THE TRUTH WAS I didn't want to go to Priya's party but I found myself here just the same. We'd gone in and the minute everyone realised Harry was there, he'd been whisked up with fans who all wanted to talk to him.
I don't know why Harry worries so much. He's a good actor, and the acting lessons I've taught him have become our little game, a game we'd played once and one I - unabashedly won. But if the handholding, the tightness in his eyes suggested, it's a game we'd play again till he'd won and I'd say the safe word.
For now? I'm safe in the throws of people who come to talk, for a picture, or a question.
Priya's house was - a little surprising. It's clear from the lavish Olympus-themed decoration that adorns her house that Priya's beginnings aren't exactly humble. Soft pop ballads play from a surround sound house system while waiters in white and black tuxedos walk around with drinks in their arms.
She keeps the lights on dim when it's clear she can easily afford to keep them brighter. Was this some style, an aesthetic she was trying to go for? Poor but not poor?
A waiter walks past me and I take a glass of wine while I stroll through the Mansion that Priya stays in. I'm not the type of person to say no to anything free. What kind of New Yorker would I be if I did say no?
Even now, with Harry Wolfe's team funding my lifestyle, I'm still the same frugal me who'll always snag a good deal.
The wine? It tastes good, sweet, and tart. I don't know what I expected, maybe Harry and I walking around together, being flocked by people. It's clear that Harry Wolfe is still the star of this arrangement.
From the Olympus-themed living room, I have a clear view of Priya's pool, it's blissfully empty with the majority of the party focused indoors. I'm feeling a little down with everyone hogging Harry Wolfe, so I decide I'd like a bit of air and a chance to snoop further on her patio.
So I opened the glass doors and walked out to sit beside the pool. The water is still, the pool a pretty turquoise instead of the blue I've always seen in a public pool.
"What are you doing out here?" I hear from behind me. I turn around to see Christopher, his six foot three frame moving towards me a glass of white wine elegantly held in his hand. "The party is inside."
"So it is," I reply, taking a sip of mine.
He steps closer, "You alright?"
"I always am," I reply.
"I suppose so," he says wryly, "but I just saw Emma throw herself at Harry Wolfe."
"Throw herself?" I ask.
"She was drunk when the two of you came, so I guess her usual admire from-afar approach didn't work."
"No kidding," I smile at this. I'm not jealous. Harry Wolfe wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his image, much less with one of my cast mates. Maybe Sarah Barbella, but not Emma.
"How did you meet?" Christopher asks taking the poolside chair right beside mine.
"You're curious," I tease, "are you sad he's beaten you to the chase?"
"If I said yes, would there have been a difference?"
I pause. His voice was calm, cool, normal even. Am I over-reading the situation? I hope not. But already, I'm reacting in a way I didn't think I would. My mouth drops hung a little. I mean, we've been working together, intensively for the last two months, but I hadn't even begun to think that anyone liked me.
I'd been prickly, yes. You could argue I'm close to Emma, but even then. I turn to look at him, the turquoise pool glints off his face, and I see it - that pretty boy look in his features, big eyes, sharp nose, sharp jaw, and baby pink lips circling the glass as he drinks a bit more white wine.
Was it the wine?
"It would have been newsworthy too," I muse. I swallow, looking back at the glass. "Can I ask why?"
He shrugs, "You're pretty in a sassy kind of way, you're a good actress, and you're -" he waves his hands around, "approachable?" he says. "Like it's easy to talk to you."
But we don't talk, I want to say. That little balloon that inflates inside my chest deflates just as fast. Like most pretty boys, he wants to just have a one-night affair.
"Do you like me?" He asks when I don't respond.
It's so materialistic. There weren't any conversations, no texting behind closed doors. No moments of heat slipped through. How shallow to fall in love at a glance. On looking - approachable.
I hear a bit of a sound behind us, so I turn around to see Harry Wolfe, a red wine glass in hand walking towards me. I smile and wave at him.
Christopher turns to see who I've smiled at waved at and deflates a little, "Well, I guess I have my answer." He stands up, ignores Harry Wolfe and walks away.
"What were you two doing out here alone?" Harry Wolfe hisses.
"Talking," I say turning to look at the pool.
