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“Oh,” Sarah says, nodding her head as though she’s been able to deduce exactly what’s troubling me. When I finally look up, she catches sight of my fractured expression and smiles. It’s not the movie star smile I’m used to seeing plastered across her face. This one is less plastic. Somehow, she looks like a real person now. “You are panicking about being on camera.”
After shaking my head, I say, “That’s not it either. I’ve filmed plenty of classes and—”
“But you’ve never been the lead in a Hollywood movie. It’s natural to be nervous,” Sarah goes on to say. “Do you know my story? How I got started?”
I shake my head. I could stop her and explain what’s buzzing about in my head, but she starts before I can interject.
“My mother was the lead singer for this K-pop band called Girl’s Luck,” she says in a voice colored by fond reminiscence. “Have you ever heard of them? No? Well, they haven’t exactly been popular for some time now, but back when my mom was in her early twenties, they were all over the TV, playing three or four concerts a week. Everyone knew her name.
“The same couldn’t be said of my father, but he always did value his privacy. Even when he was influencing the whole fashion world from his little studio in Paris, he kept his private life private. And that’s who I took after. In the beginning, at least. Of course, now I can’t avoid the spotlight, but during my formidable years, I hid exactly who I was. Not even my best friend, a girl named Louise, knew who my parents were. She just knew that we lived in a nice flat with two servants who kept everything cleaned and me well fed.
“I’m sure by this time you’re wondering how our two stories could possibly overlap. And I‘ll be the first to tell you that life isn’t fair. I readily admit to having had a leg up on my competition when I finally got old enough to venture out into the world on my own. Because, of course, I wasn’t on my own. I had my parents’ fame and money bolstering me on. Or at least, I would have if I hadn’t grown up valuing my privacy.
“You see, my dad’s habits had seeped deep inside of me. They taught me something more valuable than any of the connections I would make later in life. And that lesson was this: people see what you show them. When I acted like a normal kid, that’s exactly how the other students treated me. When I did eventually come out to Louise about having parents who were still making headlines even at their age, it was like this distance grew between us. We weren’t intimate anymore—more like close people and less like close friends, if that makes sense.”
I’m still not sure where Sarah Park is going with all of this or why she’s talking to me when I’m sure there are more important or interesting things she could be doing right now. But she’s doing a fine job of distracting me from my current situation with Cory. Besides, I don’t think she’s ever spoken about her childhood to any of the magazines that laud celebrities’ personal lives.
“Anyway, everyone thinks it was because of my parents that I got my start in films, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. I ran away from home when I was sixteen. Ended up in California three months later in front of a camera, trying out for this role in a sitcom. I lied about my age, because I had to be eighteen to sign the contract without a parent. Lying about my age meant changing my name too. That’s how I came to be Sarah Park.”
Even in the age of the Internet and countless tell-all articles begging for regular people’s attention, this is a story I’m quite sure has never appeared in print before. I certainly would have heard about it.
“So Sarah Park’s not your real name?”
“It wasn’t,” Sarah says, “but it is now. My father passed away a couple of years ago, and when my mom and I do talk, she calls me Sarah, so it might as well be my real name.” She laughs at herself and finishes off her champagne. “Listen to me, going on about myself this whole time. I guess the point I was trying to make is that you have to be true to who you are, not who other people say you are. That’s when success is going to sneak up on you. That's when all the pieces will fall in place.”
When I woke up this morning, I wasn’t expecting a pep talk from Sarah Park while sipping champagne in the first class lounge of a plane. I also wasn’t planning to have sex
with Cory, or to end it halfway through without an explanation. I guess that everything has just been moving too fast, but strangely, it’s Sarah Park—a woman I was sure was as superficial as the characters she often portrays—that sets my head back straight.
I drain my glass and stand, despite the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’ sign still glowing red. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that. Please excuse me, but I need to talk to Cory.”
Sarah gives me a knowing smile but says nothing.
Of course, I have no intention of talking to Cory. Not yet. There are more urgent matters than talking.
When I burst through his door, he’s lying on the bed, the sheets covering his crotch. He was staring up at the ceiling, a glass of whisky in his hand. Upon seeing me, he begins to open his mouth, to undoubtedly ask what that was all about. But before he can get a single word out, I jump on the bed, mount him, and cover his lips with mine.
I’m done overthinking everything. Like Sarah said: all I need to do is be true to myself. And what myself wants right now is Cory.
Chapter 11
As the plane reaches its cruising altitude, Cory and I are also rising up the notches of ecstasy. Our bodies writhe against each other, my ass slapping against the top of his thighs as I ride him to our inevitable destination.
My breath races. Cory’s hands explore down my sides and across my back, coming around to squeeze at my breasts as they bounce in his face. When his head tilts back and his fingers take a firm grip at my thighs, his ass bucking up and down in desperate pumps, I know that he’s crossing the threshold. He’s in that zone where all thoughts vanish and every fiber of his body works in synchronicity to reach the same goal as quickly as possible. It’s what has him pumping me up and down with straining muscles.
I find myself entering the same zone of lustful focus. Both at the point of no return, we throw ourselves forward, pressing against each other, relishing in the feel of the other’s skin.
The wave crashes over me with all-encompassing warmth. My thighs quiver and I’m moaning desperately, but I don’t care, because Cory is also finishing inside me, his last pumps pressing into me deeper, slower. Then he collapses, and I’m lying on him, suddenly still but for my racing heart and quick, shallow breaths.
After three minutes of just lying against each other, catching our breaths, Cory breaks the silence.
“I would ask why you suddenly left,” he says between his own pants for oxygen. He then kisses my forehead. “But frankly, all I care about is that you came back.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Just a little freak out. But Sarah, of all people, set me straight.”
“Well, thank you Sarah,” Corry says and throws his head back once more. “God damn! Let me say, that was a helluva a lot better than last time.”
There it is again. That weird feeling that Cory is both the same kid I knew eleven years ago, and someone completely different. It passes though, and I’m left next to the sexy beast that is the current Cory.
