be able to thank him enough for his willingness to walk through fire for me.

Sometimes love means going the distance for another person. But sometimes it means taking the bullet. Stevens may think he can weather the upcoming storm, but he’s never been through anything like what’s about to come our way. And it won’t be merely a passing storm. Once he enters the public eye, he will never have the option of exiting it again.

I care too much about him to let him endure this for me.

If it were just one wave of paparazzi and all the ensuing rumors, I’d possibly take him up on his incredible offer. But this is only the tip of the iceberg. We’ll hit massive impact time and again until what we have no longer resembles the simple, pure relationship we started to build. The media will have their way. They’ll come at us relentlessly from now on once they know about him. I can’t ask him to endure all that for me. Even if he thinks he’s willing. If he knew the magnitude of what he’s offering, he might not be so quick to step up and declare his loyalty.

Caroline’s still talking. “I need to get Rex on board. And we have to act quickly. We’re going to do a photoshoot with the two of you. And then some shots with the two men. They’re friends. Rex loves this guy for you. That’s the angle. You and Rex tried, but you realized you only have a strong friendship. Rex met your biologist and he saw the chemistry. Hey! That’s not bad. Biology. Chemistry. I like it. Okay. That’s the spin.”

Rex actually does like Stevens for me. That’s not publicity. It’s reality .

“I don’t want to drag Stevens further into this mess.”

Stevens shakes his head at the same time Caroline says, “Alana, baby. You don’t have a choice. It’s either that or you make a bigger show of being together with Rex. You need to embrace this relationship or reject it. You can’t stand still. That’s never an option. The old sayings, ‘It will pass,’ and ‘The public will lose interest,’ are myths. The public may move on, but they never forget.

“And a mystery only provides everyone a blank canvas. The media and your fans—and your haters—will all go wild filling in the blanks unless we fill them in for them. So, take your time.”

She pauses. “And by take your time , I mean you have two hours to decide. One is better. Yes. One hour. It’s Rex or this biologist. We’re either saying the biologist was hired to run lines for a script you're considering. He’s an employee providing a service, and the script reading accidentally was filmed when you bumped your phone. Then you declare that you are madly in love with Rex and still pursuing a reunification with him. The other option is to film a publicity shoot in the next twenty-four hours—preferably tomorrow—during which you disclose your secret boyfriend to the world. Take your time. One hour.”

Click.

The line goes dead.

I look at the clock.

One hour.

I’ve got one hour.