Chapter 7: Grease

Kate sat down heavily on the white duvet cover of the hotel bed and eyed the late-night room service menu. She wasn’t exactly hungry, but she needed some comfort food. Of course, all the menu items were puns on classic movie titles. Whoever named them had been way too clever. Kate wrinkled her nose as she ran her eyes down the list.

Breakfast Burrito At Tiffany's....

When Harry Met Salami....

Gone With The Wings....

Mystic Pizza.... A NY-style thin crust topped with your choice of cheese or pepperoni.

Now that was calling to her name, wasn't it? NY-style. Maybe that was her problem, she thought, looking down with a grimace at her mutilated blouse. Maybe she just wasn’t an LA-style girl.

Of course, pizza wasn’t what she really wanted. Not even if it came with a nice, satisfying pool of orange grease congealing on top, like the pies from the real brick-oven pizza joints back home. Even the greasiest pizza didn't taste as good without someone to share it. Somehow she doubted the kitchen would be able to accommodate that request – even at a hotel as expensive as this one.

She probably should have gone somewhere a little more modest. She was only here because the Beverly Hilton had been the only hotel in LA she could name off the top of her head. Plus, she’d been distracted by the text messages.

At least he’d had the good grace to try to text after he’d ditched her on the dance floor. He’d let go of her hand, and she lost him in the crowd. When she finally pushed her way to where he’d been standing, that model had her arms draped around his neck. Her body had been pressed against his, and he was saying something in her ear.

I should have snapped a picture and sold it to TMZ, Kate thought. They looked like a hot couple.

Her first thought had been to make her way back toward the table where they’d all been sitting, but she thought better of it halfway there. There was no way she’d make it past the velvet rope without him. That was the VIP section. She was most definitely not a VIP. Not to the bouncers at some club. Not to Aidan either, apparently.

She just wanted to leave at that point anyway. Her head was throbbing from the deafening music. Why would anyone go to that place of their own free will? To her, it felt like hell on Earth.

She’d made her way to the club exit and was out on the street, trying to hail a cab, when her phone went off with the first text:

“Where ru?”

Whatever, Aidan, she’d muttered to the phone. He obviously had something going on with that model. It was her own fault for showing up on his doorstep unannounced, two days ahead of schedule. She had no right to be upset. She wasn’t upset. Nope. Not upset. OK, she was upset, but there was no way she was going to let him see it. She’d texted back:

“Dancing”

She’d already ducked inside a cab when the next text came:

“Where?”

The taxi driver was looking at her, waiting for instructions, and they were on their way to Beverley Hills by the time she’d tapped out a reply:

“Stop texting me! Go have fun!”

Her phone had rung then, and she’d sent it to voicemail. She hadn’t heard from him again until 45 minutes later, after she was already checked into the hotel.

“Everyone's leaving. Where ru?”

She’d stared at it for a few minutes, thinking through her options. She could tell him she’d gone to a hotel, but then he’d probably feel guilty. Might even try to come find her. That was the last thing she wanted right now. It was good that she’d found out exactly where she stood, before she let herself get any more attached. Let him go home with his swimsuit model. She’d be damned if she was going to cramp his style.

“Ru still there?” she’d texted back. “I left with some people”

“What? Where?”

To his credit, he’d tried to call again at that point, but she’d let it go to voicemail, and he’d texted instead:

“I’ll come get u. What club?”

“??? don’t worry about it. I’ll take a cab.”

There was a pause after that, and she’d sat there staring at her phone, waiting to see how he would respond. She didn’t know what she was hoping he would say. Something. Anything. Anything other than the text that came through a few minutes later:

“OK see u later”

She hadn’t heard from him since.

Kate picked up her phone and looked at it now, just to be sure she hadn’t missed a call. 1:13 AM. She knew she should go to sleep, but she thumbed through her contact list instead. There was his name. Aidan Sands. It usually gave her a little thrill, seeing it there – the personal cell number of someone so famous. Now it just made her feel queasy. She scrolled past it and clicked on another name instead. Marcy.

