The next few days seem to drag on forever, mostly because my current circumstances have made it impossible to go out without bumping into the blood-thirsty paparazzi outside my house. My celebrity status may have decreased significantly during the last few years, but my last name is still enough to generate interest. Especially since the news of my father arriving in Los Angeles had somehow gotten out a day after our 'family reunion', and now every pap in the city is hoping to snap a picture of either one of my parents leaving my house.
Left with nothing else to do but hide away in my Malibu prison, I indulge myself in many different tasks to pass the time: working out, trying out countless new recipes, or spending time with Georgie. A few months back, we had put up a little gate connecting our backyards, which has now become my sole reason for sanity. Not only does it allow me to slip out to the beach unnoticed, but also makes it possible for us to meet without paps seeing her walk into my house. The last thing I would want is to involve my kind-hearted quirky neighbour in this mess.
And so, my days are spent procrastinating in anticipation of the nights, when I sneak out through Georgie's garden to see H. Not even the chilly weather, growing colder due to winter fast approaching, can deter me from seeing him. Our silly book club for two has been thriving, and I'm pretty confident that he's been using our poetry reading sessions as inspiration for his own work.
At this point, I am convinced that he has to be either a novelist or a songwriter. This guy has a way with words, coupled with an adorable obsession of leaving me notes, poems or short silly rhymes. All these hints can only point in one direction.
Yep, definitely an author.
Today marks about a week since the unfortunate encounter with my parents, the one that left me reeling and annoyed even days later. It doesn't help the matters that my father has apparently made it his mission to check up on me daily, either via phone calls or messages. Ironically, the way he's suffocating me with his constant presence only heightens the feeling of isolation I have been struggling with since I got stuck in my house.
At least this means I'm getting daily updates on the Sally lawsuit situation, but the case has been progressing so slowly that it's hard not to grow discouraged. None of the victims have expressed any interest in coming forward, mostly out of fear of their reputation getting ruined in case of losing the eventual trial. Right now I am convinced that only a miracle could help us put this man down.
That single push forward we need comes this morning, in the form of a call from a very unlikely ally. When I answer the phone, I momentarily struggle to connect the voice to a face, until she finally introduces herself.
"It's Kendall, we met at the part a few weeks back, I don't know if you remember me?"
I did remember. The two of us barely exchanged a couple sentences that night, but she introduced me to Heather, whom I have been casually chatting with ever since she DM'ed me on Instagram a few weeks back.
"Hi, sorry, I don't recall us exchanging numbers."
"We didn't. I got your number from Sally, I hope you don't mind," she explains.
"Not at all. How can I help you?" I prompt politely, since I'm confused as to why she's even called me in the first place.
"I know I should be discussing this with Sally, but I've been told that your father's team is handling her lawsuit. I have some information that you might be interested in," she says, quickly adding, "Let me start by saying that my name can't be associated with any of this, for obvious reasons."
I nod to myself, "Understandable."
"When I read the news that Baker fired Sally publicly, it made me so fucking angry because it has happened before," she starts with an obvious tinge of annoyance in her tone. "It's so fucking unfair, and I hate feeling so helpless."
"That makes the two of us," I mutter through gritted teeth.
Sally had been in tears when it happened, even though we were both prepared for this possibility. Baker needed to spin some story to make Sally look unreliable, and what better way to achieve that if not by making her look like a salty ex-employee?
"I have it on good authority that she's not the first girl he abused. Rumours have been flying around for years, but it's not until I actually met some girls who had gone through it that I finally believed it."
"I appreciate your effort, but the names alone won't help us," I tell her, plopping down onto my bed with a sigh. "The problem is that they don't want to come forward. Heck, they don't even want to talk to us."
"Because they feel alone in all this. If we make them believe that they have a chance at winning, they may reconsider their stance," she explains.
"How?" I ask, my interest piqued.
"We need to get them all together in one place so they can get to know one another. If they realise that Sally has a good lawyer and an actual shot at winning the case against Baker…"
She's right; nothing can make you feel more powerful than having the support and understanding of people who have gone through a similar trauma.
"Could you arrange it?" I ask excitedly.
"My yacht will be docked in the Malibu pier for the next few days before I'm leaving for a short vacation. Pack your bikini, get Sal to stop sobbing for a change, and bring her there tomorrow around noon. I'm going to invite those girls I mentioned, as well as a couple of other friends so they don't get too suspicious."
