Happy Again (4 page)

In the quiet of the lobby, they stood staring at each other for a moment.

“You’re here,” Graham said finally.

“I am,” Ellie said.

He frowned, his expression hard to read. He was the same, but he wasn’t. His eyes seemed bluer than ever, and his hair was a little bit shorter, but not by much. The shape of his mouth, the way he slouched a little, the scar above his left eyebrow: all of it was as it had been last summer. But still, there was something different about him, something hardened, a wariness he carried like a weight, and she was once again uncomfortably aware of just how much their lives had diverged over the past year.

Here was Graham in his designer suit, the pants so tight she wondered how he’d managed to sit down in the theater. His hair was combed to the side in a way she’d never seen before, and he had a little handkerchief folded in his pocket the way men often did in old-fashioned movies.

He looked like someone from the pages of a magazine.

Which, of course, he was.

“How did you…?”

“It wasn’t planned,” Ellie said quickly. “I’m just down with some friends for the weekend, and we were walking past, and—I didn’t know it was your film, and I never expected to see—it was just that Harry spotted me in the crowd, and then he—”

Graham held up a hand. “It’s okay,” he said with a hint of his usual smile. “I was just surprised when he told me. I had to see for myself.”

“See what?”

“You,” he said, his eyes going soft. “You’re the last person I expected to run into tonight.”

“Honestly, I didn’t really count on seeing you, either.”

He tilted his head to one side. “So how are you?”

Across the lobby, two women in black dresses were leaning against the counter of the concession stand, pretending to look at their phones, though Ellie could tell they were really watching Graham. Behind him, a huge security guard with a thick neck and a shock of red hair had a finger on his earpiece, and he was speaking softly, his eyes trained on them. From the theater, a roar of laughter went up, muffled by the doors.

“I’m fine,” Ellie told him, sounding brusquer than she’d intended. Above them, a chandelier the size of a small car was hanging from the ceiling, and in the corner, a few assistants were setting up a table full of lavish-looking gift bags, sneaking glances at the handsome movie star standing with one hand in his pocket, talking to a girl in a blue T-shirt and jeans with a hole in the knee.

“I’m sure you have to get back,” she said after a moment. “I know it’s a big night for you.”

He looked stung by this. “It’s fine. It just started.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to miss it because of me.”

His eyes traveled over to the popcorn counter, and then back to Ellie. “Can I tell you something?” he said, and his voice was so serious that she felt her stomach drop.

“What?” she asked nervously.

“I’m
starving
.”

In spite of herself, she laughed. “The popcorn is free.”

“Yeah, but I’m not popcorn hungry. I’m, like, burger-and-fries hungry. I’m Wilbur-level hungry.”

Ellie nodded. “That sounds serious.”

“It is.”

“Don’t they ever feed the celebrities at these things?”

“Nope,” he said. “Otherwise, how would they ever fit us into these pants?”

“Good point,” she said. “So what are you proposing?”

“I propose,” Graham said, glancing around furtively, like a robber about to case the joint, “that we make a break for it.”

“Don’t you have to be here?”

He shrugged. “I’ve already seen it. And they won’t miss me as long as I’m back in time for the Q and A.”

“There’s a Q and A?”

“Yeah,” he said. “So you better start thinking up some questions…”

“Oh, I’ve got questions,” she assured him. “But I suppose I could probably ask them over some food.”

“Great,” he said, his face brightening. “What are our chances of finding a whoopie pie around here?”

It was fun watching Graham work his magic to get them out of there. To Ellie, he was always more attractive when he was trying
not
to be famous, and seeing him shake hands with the various security guards, slap the back of an usher who lent him a Yankees cap, thank the girl from the concession stand who told them about the back staircase where the deliveries came in: all of it gave her a little thrill.

It wasn’t exactly a major operation. All they were doing was trying to walk out of a movie theater, which to most people wouldn’t have seemed like anything extraordinary. But by the time they spilled out into the alley alongside the theater, Ellie was feeling almost giddy at their newfound freedom.

“Where to?” Graham asked, clapping his hands, equally elated. There was a small floodlight on the brick building, and standing there in its glare, he almost looked like he was onstage.

“I thought you had a plan.”

“You just saw it,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I’ve been in New York for, like, six hours,” she said, but even as she did, she remembered a diner she’d passed on the walk over from the museum, and once Graham had shoved the Yankees cap onto his head—an odd contrast to his designer suit—they headed back out of the alley, turning east on Fifty-Fifth Street.

