For Us

Peter:

Present:

The girl is looking at me. I call her a girl and not a woman because that’s what she is. Probably recently graduated from college and moved to Los Angeles, for fame and fortune. I sigh, and try to focus back on the script in front of me. But once you can feel someone staring at you, it becomes harder and harder to ignore it. Looks like I’m going to have to find a new coffee shop. Again. One of the double-sided perks of fame, I guess.

This used to be one of my favorite spots in Los Angeles. It’s small and quiet enough that it’s easy to sit and memorize lines. The staff, if they recognize me—and I by no means expect them to—doesn’t comment or treat me differently. And up until a couple of weeks ago, none of the patrons did either. But that was before the announcement. The new show I signed on to—my new show as I allow it to be called in my mind—Undercover, propelled me from vaguely recognizable and the “Oh, you’re that one guy from that one show,” to “Oh my god you’re Peter Holleman!” basically overnight. Honestly, I’ll take it.

We haven’t shot anything yet, so the promo posters are simply images of me, but the marketing department is good at what they do, and the advertisements struck a chord. I can only hope that the show strikes a bigger one.

I really love the script for this show. It’s smart and witty and has more than enough material for me to work with. I play Alex, a jaded New York detective who’s sent deep undercover to dismantle part of the Mob. The plan is to get close to the mark through his daughter Genova, but Alex gets too close, and by the end of season one, he’s going to be in way too deep. And he’s going to be completely in love with Genova.

Shooting starts today, and I’m excited, but I’m still struggling with some of my lines. Which is why I’m here, being distracted by the looks the busty redhead is obviously throwing my way. I glance down at my phone. There are a couple of texts from my agent, Michael, reminding me when I need to be at the studio. I struggle not to roll my eyes. As if I would forget my call time on the first day filming the biggest show of my career.

Female laughter distracts me again, and I glance toward the table where the redhead is sitting with her friends, and stifle a sigh. She’s standing now, and I recognize the body language. She’s getting ready to make her approach. A lot of these girls have the same kind of deal. Basically groupies, they’re not interested in anything but being able to say they slept with you. Maybe they’ll get their fifteen minutes of fame from some of the tabloids. She’s going to be disappointed.

At this stage of my career, I have everything to lose. So I don’t sleep with groupies. That’s not to say that I lead a celibate life—I’m not going to torture myself—but I’m not going to jump into the back of a car with girls who approach me in coffee shops.

I take a deep breath and a sip of coffee as she approaches, pretending that I don’t see her. I’ll do my best to let her down easy.

She clears her throat. “Excuse me?”

I look up and give her a mild smile. “Yes?”

“You’re Peter Holleman, aren’t you? From Tales of Briony?”

“I am.” I had a small part on Tales of Briony, but the character became a fan favorite. Probably because I was shirtless in the majority of scenes. She smiles, and holy shit she looks like Amber. I feel like the breath has been knocked out of me, but I keep the smile on my face. “Can I help you?”

Clearing her throat again, she inches closer. “I just wanted to come over and tell you that I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“Well thank you,” I say. “That’s very nice to hear.” Behind her, I see one of the staff watching the interaction, and I appreciate that they know. But I give a subtle wave with my hand. I’ve got it.

“I was also wondering,” she says, a sudden blush painting her cheeks, “I’ve heard that you’re single?”

“Correct.” There’s no point in lying about that. The only thing that happens if I lie is she goes to a tabloid saying I now have a girlfriend, and there’s a whole run of speculation about it. It’s a delicate time right now. I’m not famous enough to be followed by a bunch of paparazzi yet, but I’m just famous enough that things can easily be made up about me because I’m not a household name.

She takes a brazen step forward and leans down to my level, her breasts nearly pouring out of her shirt in a way that is one hundred percent intentional. “My apartment is only a couple of blocks from here. I can be your Cassidy tonight.”

The light catches her hair and turns it burgundy, and I’m back with Amber on our hilltop, and I have to blink away the image. “I appreciate the offer,” I say, “but no thank you.”

“Come on,” she says, voice low and silky. “I can make you feel so good. Better than you’ve ever felt before,” she whispers in my ear.

I take an even breath before speaking, and I’m careful not to move an inch. I don’t want anything to be misconstrued. “What’s your name?”

“Cynthia.”

“Cynthia,” I clear my throat. “Once again, I appreciate your offer. But ‘no thank you’ wasn’t an invitation for you to try to convince me, nor was it an invitation to touch me. Please back up.”