"Jesus, Kendall… I don't even know what to say. Thank you," I breathe out.
"You can thank me if… or rather when it actually works, alright?" she laughs. "Besides, I'm looking forward to hanging out with you again. I'm sure you could use some fun after that photo scandal. I'm guessing that asshole is behind the leak too?"
"Yeah, he figured out my family is paying for Sal's lawyer, but I'm not too worried... my father will deal with this soon enough."
"I bet. Your dad has… quite the reputation," she remarks.
Yeah, a reputation for being a ruthless dick. Throughout his career, he has gone through a fair share of trials, and is yet to lose a single one. In a way, you could call him a lawsuit veteran.
"I'm guessing you didn't want those pics getting out?" Kendall continues.
"Listen, it was just a couple of photographs taken for my non-existent portfolio." My short modelling stunt was just that—a brief mistake. "They were definitely not meant to look so…sexual. I was wearing way more clothes in the original version."
"So I figured. I had a hard time believing you could be so stupid to let them snap your nudes."
"Yeah, even I'm not that dumb."
We both laugh about it for a while longer, and she eventually hangs up with a promise of texting me the detailed location of our upcoming meeting.
After sending a quick voice note to Sally about our plans for tomorrow, I try to entertain myself by making vegan chickpea brownies from a recipe I had found online. They are surprisingly easy to make, and turned out way yummier than one would expect from a cake with barely any processed sugar in it. However, my traitorous thoughts keep running to a certain Brit, whom I haven't heard from since our so-called 'fence date' last night.
Now, I know I'm overreacting. It's barely been twelve hours since I saw him last, and besides, he's the clingy one in this friendship. He's the one who insists on texting me after waking up and before going to sleep. He's the one who throws a fuss whenever I don't have time to come over. He's the one who's made it his mission to gift me flowers and quirky notes daily.
I'm absolutely not obsessing over the fact that he failed to wake me up with a good morning text today. Nope.
My eyes fall to my phone as I fight to keep my emotions in check. In the back of my mind, I'm aware that this is unhealthy. I've always had the tendency to get addicted way too quickly—be it pills, tequila, or sex—and now I've attached myself to the comfort of this friendship. Relying on someone other than yourself to feel okay is the first step to your downfall. Especially since realistically speaking, we can't keep meeting like this forever. Someday, this relationship has to evolve or come to an end; one way or another.
But, our 'expiration date' is still far off in the distance, and so I decide to ignore the fact that H hasn't texted me all day by simply showing up at his place unannounced.
I'm sure he won't mind, I reason with myself, throwing on my jogging gear before leaving through Georgie's backyard and out onto the beach. Besides, it's not like I haven't done it before.
The light outside is growing dimmer, the ocean darkening slightly as the sun falls behind the buildings to the west. It takes me considerably less time than usual to get to H's property, mostly due to my extreme eagerness to see him. With the overwhelming amount of problems on my mind, I am more than ever in a dire need for some distraction. And no one takes my mind off things better than H.
The first sound I hear upon arriving at my destination is a rather loud, distorted strumming of an electric guitar. The slow, sexy melody is rather pleasant, and I instantly realise that the guitarist must be someone else than my friend. His skills—as far as I know—are nowhere near the level of an amazing solo like this. No offense, H.
My suspicions are further proven correct when I hear two male voices bickering, barely audible due to the loud music.
"Sing it, now!" the unfamiliar person slurs out.
"That's too fast!" I hear another voice belonging to none other than H. "You're way too pissed, mate. Let it go."
"No, no, no… Can't stop now or else I'll forget it all in the morning. You got it all on record?" the person asks.
"I do," H answers with an exasperated groan. "Slow down on the first note. Three, two, one… She!" I wince at H's high-pitched voice. Why is he singing this so high? "Mitch, you fucked up again!"
"I fucked up? You fucked up!" the man, Mitch, snipes back. "You start too late."
"'S because you're going too fast!"
"No."
"Yes."
"Fine, let's try one more time," Mitch relents.
Their efforts to sync the singing with the music are just as unsuccessful for the next few times, and I have to stop myself from giggling out loud at the sheer incredulity of the situation. I would rather not reveal my presence—especially to H's companion—but the two of them are being so hilarious that I find it increasingly harder to keep my laughter in check.