"Well, everyone else is talking about the two of you now."
I blink at Harry's words, then my lips curl and I turn towards him. "Are you jealous?"
Harry's mask slips and a scowl comes on his face. Of course, the idea of Harry Wolfe being jealous of me talking to Christopher is so outlandish his face has to comply and rid himself of the happy couple mask he's been trying to display. He turns his face towards the pool so no one else can see the scowl on his face, "we're supposed to look perfect together," he hisses.
"It's hard to do that when everyone always wants to talk to you," I shoot back.
He scowls deeper, "I didn't even want to come here to begin with."
"So, what are you doing here then?" I mutter back.
We hear footsteps and immediately a pleasant smile adorns my face and Harry relaxes his expression. It's hard to believe that he thinks he's a bad actor when he makes me believe his facade so effortlessly in moments like this.
"This is the place to be," one of the stagehands says stepping outside, he walks straight towards Harry. "Hey Harry," he says, "My daughter a fan, do you mind if I take a video of you saying Hi to her?"
Harry smiles amicably, "sure, what's her name?"
"Louisa, she's ten," the man offers, he holds up his phone and Harry Wolfe says sweetly, "Hi Louisa, you're dads a real champ. He told me all about you and I hope everything going great with you. Thanks for supporting me." He smiles and waves at the camera and the stage hand beams.
"Thanks, man!" He gives Harry a fist bump and walks back to the party.
"All you know about her is that she's ten," I say.
"And her father is Gerald who's been bugging me since I've come on the set to say hi to his daughter." Harry Wolfe says. "What else do I need to know?"
"Her school, her friends, her interests?" I push back, just irritated. I would hate him if he said he knew me like that.
Harry turns to me, then frowns, "Are we still talking about Louisa?"
I want to throw something at him. I really do but it's the heels clacking on the floor that stops me from throwing my free glass of wine at him.
I haven't seen Priya since the party started but now I do. She's dressed like an A-list celebrity which makes my silky pink dress look pale and outdated.
"Harry! Vanessa!" She says smiling, a few others of the cast trickle behind her, all glancing at Harry really, pretending not to pay attention but glancing at him from the corner of their eyes. "I'm so happy you guys could come."
Harry stands to greet her, hugging her as she tries to act cultured by doing two little kisses in the air by both sides of Harry's face. She does the same with me, pulling me for a hug.
"You got lucky with this one Harry," she says in that overfamiliar way of hers that aggravates me. I feel like a thread about to snap and I'm not sure why. Am I envious of Harry? How everyone flock to him, even the main character of Vanity High?
"I did, didn't I?" Harry reaches for me, gently, his fingers on my waist. He turns to look at me and those green eyes meet my startled ones.
"So cute," she swoons, "Let's take a picture together," she says already getting her phone up. She holds it up for a selfie and Harry leans in smiling pulling me beside him. Half my face is cut out, I can't tell if it's intentional or not. Maybe it wasn't since I was in the furthest corner, but it still feels like it is.
She takes a few and then looks at them with satisfaction. She glances back at us, that bright main character smile on her face.
"Thank you!" She says cheerily to both of us, "Do make yourselves feel at home!" Then she flitters back into her house. The few cast and crew who managed to make it out, slowly circle around, casting glances at us.
Harry turns to look at me as we hear the music increasing in volume. "Is there anyone you're friends with?" He whispers, we stand close aware of all the eyes on us.
"You could say Emma but I heard that you've already met her."
He scoffed, as though in memory, "You saw?"
"I heard," I admit.
"From who?"
"Christopher," I reply.
I'm rewarded with a scowl on his face. I smile, we're standing very close, so close I can smell him. The fresh pine intermingled with something woodsy and nice. I tiptoe closing the space between us a little and whisper, "People can see you."
He rolls his eyes, relaxing the scowl and forcing himself to smile.
"You look like I've just stepped on your toe," I tease. It's funny, when we first started this charade, yes he was a little cold but he was better at playing to pretend. Now, it feels like that mask is constantly slipping off, but he feels warmer. Not so far off.
He leans in resting his forehead on mine. "You're always stepping on my toes," he whispers. He doesn't move his head away, and I stand there closing my eyes and feeling the gentle pressure from where his forehead rests on mine.