In the dark, nobody seemed to notice Graham, who walked with his head low, his face shadowed by the brim of the cap. Neither of them spoke as they wove around metal grates and mailboxes and piles of trash bags, picking their way past people walking in the opposite direction.

When they reached the diner, Ellie stopped and gave Graham a little shrug. She’d only walked by it quickly before, so she hadn’t really gotten a chance to tell what it looked like inside. Now, peering through the window, she could see that the booths were mint green with pink accents, and the walls were lined with signed pictures of movie stars and comedians and athletes in grease-spattered frames. There was an elderly man eating a piece of pie by himself at the counter, and a family of four up front near the window. Otherwise, the place was empty.

“I can’t vouch for the menu, obviously,” she said, “but I’m willing to bet it’s more exciting than popcorn. Though probably less exciting than whoopie pies.”

“I can live with that,” Graham said, swinging open the door for her.

The woman behind the counter barely looked up when they walked in; she just made a vague gesture at all the open tables. They walked straight to the far corner, where they slid into a booth, with Graham facing the wall, his back to the rest of the restaurant. He slid off the baseball cap as he flipped through the enormous menu, and Ellie couldn’t help smiling at the way his hair was now tousled again, just as she remembered it.

“So how long is this movie?” she asked, pushing aside her menu.

“Couple hours,” he said without looking up. “We’re fine.”

The waitress appeared with two glasses of water, which sloshed over the rims as she set them down on the table. “What can I get you?” she asked, her thin face completely impassive as she pulled a notepad out of the pocket of her black apron.

 “I’ll have everything on the menu,” Graham said, and when she started to write this down, Ellie shook her head.

“He’s kidding. Sorry. I’ll have a grilled cheese, and he’ll have a burger and fries.”

“And two milk shakes,” Graham said, holding up a couple of fingers. “Chocolate for me.”

“Make mine vanilla,” Ellie said, and the waitress stifled a yawn as she marked this down, then scooped up the heavy menus and walked back toward the kitchen.

“So,” Graham said, leaning forward on the table.

Ellie smiled. “So.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Everything?”

He nodded. “I have a million questions.”

“Ah,” she said. “So we’ve reached the Q and A portion of the evening already. How about you start with just one?”

“Okay,” he said, twisting his mouth up at the corner. “Why’d you stop writing me?”

Ellie gave him a level stare. “How about a different one?”

“You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

He sighed. “Fine. But I’m circling back to that later, okay?”

“Okay.”

He pulled the salt and pepper shakers toward him as he thought about his next question. “You said you drove down from school. Are you at Harvard?”

“I am.”

“I knew it,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I knew you had to be. How do you like it so far?”

“You already asked your question,” she told him. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?”

She nodded. “Is all that stuff on the blogs true?”

“You read gossip blogs now?”

“Well, Quinn fills me in,” she said, which was mostly accurate.

He laughed. “How’s Quinn?”

“Still my turn.”

“Okay, what stuff?”

“About you and the cars. And the speeding tickets. And the clubs. You and that girl from that stupid zombie movie. You and Olivia.” She felt her cheeks go hot at this last one, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Graham reached for his water glass, though he didn’t take a sip. Instead, he spun it around in slippery circles on the table. “Some of it,” he said eventually.

“Which parts?”

“Isn’t it my turn yet?”

“Graham,” she said, and he raised his eyes to meet hers.

“Not the parts about the girls.”

Ellie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “The clubs?”

“Here and there,” he said. “But nothing too crazy. Really. It’s mostly just the car stuff.”

She waited for him to continue.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said. “The only car I ever drove before all this was my mom’s minivan. And when I bought my own, I just…I don’t know. My life is so claustrophobic sometimes. I guess driving feels like a way to sort of get clear of it.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to be careful…”

“I don’t want to be worried when I’m in the car,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “It’s the one place where I don’t have to deal with the cameras or the pressure or everybody telling me what to do or what they think I should do.”

“Except for the police.”

“It’s the one place where I feel free,” he said, ignoring her, and then he shook his head and looked down at the table. “I know that sounds melodramatic.”

She studied him for a moment. “Do you really have a racetrack in your backyard?”

“No,” he said, surprised. “Where’d you hear
that
?”

“Do you have a car seat for Wilbur?”

“Are you kidding? He gets dizzy when he comes trotting around a corner too fast. I promise you—the last thing I’d want is a carsick pig for a copilot. Where are you getting this stuff?”

“There are a lot of rumors out there…”

“Yeah, well, let me set the record straight: I haven’t been driving around a backyard racetrack with my pig like some kind of eccentric billionaire.” He brightened. “I did teach him a new trick, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking proud. “I ask him to give me a kiss, and he does.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a trick. I think half the girls in the world would be happy to do that on command.”

