Gemma Halliday: Scandal Sheet aka Hollywood Scandals

No. You’re right. I don’t. Turns out, I don’t know you at all.

Those tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but I defiantly held them back. I would not cry. I would not show him how much those words hurt. They didn’t. He was right. Had he ever promised to be more than a bodyguard to me? No. He’d done his job. I was alive, the stalker was behind bars, awaiting a trial that would be providing me salacious headlines for months to come. What more did I expect? Your job is done, what do you care? I shouted back.

His nostrils flared. You think this was all just a job to me?

I bit my lip. Wasn’t it? Again that nasty little hope flared up. Just a little. Just enough that I felt myself watching his lips anxiously as he replied.

He shook his head ever so slightly, his expression almost sad now. God, Tina, if you don’t know the answer to that… He trailed off. Then ran a hand through his hair. Clearly it was a job I never should have taken.

And just like that, the hope died a quick and painful death, shriveling into nothing.

Well, it’s over now. You can leave, I said, biting the inside of my cheek to keep those damned tears at bay.

Cal gave me one last look, then spun around and crossed the street.

I wanted to run after him, apologize, beg forgiveness even though I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d done wrong. How that whole conversation had slipped away from me so quickly, I didn’t know. But nothing about it had been what I’d wanted to say.

Only I didn’t run after him. I stood with my arms wrapped around my middle as I watched Cal climb into his Hummer, slamming the door shut behind him so violently I was surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges. Then he roared the beast to life and gunned the engine, his tires squealing as he raced out of the complex like he couldn’t wait to be rid of me.

I took a deep breath. I counted to ten. I told those tears if they dared to fall down my cheeks they were dead meat.

Tina?

I sniffed hard. Yeah? I answered, my voice only marginally shaky.

Aunt Sue came up behind me. I ordered a large pepperoni. Cal’s not staying for dinner?

Do not cry. Don’t you dare cry! No. I cleared my throat, swiping the back of my hand over my damp cheeks. No, Cal’s gone.

Oh. That’s too bad. Well, I hope you’re hungry at least?

I turned, pasted a smile on my face, and lied through my teeth. Famished.

One pizza and three hours later, I’d tucked Aunt Sue into bed with a paperback Nora Roberts and slipped on a pair of sweats, snuggling into my own bed. But, as drained as I was, I wasn’t quite ready to fall asleep yet.

There was one more person I had to talk to first.

I grabbed my laptop from my bag and booted it up, barely waiting until the welcome screen had cleared before opening an IM window and hoping he was still up.

He was.

My heart lurched as soon as I saw his little online now icon. I quickly typed.

Hey, Black.

Hey, Bender. I’d almost given up on you.

Sorry. Rough day.

There was a pause. Then, Your column in the Informer this morning have anything to do with that?

Yeah.

Tell me.

So, I did. Everything. From the ridiculousness of our makeshift funeral for Mrs. C. to the chase through the many lands of Small World and Millie’s amazing Sword in the Stone rescue. Black interjected with a lot of Wow’ s and Are you okay’ s. The only thing I held back was the fight with Cal and the growing bruise it had left in my chest. Though, I guess I mentioned his name enough in my narrative that the first thing Black said when he responded was, So, how do you feel about this Cal guy?

I bit my lip. I don’t know, I said, truthfully.

You like him?

I stared at the screen for a moment. Then typed, Yes. And for some reason my fingers added, More than I should.

There was a pause. A long one.

You still there? I typed.

We should meet.

I froze. Staring at the words. A mix of excitement and fear washing over me. I had never intended to meet Black. He was my secret. My escape from real life. My fantasy.

But as I looked at that little blinking cursor, I realized he’d also become the closest thing to a best friend that I’d ever had. Cal was wrong. I wasn’t all hard armor, and I did let my guard down. With Black. I’d confided in him, been comforted by him, was more honest with him that I probably was with anyone in my life.

So, as much as a protest was backing up in my throat, I felt my fingers typing, When?

Tomorrow. Noon.

I swallowed a dry gulp. That was soon.

Where?

Griffith Park.

How will I know you?

There’s a bench. On the south side of the merry-go-round. Wait for me there.

This was so You’ve Got Mail . But I found myself nodding at the computer screen anyway. I took a deep breath. My stomach churned like I’d just eaten bad Mexican. And I typed the word, Okay.

No sooner did it show up on the screen than Black signed off, his little online now icon quickly disappearing as if afraid I might change my mind.

He was a very perceptive man.

I turned off my laptop, setting it on the floor as I snuggled into my empty bed. Only I didn’t go to sleep. I was way too keyed up.

Tomorrow I was meeting Black.

I awoke early the next morning, a mix of fear and excitement still churning in my belly. I padded into the kitchen to find a note stuck to the coffeemaker from Aunt Sue. Apparently the entire complex was buzzing with the news about Lani’s arrest, and Aunt Sue’s presence was requested at the senior center for breakfast. I smiled, picturing Aunt Sue as the belle of the senior ball for the foreseeable future.

I made myself a cup of coffee and took it into the living room, dragging my laptop with me. I booted it up and began typing up all of my notes from the day before. But instead of formatting it into the killer story it was, true to my word, I emailed the whole thing to Allie. As much as it pained me to give the blonde my story, I actually had a feeling she’d do it justice.

Instead, I pulled up a screen and focused on my own column, typing out the headline:

DISNEYLAND SECURITY NOT UP TO SNUFF WHEN IT COMES TO CELEBRITIES

Hey, I’d promised not to sue them over it. I hadn’t said anything about keeping my mouth shut. Besides, I was still a little miffed at having that damned Small World theme still stuck in my head. Seriously, if the CIA needs a new torture technique, they need look no further than those singing dolls.

I finished typing up my column, emailed it to Felix, and jumped in the shower. Once I was clean and smelled like Forest Rain (or so my shampoo promised), I contemplated my closet, anxiety rumbling through my stomach as I tried to pick out the perfect meeting Black for the first time outfit. I tried on a sundress and heels, but, after a quick turn in the mirror, discarded them. Too girly.

I slipped on a tank top and a pair of khaki capris, but they felt a little too trendy. Again, not really me.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure why I cared so much. I kept telling myself I was likely meeting some greasy-haired, goober-faced dork and was, in reality, in for an inevitable letdown.

Still, I tried on a third outfit, finally settling on jeans, my hot pink converse, and a purple T-shirt with a flaming pink skull on the front. Maybe not the trendiest or most feminine, but it was totally me.

I took a little extra time doing my hair, even gelling the ends, and put on some mascara and lip gloss before grabbing my Strawberry Shortcake purse and heading out the door.