She blinks, like she doesn’t understand. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I grit my teeth. I’m definitely going to have to find a different coffee shop. But I still don’t move. I can’t touch her. I know how fast these things spin out of control, and there’s no way I’m going to let this spin into a story with a headline that reads ‘Peter Holleman assaults female fan asking for autograph.’

Cynthia lowers her eyes like she’s embarrassed and sorry, but when she looks at me again they’re full of determined fire. “I bet I can convince you.” I catch her wrist as soon as I see her hand moving downwards, probably reaching for my cock. Jesus, she can’t take a hint.

Suddenly, the manager is next to us. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Cynthia’s eyes snap away from me, and she’s suddenly livid. “Excuse you?”

The manager smiles sweetly. “We have a zero-tolerance policy for harassment here, and even though Mr. Holleman has been more than polite in asking you to leave him alone, you’ve only escalated. Please gather your things and follow me.”

She scoffs. “Follow you where?”

The manager gives her a cool look. “To my office. I’ll be taking your picture. You won’t be welcome in this establishment again.”

“What?” Suddenly her eyes fill with tears, and she turns to me. “I didn’t mean it, please don’t let them do this.”

I sigh, and close my eyes. “I don’t work her. It’s not my decision,” I say.

The manager gently leads her back to her table where a couple other employees are looking on, making sure the whole group gets their things and heads back to the office. Cynthia is still crying. Part of me is sympathetic. She’s young and not really used to consequences. The other part of me wants to take a shower. Not exactly what I was expecting from my morning coffee.

The manager, who’s name I read as Daisy, approaches me again.

“I apologize. We like to create a safe environment, and I hope that you’ll still consider this a place that you can visit. We’re proud to host celebrities here and will always protect your privacy.”

I think that’s the first time someone has called me a celebrity to my face. That’s…odd. “Thank you, Daisy.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Holleman.” She walks away from me and toward the office with determination in her step.

I throw back the rest of my coffee and tuck my script into my bag. I’ll look over the lines when I get to the studio. While I’m walking to my car, I text Michael and give him a heads up about the incident, telling him I’ll fill him in once I arrive. My publicist, Wendy, should be put on alert so if there were cameras or if Cynthia and her friends go to the press, there are no serious repercussions.

I pull onto the road and into traffic. Now that I’m out, the memories of Amber that Cynthia brought up surface. I’ve got time to kill, and apparently I’m a masochist, so I let myself get sucked into the memories, as painful as they might be.

Peter:

11th Grade:

I find the shaded corner like I always do, leaning against the wall with rock music blaring in my ears. I have to wait. Well, I don’t have to, but I want to. I’m not going to let all of these rich kids with their rich parents and their rich cars see that I have to walk home. Better to let them think I’m doing something after school. Half of these kids wouldn’t look at me if they knew the truth. The other half would look at me with pity and only be friends with me because I’m the charity case.

I’m not about that. The only way I’ll remotely fit in here is by staying under the radar. Not that I’ll ever really fit in here. Massachusetts is too cold. And I’m not exactly a fan of winter. Winter down in Virginia is cold, but mostly rain and sleet. Not a whole lot of snow. Here we’re practically buried in it, and it’s only October. Although people have told me that it’s not typical, I’m not sure that I believe them. I wonder what my mom would say. She grew up here.

Then again, I’m not sure that I could really trust whatever she would say. I haven’t been able to so far. She’s the entire reason I’m here. Watching a couple of the kids from my class climb into a Mercedes, I grit my teeth.

My mom said she was going out for groceries six months ago and just never came back. I was okay, I had a job, and I was able to eat, but the rent caught up with me. Then the landlord found out, and Child Protection Services, and now I’m living in Salem, Massachusetts with my mom’s sister and hating every second of it.

She’s nice, Aunt Lily, and deep down I know it’s stupid to be angry at her, but I am. I’m angry she made me leave. Because there’s still a chance that mom could come back, and what is she going to think if she shows up and I’m not there?

A couple of guys from the basketball team walk by and give me a nod. I got pulled into school here too late to join any sports, but I’ve already been approached by more than one of the teams for next year. Maybe. If I’m still here. But I know the main reason they’re friendly to me right now is because they want me on their team. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any friends who wanted to be friends just because of me. But that’s okay. I don’t need friends. I can survive.

A hand slaps into my chest, sticking a piece of paper to it, and I jump. There’s a girl standing to my right, and she must be part ninja, or I must be really out of it because I didn’t see her coming up to me at all. Her mouth is moving, but I can’t hear her over the music. I’ve seen her before around school but we’ve never spoken.