I don't know what to make from him. I've never stepped on his toes for one, and second, he sounds very fond. His glass is only half empty so there's no way he's already drunk. So, why is he, saying while he's sober that I'm the one who always steps on his toes? He's confusing. He's aggravating. The sound of a loud splash is what separates us and we turn to see that one of the cast members has fallen into the pool.
The cast member laughs, treading the water, I don't know how he finds it funny. His suit is all wet and drenched.
"Oi, Rick," Harry calls out, "this isn't a pool party."
How is it that Harry knows their names? There's that crew who was the father of Louisa and now there's this cast member who plays a minor role so much so I've never acted in a scene with him that Harry knows the name of.
Harry goes over to help Rick but before I can call a warning, Rick takes Harry's arm and pulls him into the pool. It was so obvious, I'm baffled at how Harry couldn't predict it. He splutters, coming to the surface, and gives a good-natured laugh. I know he wouldn't laugh if I pulled him into the pool, he'd scowl at me.
"Three's a party," says Rick, "anyone else wants to join?"
I'm gratified to see that even with Harry Wolfe drenched and wet. No one else joins in. The two of them, Harry and Rick get out damp from the pool. Priya returned with the two towels and the offer to use the bathrooms in her home. I walk over taking the towel from Priya to wrap it around Harry. It's what a girlfriend would do after all. He smiles wryly at me.
"You should wash up this time," I say mischievously. I know everyone will draw their own story from it but the two of us know what I was referring to. The time he got soaked in the rain trying to pick me up after my shoot. How he didn't shower and went home drenched. I choose not to think of our disagreement, even if the words still sting.
I'm only known for dating him.
But that will change. He's given me the platform I'd desperately looked for, but I will be able to keep it.
Instead of smiling it off, the smile fades a little and his eyes focus intently on me. His slightly wet hand comes up to touch my face, tentative and he pushes a lock of black hair out of it. "Get a room," Rick whines.
"We're going to," I shoot back teasingly.
"Or I'm going to," Harry says prudently, he pokes the tip of my nose, "You can stay here at the party."
I roll my eyes at him.
"So where's the bath?" Rick asks, his teeth chattering. The pleasant cool breeze that I enjoy must feel like the first frost of the night for them.
Priya tilts her head and begins walking and the two of them trail behind.
After Harry and Rick head to a bathroom to freshen up, it's like the party loses its cool. Dylan finds me, as one of the cast who works more with Christopher and Priya, we're not often on the same scenes together but he still recognises me well enough and pulls me to dance with him. It's the kind of dancing I'm familiar with and unfamiliar with. In New York, with apartments too small, we'd favoured bars and pubs. Here, it's much bigger than a bar and pub so more people got creative showing off years of ballet or dance classes.
We collectively scream when Christopher does a breakdance, and laugh when Emma tries to drunkenly do ballet to Say So by Doja Cat.
I don't know when Harry comes, but I catch his eye at some point and his lips curl into a smile, fake of course, but I take it as reassurance to drag him to the dance floor.
He laughs and follows along good-naturedly and we dance together. It's more of me initiating whatever viral dance it was, to the best of my memory because I never really practiced all of them, and Harry just follows me. He starts like anyone, but unlike anyone, he picks up the repetitive moves within the minute.
"You're good at this," I say a bit loudly leaning closer to him.
"So are you," he replies as well.
Eventually, the crowd begins to thin and we get off in search of a waiter. Harry catches one and makes a soft request before the waiters walk off again. We both settle on the sofa, he's changed into some spare clothes of Priya's. A white shirt and loose denim jeans.
To keep the illusion up, I drape my legs over his and lean on him a little. I can hear his rapid heartbeat from the dancing. I smile. I danced with Harry Wolfe. It feels a bit surreal.
Harry must see the eyes on us because he pulls me in closer so that I'm on his lap instead of dangling off it. My cheeks flame up, even though I'm sitting on Harry's lap.
"You can say it if you want to," he whispers a bit teasingly into my ear.
"I won't," I whisper back.
"Now?" his voice is dripping like honey. Deep, and intentionally seductive. Bad actor, my ass. "What if I..." his breath is on my neck now, "do this?"