"We should try this again tomorrow," H offers eventually. "Don't think we're making any more progress tonight…"
"One more run, H. Wait a beat before moving to the next line this time," Mitch suggests in a shockingly professional tone despite his intoxicated state. Clearly, this is not their first time trying to compose music drunk.
While the two of them are otherwise occupied, I entertain myself by mindlessly scrolling through my text message thread with Asa. Ever since the damn photo leak, he's been madly concerned about my well-being, flooding my inbox with constant questions ranging from a simple 'How are you doing?' to 'Just wait till I get my hands on that bastard!'. In complete contrast to my dad's behaviour, I find Asa's fretting sweet and harmless. This boy always sees the best in me, no matter how many times I disappoint him… even after I made a fool of him all those months ago. If this isn't real friendship, I don't know what is.
My thoughts are cut short when the strumming picks up again, forming somewhat of a proper melody this time.
"She is in daydreams with me
The first one that I see
And I still don't know, I don't know who she is..."
"The words don't fit, something's missing in there," Mitch comments while going over the same set of chords for the second time. However, his voice now sounds faraway, clouded by the veil of my raging thoughts and the intense thrumming in my ears.
It can't be… I swear my mind blanks out for a moment as I stare numbly at the palm tree in front of me.
"I don't know- I don't- Damn it," H sings again, but his poor attempt is finished with a rather loud and obnoxious string of explicit words. "I don't know, okay? It just doesn't work. We have to rewrite it."
In my haze, I fail to notice my phone slipping out of my limp hand, clattering loudly against the ground. Just as it happens, a similar loud, splashing noise echoes on the other side of the fence, startling me into a frantic yelp.
"Mitch, you fucked up your guitar!" H bellows frantically. "Why the hell would you chuck it into the pool?"
"What was that? Thought I heard something, scared the shit out of me!" comes Mitch's slightly muffled response.
"It's the shrooms, mate."
H jumps into a string of rushed explanations, opting to pin it all on the effects of the drug, while I just sit here with both my hands against my mouth in an attempt to stay quiet.
"No, I could have sworn I heard something behind the fence!"
"It's nothing, just a really big stray…ginger…dog," H says, and I can tell he's biting back a laugh. "I feed it occasionally, so it keeps coming back. C'mon, let's get you to bed."
There is a bit more scuffle and protests coming from the guitarist, but he eventually gives in, the voices fading slowly in the distance. As soon as they're gone, I feel a strange wash of cold flowing down my body as if someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on my head.
I try to compose myself enough to process everything I had just heard, I really do, but it's hard to stay focused when those lyrics are still resonating so strongly in my brain.
Now, I'm not the kind of girl to jump to conclusions and assume that H has written a song about me. There are countless other ways of explaining the meaning behind those lyrics; as far as I know they could even mean absolutely nothing. Regardless of it all, I can't ignore the tiny piece of me that felt an intense flutter in my stomach at the idea of H, maybe, possibly, writing about me—the girl he knows, without really knowing her.
But, the real reason behind the sudden feeling of dread in my gut is something way scarier: I am now a hundred percent convinced that I've heard this voice before.
Up until now, I've always heard H sing whenever one or both of us were drunk. Apparently, he is not the best singer under the influence, because what I heard today sounded completely different from his drunk re-editions of 80s songs. He also can't be a musician that frequents my Spotify lists, or else I would have easily connected the voice to a face. Instead, it's ringing a bell somewhere, but I'm not exactly sure in which box just yet.
My musings are cut short because a familiar chuckle breaks through the silence, along with the sound of H dragging his lounger closer to the hedge.
"You scared the shit out of him," he informs me merrily, completely unaware of my inner turmoil. "Apparently, a ghost has taken residence in my backyard."
"One sexy ginger ghost," I say weakly.
"That I wouldn't know. Although my mind has conjured some interesting images, not gonna lie," he jokes in his usual flirty manner. "Unless you've changed your mind and decided to give my poor imagination some rest? A single picture would do."
"Actually, having strong imaginative skills has been proven to be very beneficial, H," I shoot back. "Did you know they can better your memory? I wouldn't want to ruin that for you."
"Of course you had to find some witty way to shut me down… Well, it was worth a try," he says with an exaggerated sigh.