She’s beautiful. Long red hair that makes me want to run my fingers through it, and I know I’ve looked lower when she’s not bundled up against the cold. She’s got the kind of body that every guy my age wants to touch, and I force my eyes upward as I realize they’re wandering.

I take out one headphone so I can hear her. Her hand is still pushed against my chest, and I take the paper she’s pushing at me.

“You shouldn’t ignore people,” she says.

I blink. “I wasn’t. I didn’t see you.”

“Good,” she smiles. “Did you hear me asking you to come to Drama Club?”

I laugh, even though I’m distracted by her smile. “No. And thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“You got someplace else to be?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or are you going to wait here till the whole school is empty and then walk away again.”

My mouth draws open for a second before I manage to control my face. “You’ve been watching me?”

She grins. “In a stalker way? No. In a way that I’m generally pretty observant? Yeah.”

I stare at her because I don’t know what to say. Up until this moment at this school, I’ve always felt completely invisible. It never occurred to me that anyone would notice the fact that I wait to leave, let alone confront me about it.

She’s still smiling. “Am I wrong?”

I shake my head. “No, but I don’t think I’m a drama kind of guy.”

“Maybe not,” she says, “but what have you got to lose by trying? We need more guys, especially guys like you.”

I look down at the paper she’s shoved at me. It’s a permission form for an audition. “Guys like me?”

“Yeah,” she says, looking me straight in the eye. “Good looking guys who might be able to pull off playing a romantic lead.”

Who the hell is this girl? There’s no way I’m the kind of guy that she just described. Wait, did she just say good looking?

“I’m Amber, by the way,” she says, holding out her hand.

I shake it. “Peter.” I’m not quite sure what to do here. The way Amber is looking at me, like she’s completely sure that I’m going to give in and follow her is different than most girls I’ve met here. If I say no she’ll be disappointed, but she’ll live. But I also get the sense that if I say no, I won’t be hearing from Amber ever again. I’m not sure that I want that to happen.

The show listed on the paper is Pride and Prejudice. “I didn’t realize this was a play,” I say.

“Yeah. It’s not bad,” Amber says. “I like the script.”

I stare down at the paper, figuring out my next move.

Amber crosses her arms over her chest. “How long are you going to make me stand in the cold before you admit that you’ve already decided to come with me?”

That makes me smile. “How do you know that I’ve decided?”

“Like I said, I’m observant. You’ve done pretty much everything to not be involved here at school, and I’ve seen you push away people who’ve tried to recruit you before. But you’re still talking to me.”

I shake my head. “Why do you notice things like that?”

“It’s just the way I am,” she says. “And I think you’re cute. But really, I’ve been the new kid at school, and I know it sucks. I try to keep tabs on the new kids, just to make sure that they’re doing okay. If they’re not, then I do something.”

My brain is stuck on the fact that she thinks I’m cute. “You think I’m cute?”

A blush colors her cheeks and it’s brighter because we’re both surrounded by snow. “I do. Something you should know about me, I’m very blunt. So yes, I think you’re cute, but I also think you’re not doing so well here. I think Drama could be good for you. We don’t bite, I promise.”

“What would you do if I still said no, after all that?”

Amber tilts her head to the side, and I follow the way her hair falls with my eyes, watch the snowflakes that get caught in the strands. “I’d accept it, but I’d be disappointed.”

That settles it, then. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you,” I say with a grin. “Lead the way. I’ll give it a shot at least.”

Her face lights up with smile that shines out of her eyes. “Perfect.”

I follow her through the snow and back into the school, pulling out my phone to text my aunt that I’ll be home later than normal, and why.

We pass the science hallway and make our way toward the auditorium. I follow Amber through the back doors, and find a group of people relaxing in chairs. It’s more people than I expected, though honestly they look the way I imagined. As we enter, everyone turns around to look, and I freeze. Amber doesn’t. The teacher raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering where you were.”

“I had my eye on someone,” Amber says, grinning back at me. “This is Peter.”

I give a small wave, and the teacher steps forward to shake my hand. “I’m Mr. Davidson. I teach music and drama, but I haven’t had you yet?”

“Transfer student,” I say.

“Ah, well you’re just in time. Today is audition day! Let’s get started, gang.” He makes a grand, un-ironic gesture that would probably be embarrassing coming from anyone else, but it works for him.

People grab their stuff and start migrating to the front of the auditorium, and I glance over at Amber, wondering what in the hell I just got myself into.