“Kate?” Marcy’s voice was thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s four in the morning here!”

“I’m sorry,” Kate cringed. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Are you OK? Are you at Aidan’s right now?”

“I am at a very nice hotel.”

She heard Marcy suck in her breath on the other end of the phone. “What happened?”

“You were right.”

“I usually am,” Marcy replied, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Hold on.”

Kate could hear her friend shuffling around for a minute.

“OK,” Marcy said in a louder tone of voice. “I was right about what, exactly?”

“Apparently, Aidan and I are just friends.”

“What?”

Kate quietly pounded her forehead against the heel of one of her hands as she spoke into the phone. “He has a girlfriend.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Who?” Marcy asked. “I haven’t read about him with anyone except you since he broke up with the last swimsuit model…”

“Well, there was a new swimsuit model waiting in the wings.”

“Oh my God. He is such a douchebag.”

“Whatever,” Kate sighed. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who showed up here two days early. ”

“I told you – I told you, you should at least call ahead.”

“I’m such an idiot.”

“No, he’s an idiot,” Marcy said. “Why did he even invite you out there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because he’s a douchebag?”

“Wait,” Marcy replied distractedly. “I’m Googling. What did she look like?”

“She looked like a swimsuit model.”

“Oh, here, it’s on Just Jared.” Kate heard her friend’s voice start to read the blog post out loud. “…spotted at the Sports Illlustrated swimsuit party with 21-year-old beauty, Lola Pierce—”

“Twenty-one?” Kate interrupted. “Are you kidding me?”

“Wait, so what happened?” Marcy asked. “Did he leave with her?”

“No, he just danced with her.”

Marcy was silent. She wasn’t getting the picture.

“He kind of, like, let me get swept away in the crowd,” Kate explained, “and danced with her instead.”

“Oh,” Marcy replied matter-of-factly. “So you got Cha-Cha’ed.”

“Excuse me?”

“John Travolta took Sandy to the prom, but he ended up dancing with Cha-Cha DiGregorio instead.”

Kate couldn’t help but laugh. “Are we talking about Grease?”

“You know, that didn’t mean Cha-Cha was his girlfriend,” Marcy continued. “Just meant she was aggressive.”

“So are you saying I shouldn’t have left?”

“I dunno, Kate. I wasn’t there. What did he say when you were leaving?”

“He just texted me, ‘OK see you later.’”

“Well, that’s bad.”

“Right?” Kate said.

“OK, he’s a douchebag,” Marcy confirmed. “I was giving him the benefit of the doubt for a second there – but no, he really is just a douchebag.”

“Why am I here, Marcy?” Kate moaned into the phone.

“Are you OK?”

There was a knock at the door, and Kate felt a momentary burst of irrational hope. But of course it wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him. He had no idea where she was right now. She opened the door for the room service waiter and let him bring in the slice of pizza she’d ordered.

“Kate, are you there?” Marcy’s voice was asking.

“Sorry. I’m here.” Kate sat back down and stuffed some pizza into her mouth. “I’ll be fine. I’m just feeling really stupid right now.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I should have listened to you. I should always listen to you.”

Marcy didn’t bother to argue. “So what now?” she asked. “Are you gonna come home?”

“I guess so. I’ll catch a flight back in the morning.”

“You know you can always come stay with us. The kids would love having Auntie Kate come stay for a couple weeks.”

“Maybe,” Kate sighed. “Maybe I’ll just go back to work.”

She looked at her phone again after Marcy ended the call.  Nearly two in the morning now. There was no point waiting up. If Aidan decided to call again, the phone would wake her.

Kate polished off the last of the pizza and tucked herself into the bed.

She had just closed her eyes when her phone lit up again – not with a text, but with the low battery warning – and she had fallen into a fitful sleep by the time the screen went dark for good. Out of power.