AllFreeNovel
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My friends are great, but I can’t confide in them. They know I’m working to take care of my mom. They just don’t know how. I wouldn’t have been able to look them in the eye again.
“Let’s go.” Dave comes out of my room dressed in a black turtleneck, black slacks and has his dark red hair styled to death.
“Did you use the entire jar of pomade?” I burst out laughing.
“No, asshole. Not all of us have magical hair,” he says with disgust. “If I don’t put this shit in it, it’ll be all over my head by the time we get to the r
estaurant. One of the terms of my contract for the Tom Ford campaign is that I must never be photographed looking less than immaculate. It’s a pain in my ass. Before I signed the contract, I thought it was a small price to pay for a couple million dollars and free clothes for life. He stands in front of the mirror in my hallway and stares at his reflection in disgust. “What’s left of that couple million after taxes isn’t worth the fucking hassle of getting dressed every time I leave my house. I went to the drug store yesterday. My agent called and said I’d been photographed in my sweats, shower shoes, and a white wifebeater. And that I looked tired.”
“Poor you,” I scoff and grab my jacket as we head down to the waiting Uber.
As soon as we close the door, Dave pulls out his ringing phone. “Shit. Sorry man, I’ve got to take this.” He accepts the call and starts speaking in rapid fire Italian.
I tune him out and watch LA go by and wonder how the fuck I ended up feeling like the kid standing outside the store window. Looking at everything he wants but can’t have.
After graduation, when I didn’t have classes or exams to keep me busy, Nanette capitalized on my growing visibility on Instagram and with my friends. She worked out a deal with agents and movie studios. In it, I’m the silent, beautiful red-carpet date or lunch companion, the plus one at her sister’s wedding, or for the B-list actress who doesn’t want to look like a total loser when she shows up alone.
I was supposed to smile adoringly at her, hold her hand, and keep my mouth shut.
I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of being a prop—as well as a whore. I would make more money, but how would I explain it to my friends, who thought I was making all my money training the rich and famous, if I suddenly started popping up in pictures with all of these random actresses?
When I told Nanette I’d rather not do it, she threatened to end our entire arrangement. As tempted as I was to tell her to shove it up her ass, I didn’t have any other income.
So, I did it.
Turns out the online gossip reporters didn’t care about the latest top thirty under thirty I was arm candy for.
They wanted to know who I was.
My Instagram following grew to over a million in a matter of weeks.
The B-list actresses decided they didn’t want such a hot date after all, and that business dried up.
Nanette has upped my private clients as punishment for her losing those contracts. It’s getting harder to do my job.
Last week, I had to wear a cock ring to stay hard. I need to figure something out.
I’ve done everything for my mother, and if I stopped now and couldn’t make that next payment, I would have lost everything—including Apollo—for nothing.
We pull up to the restaurant, and I slip my sunglasses on again. Being with Dave means photographers and those lights blind me.
“Why the fuck do you insist on checking on twitter every time you go somewhere? I know you like playing chicken with your own life, but I don’t want to be collateral damage.”
“You think one of my little preteen fans is going to beat us to death with her selfie stick?” He rolls his eyes.
I slide out of the back of the car. It only takes a few minutes for us to be spotted.
Thank God the restaurant has bouncers, and they keep Dave’s screaming superfans back.
When the door shuts behind us, the sound of them calling his name stops as abruptly and completely as I imagine it would feel like if we stepped into a vault.
I look around the restaurant. It’s one of the most exclusive places in LA. But when your friends are masters of the universe, exclusive no longer means out of reach.
We walk through the dark, gold leaf walled restaurant and people wave at Dave and call his name.
Strangely enough, a couple of people call out my name, too.
That’s weird. Maybe they’re Instagram followers.
