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“This isn’t awkward at all,” Stella complains in a low whisper.
“Whispering doesn’t do anything,” I tell her. “They can pick up everything with the microphones.”
She sits back and looks at the cameras in annoyance, but I grab her hand and pull her closer. “Don’t you do this for a living? You’re an actress, right?”
“I thought I was,” she grunts.
“Then act.”
“It just feels weird doing this when you’re playing with people’s emotions.”
“All movies pluck at people’s emotions, don’t they?” I offer diplomatically. “This is just another way of doing that.”
The corners of her mouth quirk up. “You are far too wise for your age.” Her dark eyes lock with my stare.
Again, I’m overcome with a sense of pride. This isn’t for the camera. This is all for me.
“This is great!” the director chortles, again killing the moment between us, and I groan aloud.
“What a tool,” Stella grunts, sitting back as the server arrives to fill our glasses with champagne. “I don’t know how I’m going to endure a month of this.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I tell her again. “I did.”
Compassion lights her expression, but she wisely makes no comment even as I catch her glancing at me, silently urging me to say more.
“I’ll give you a piece of advice,” I offer on a whim.
Eagerly, she looks up, her beautiful eyes brightening.
“Yes, please!”
“No matter what gets recorded or printed, it’s only newsworthy for a short time. People forget—including you. Just do the right thing, and you don’t have to answer to anyone, okay?”
Stella cocks her head. “Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll try to remember that.”
We share a private smile.
“Should we order?” she suggests, picking up her menu.
Now she’s getting the hang of it,I think proudly.The sooner we get this “date” out of the way, the sooner they get the cameras out of our faces.
We manage to get through the date, and as we make our way back to the house in the stretch Hummer where our cars await, I notice her stealing glances at me. She fidgets with the edge of her dress, opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, the words unspoken. It’s clear she’s wrestling with a thought, yet reluctant to voice it.
“Will you walk me to my car?” she asks the second we pile out of the Hummer.
I glance at the camera crew. “We’re done for the night, right?”
They look at Roy, who rolls his eyes. “Unless you’re going to make out, I think so,” he grumbles.
“We’re not,” Stella retorts, and I am oddly disappointed by her response.
“Sure, I’ll walk you to your car,” I agree, heading toward the street with her.
“I’m not sure I can do two more of those,” she complains.
“I’m sure Gabe and Forrest will be far more entertaining.” I’ve never been good at small talk. My preference leans towards more substantial, in-depth discussions where real thoughts and ideas can be exchanged.
Stella stops in her tracks and eyes me dubiously.