The two of us sit in silence for a while, my hands alternating between fidgeting in my lap, roaming my hair and tapping on the ground. The realisation that discovering his identity may happen sooner than later has left my mind reeling. I'm not sure if I'm ready for this yet, although the idea seems much less daunting than it did a few weeks back.
"How long have you been here?" H asks eventually.
"Long enough…" to hear you sing that damn lyric. I clear my throat with an awkward cough. "That was quite a nice tune you guys got going on back there."
"You think so?"
"Sure," I try to appear nonchalant, not like a girl who's internally freaking out that someone may have written a song about her. Shit.
"It's just a rough draft; a couple of lines strung together really… But Mitch came up with a mean guitar solo tonight," H remarks casually.
"Yea, I heard," I swallow thickly, for once wishing my sassy mouth would actually not shut up, but I find myself at loss of what to say. All I manage is a quiet, "It was good."
"Y'know, I was actually hoping you'd come by tonight," H continues cheerfully despite my obvious awkwardness. "There is something special I have prepared for you, but you need to promise me you'll keep your eyes closed until I tell you to look."
"But…"
"It's not a ruse, I swear," he butts in before I can voice my complaints. "I won't sneak a peek of the sexy ginger ghost. Have I ever lied to you, Cherry?"
Indeed, he has not given me a reason to doubt his honesty. Yet.
"Okay," I breathe out. Snapping my eyes shut, I brace myself for whatever silliness he's planned for me, although it's hard to appear unaffected when I'm acting like an utter fool with my arms outstretched like a damn zombie trying to feel my way forward. "Uhm, I'm ready?"
"No, wait, get up first," he lets out a small chuckle as I stand up with a huff. "Now you can close your eyes, and follow my voice along the fence. Keep your hand on it so you don't wander away."
"This is entirely absurd, H," I whine. He surely knows how to keep our meetings entertaining.
"You'll like this. C'mon," he promises.
His voice is getting a bit further away now, and I struggle to keep up. Each step I take is shaky, and I'm so afraid of tripping that I double-check every time my feet are about to touch the ground. H is, of course, not making it any easier with his attempts to distract me; mostly by calling out my name at the most random of times, or telling me to look out for objects that aren't even there.
"Is this the part when I learn that you're a serial killer?" I joke, the momentary distraction causing me to stub my toe on a rock. "Ow, fucker!"
"Watch out," he's cackling insanely, clearly drawing lots of pleasure from my predicament.
"You find this funny, huh? Just wait till I get back at you, I don't let go of grudges. Ever!" I threaten as we round a corner, my fingers still grazing the steel poles of the fence. "How far?"
"Still cold, but getting a tad warmer. Now it's hot, hotter, boiling…"
His mirthful voice is now a bit further off, and I quicken my pace to catch up.
"… scorching, aaaand stop!"
Following his instructions, I halt mid-step with my right arm propped against the fence. "Can I look now?"
"You can, but don't you dare make even one step forward, you hear me?" he commands, quietly adding, "Not yet, anyway."
"Okay, okay," I laugh.
I can't wipe the big grin off my face as I look around the space, my eyes wide. H had somehow managed to guide me around his property, all the way to the front of it. Thankfully, the street is relatively empty during the late night hours, which means no random passerby witnessing some girl walking around blindly with her eyes closed.
There is a crimson red flower stuck to the fence to my right, along with a note scribbled in the messy handwriting that I had grown to love.
"You could have given it to me back there," I comment while taking the flower off, making sure not to damage the tender stem in the process. "What was the point of keeping my eyes closed anyway?"
"None, except that it was mighty entertaining," he snickers as my smile peels into soft laughter.
"Asshole," I roll my eyes playfully.
"How d'you like it? It's a Peruvian lily. This colour wasn't easy to get, mind you, I had to get it shipped from a different city. I saw it online, made me think of your fiery red hair… needed to get it for you."
"Your weird fixation with my hair is concerning." My stomach lurches and twists with a sudden onslaught of unfamiliar feelings as my cheeks turn the same flaming red shade as the aforementioned hair. "You didn't have to. The flower, I mean."
"I did," he says simply. "Truth is, you've been on my mind lately, and I really wanted to show you how much I appreciate you. It's what this flower stands for: friendship."
