Corinne eyed our babysitter, "Are you sure we can't ditch him?"
Jackson sat nursing a glass of water, arms relaxed and head on a slow swivel as he monitored our surroundings through dark aviators. Only a couple of tables away from us, the glorified babysitter looked like any other patron.
"No. I promised. Besides, I'm still paying the price for ditching him last time.
She shrugged, elegantly plucking a piece of salmon with a pair of black chopsticks, "At least he's hot."
I tried not to think about Jackson's attractiveness – or lack thereof – while we sat under a canopy stretched across the rooftop terrace of some glitzy, audaciously colored restaurant.
Thankfully, no one seemed to pay us any mind. Corinne had pushed sunglasses at me anyway, urging me to keep them on for the duration of our stay.
Paparazzi weren't allowed in the building but with everyone being their own cameraman, we couldn't be too sure.
"Try some of this. It's impeccable. It's the crudo," she pushed the circular plate towards me, "It's not on the menu anymore, but the chef and I have an arrangement."
"Should I be scared to ask what that means?"
She snorted a laugh, her elegant veneer cracking to showcase her authentic smile, "We're friendly, but he's more of a workaholic than me. He eats, sleeps, and dreams this place. Pursuing anything serious with him would be completely unsustainable. I wouldn't even call it a situationship. He makes me delicious food, and I give him free samples."
"Samples?"
"Clothing, skincare... that sort of stuff."
I wondered then about the nature of her job. I was very curious about what was it like for her to live as a model. Did she have autonomy in her bookings? Did she work closely with an agent? Did she enjoy leisure time between shoots? Were her closets full of free merchandise?
"For a second there, I thought samples was a euphemism for... something else," I winced before breaking out into a grin.
"We haven't ever," she shook her head as if to clear an errant thought away, "That would be unnecessarily messy. Not that I haven't thought about it – I mean, have you ever felt so connected to someone on an intellectual...emotional level? Sex aside – just being around them feels so...right?"
I felt that way about Cash in a wholly platonic way. I nodded my head, "It sounds like he means a lot to you."
She smiled a secretive smile, shrugging.
"Heidi tells me you're into nerds. A chef feels like a deviation – you know... with the tattoos and permanent scowl. The deft hands," I used my fingers to scoop up a piece of the marinated orange fish.
"He sold his Silicon Valley startup to fund this place. He's still on the board, but he's free to explore all of his culinary dreams," she waggled her fingers in the air with fanfare.
The crudo was delicious, "Must be sharp as a whip then."
"He is. And totally unavailable."
"That sucks, Corinne."
The disappointment etched in her expression was tangible, "It does."
She took a bite of some noodle dish, perking up. "For now, I'm enjoying the customized menu."
A pang of sadness pierced my chest. Money and fame hadn't made her impervious to the plight of plenty of other lovesick young women, "Favor ain't fair, huh?"
"No, it isn't," Corinne smiled, reaching for her cocktail.
She leaned in, lowering her voice, "What about you and Frank Farmer over there?"
YOU ARE READING
Fast City Slow Hearts
General FictionMatthew is one of Hollywood's beloved A-listers and Salem's a small town girl who's as mischievous as she is tender. Opportunity doesn't knock twice and Salem won't wait for a second shot with the man that has forever plagued her waking dreams. For...