Before I could even wonder about what he'd do, his lips gently brushed the curve of my neck. I gasp. It's the first time he's kissed me. I know that these kinds of parties would invite such a scenario but in my mind - it would have been over several cups, drunken shouting of us to kiss, or over a truth and dare game.
This -
it's unexpected.
There's no forced need for his lips to brush, softly faintly on my neck. I can feel his laboured breathing from the dancing, the intimacy of it all surprises me and I find my cheeks feeling a bit too warm.
Then, slowly, he kisses the spot above it, teasingly. Another gentle brush.
And then he goes up higher and my heart is pounding and do I want him to kiss me? It seems like we're going that way, this is nothing an acting class could prepare me for.
With a fourth kiss, he's nearing my ear now.
Then teasingly, above my earring, he kisses my earlobe. There's no sexy way to say it but the heat from his lips, the rapid pounding of my art and the feeling of his heavy breath in my ear almost causes me to moan. I'd abandoned all inhibitions when he sees something beyond me and stopped.
"Thank you," he says taking a glass from the waiter, he passes me one and takes the other for himself.
I see what he's ordered and I smile. Water. My health-conscious fake boyfriend naturally got both of two glasses of water. His is lukewarm while mine has ice in it.
"That's kind of you," I say, immediately drinking and downing the whole glass. Whatever moment he's in is gone and he takes cool sips of his warm water. His free hand rests gently on my back to support me so I don't slip off his lap.
He doesn't meet my gaze, just nods like his mind is somewhere else. On someone else. The thought of her makes me feel a bit pained. I get off his lap, "I'm going to find Emma," I announce. I haven't seen her since she tried to do drunken ballet on the dancefloor and it's a better space to be than to think of Sarah Barbella.
He blinks in surprise, snapping back here, "Oh, I'll -"
"It's fine," I say smiling back, "you can rest up."
Then before I wait for a disagreement, something he loves to do. I move to find her.
I find Emma in the most unpleasant space to be in. In the Olympus-themed bathroom hurling her guts out. I take in the situation, I'm tempted to help her but the smell is so repulsive I move away.
I'm still a way off when I see where Christopher is. He's kissing Priya, I recognise those dark silky locks anywhere. They're very into it, the tip of her dress sliding down to reveal her cleavage. I suppose it is the time to leave now.
I head back to the living room to find a ballad of slower songs playing and no one dancing, some are eating, and most are drinking. Harry is talking to Rick, who's dressed in a black shirt and jeans. He sees me and smiles waving. Then, Harry turns to meet me. I want to go, but I don't want to pull Harry away from them. They're his fans really, and this arrangement is more for him than for me.
Maybe Harry has always been the one to pull away from a party, he politely excuses himself and walks over to me, "Ready to head off?"
I nod.
He takes my hand and grabs a covered bag by the door. I assume his clothes must be in there and we head out. I had a feeling that someone would tip the paparazzi off. Maybe Priya herself, because that's what I would have done to get some eyes on me.
So I strutted out in a walk that would look the most photogenic on camera, hiding my face behind Harry's bulky frame. I always thought the paparazzi would wait quietly by the side, give you space to walk but they hoard us in, Harry has to push his way out since we didn't come with bodyguards. We get to the car, and without a word, Harry drives off.
It's five minutes into the drive that Harry asks me, "That - thing in the party. It was okay, right? You're not mad?"
"We do have a safe word," I remind him.
"We do."
Then we settle into silence again till we reach his house.
I didn't have the word for it till he said it. This hot feeling in my chest, this sudden wave of frustration. When he said it - it clicked. But the thing is, I'm not quite sure what has me feeling this way. I admit - I liked the way he was kissing me. He did it well, right, committed to it and his acting was impeccable. So why is there this budding resentment in my chest?
I'm silent on the ride back as I puzzle over this emotion.
And when I'm in the dark of my room, removing makeup. It's because I wonder if he's comparing me to Sarah Barbella.
AN
This chapter is close to 4K words!
I'm so happy with this chapter because I feel like I managed to get most of the cast and crew in Vanity High perfect told here.
Cheers,
Pain.
p.s. if I get 9 votes, I'll update the next chapter a little earlier