"I- uh." I'm officially speechless.
Thankfully, he seems to pick up on my nervousness as he explains, "Listen, I don't want to scare you off. I can tell you're afraid; that it's not easy for you to open up to people you've just met. Especially since our circumstances are…peculiar." We both scoff at his very accurate description. "And that's exactly why I led you out here—to give you an option."
"An option?" I ask dumbly.
"All it takes is two steps forward, and you would be at my front gate," he reveals. "I can meet you there."
My heart slows to a halt, but then it starts thrumming again to the point of becoming a dull noise in my ears.
"Don't freak out," H adds quickly, reading well into my silence. "I'm not saying you have to. M'not gonna jump out and ambush you if you decline either. Like I said, it's a possibility. You're allowed to say 'no', or 'not yet'... I won't be offended. We still have time."
While I'm ecstatic about how much he cares about me—at least enough to want to take our relationship to the 'next level', as weird as that sounds—I'm also terrified of him not liking what he sees once we take that step.
"H, I want to, I really do, it's just that I'm afraid it will change things," I admit.
"But they are bound to change eventually, aren't they? We can't keep doing this forever," he points out. "What are you so afraid of?"
I take the safest route, which is saying nothing. If I keep up with this charade, we may very well end up growing apart, but it's so hard to put your trust in someone when you've been repeatedly burned in the past.
H's voice crackles through my silent train of self-deprecating thoughts, "Just who are you, exactly?"
"I'm just Cherry," is my quick response.
He laughs at the irony of me using the nickname I'm supposed to hate. "Somehow I doubt that. But at the same time, I keep telling myself I would have recognised you by your voice alone if you were someone…really big."
You couldn't, because the last time I acted in a movie, I still sounded like a chipmunk.
"Big is a very relative term."
"So I've learned, once it dawned on me that you have absolutely no clue who I am," he says, sounding amused.
"Woah, cocky much?" I tut and shush him, rolling my eyes.
"It's called self-awareness," he quips back, adding, "Besides, don't you see by now that I really enjoy being around you—the brilliant girl that camped outside my house, scared the shit out of me, but then somehow became the only person successful in bringing me out of my funk? Whoever you are, out there in the real world, doesn't matter to me one bit."
"You might change your mind once you find out my last name," I argue half-heartedly, more for the sake of it since his attempts to tear down my walls are clearly working.
"Trust me, the only person who should be worrying about prejudices is me."
My hands feel clammy as I take a hesitant step forward. "You swear that nothing will change between us?"
"Except for one needy loser you will have on your plate from now on? Nope. Though I can't promise I won't be crashing at your place unannounced. There's nothing I despise more than being alone. But it could be kind of fun to be lonely together, don't you think?"
I glance down at my wrists and hands that are now trembling slightly from the giddy anticipation. It's unreasonable, really, how nervous I am about meeting him. I can't quite figure out why he frightens me and reduces me to a quivering puddle of anxiety. At the end of the day, he's just a man. One hilarious, dorky, raspy-voiced guy who can make my heart race with his flirty remarks, but it's not like meeting him is the end of the world.
"Cherry, listen to me," he pauses before continuing his thought, "I think of you first thing in the morning, or when I'm choosing the next book to read. I see a redhead on the street and it reminds me of you, because how could it possibly not?"
"H…" I start weakly.
"No, let me finish," he interrupts. "Whenever I'm at the grocery store, the only thing on my mind is how fruit is basically all you eat. Hell, I can't even listen to classical music the same knowing how much you love it. I see you everywhere, even though I literally don't know what you look like. Can't you understand that I don't want to imagine anymore? Give me something real to think about. Hang out with me. Face to face, like real friends do."
I reach out into the space where the hedge ends and the gateway begins, finding his hand already waiting there for me. "You're such a sap."
"I'm not the one sobbing right now," he remarks playfully, his fingers tightening around mine. I sniff loudly, proving the fact that his words had indeed moved me enough to shed a tear or two. "So? What do you say?"
I breathe out a quiet laugh, my lips parting to voice my response...
__________
Ahhhh is that truly it? Are they really about to look each other in the eye just like that...?! Or will our Cherry chicken out at the last moment...
Let me know what you thought about this chapter, and thank you for the 1K votes we just hit today!
Xx Cathy
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