“Only half?” Graham teased, and Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve mostly just been making out with Wilbur.”

He laughed. “I’m pretty sure he feels the same way. Is it my turn again?”

She nodded.

“Tell me more about Harvard.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” she said. “Not much to tell.”

Graham gave her a look. “Come on.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?”

“It’s Harvard. You know.”

“I don’t, actually,” he said, rapping on his head with his knuckles. “As you may recall, I don’t go to college, so my brain is filled with movie fluff.”

“What’s movie fluff?”

“You know, happy endings and unlikely friendships and secret societies and janitors who turn out to be geniuses. That sort of thing.”

They both leaned back as the waitress returned with their milk shakes, each topped with a lopsided pile of whipped cream. Ellie watched Graham take a long sip of his until the glass was half-empty.

“You definitely should’ve worn a different pair of pants,” she said, and he laughed and patted his stomach.

“I need to find a role that requires me to gain some weight. Then it’ll be milk shakes all day and all night…”

“So what
are
you doing next?”

He narrowed his eyes. “How come you’re avoiding the subject?”

“What subject?”

“Harvard. You hate it that much, huh?”

Ellie took a pull from her straw. “I wouldn’t go right to
hate
…”

“Well, what, then?”

“I’m just not sure it’s the right fit.”

“Come on,” Graham said, leaning forward. “You’ve wanted to go there forever. And you loved it when you were there for the poetry course.” He sat back again, looking suddenly concerned. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I loved it. But that was different. That was two weeks. This is four
years
.”

“Yeah, but you’re only a few weeks in. So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really Harvard. It’s me.”

Graham laughed just as he was about to take a sip, and little bits of whipped cream went flying off the top of his glass. “That’s the oldest line in the book,” he said, wiping at his chin. “Does Harvard know you want to break up with it yet?”

“I’m not breaking up with it,” Ellie said, tossing her balled-up straw wrapper at him. “It’s just been harder than I thought. Everyone seems to know everyone else already, and they’re all sort of the same, and I’m…”

“You’re different,” Graham said matter-of-factly.

Ellie nodded. “But not in a good way. I feel like a foreign exchange student or something.”

“What, they don’t speak Henley up there at Harvard?”

“I think it’s more that I don’t speak New York City. Or Greenwich. Or Hamptons. Or whatever. Everyone’s perfectly nice, but it just takes so much effort to keep up, you know?”

“My best friend is a pig,” Graham said. “Trust me, I get it.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a pretty magnificent pig.”

“Humble,” he agreed with a smile.

“Radiant.”

“So what about the other book nerds?”

“What about them?”

“Well, why don’t you hang out with them? There must be tons up there.”

Ellie chose to ignore this. “It’s not just about that. It’s more that I…I can’t seem to find my footing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Even in class—”

“Even in class?”

Ellie nodded. “For some reason, I haven’t said a word.”

“At all?”

“At all,” she confirmed as their food arrived.

Graham had begun eating his burger almost before the plate was fully on the table, but the waitress didn’t seem to mind. She simply pulled a few extra napkins from her pocket—as if to suggest that he’d need them—and headed back to the counter.

“So yesterday,” Ellie said around a mouthful of grilled cheese, “in my Shakespeare section—which is my favorite—the professor called on me for the first time.”

“Uh-oh,” Graham said without looking up from his food.

“Exactly. I completely froze. I just kind of stuttered a little, and then I turned really red, and then there was this ridiculously long silence, and then she gave up on me.”

“Did you know the answer?” he asked, lowering his burger.

“That’s the worst part,” Ellie said with a nod. “The thing is…I know I’m a huge chicken in other ways, and I can be completely hopeless about stuff like this, but school was always the one place where I was fine.”

Graham looked thoughtful as he chewed. “I think you just need more of a game face.”

“What?”

“A game face,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s like, when I’m about to do a big scene, where I need to act like someone bigger and braver and bolder than I really am, I stand in front of the mirror first and practice my game face.”

He demonstrated it for her now, furrowing his brow and twisting his mouth into a deep scowl, so that he managed to look both utterly intimidating and completely clownish at the same time.

Ellie was trying not to laugh. “I’m not sure that will help me much in Early Plays of Shakespeare.”

“You don’t have to actually
do
the face,” he said, his features relaxing again. “I mean, it definitely helps if you need to get psyched up. But it’s more about the way it makes you feel. The idea is to sort of pretend you’re as tough as you look just then.”

“Even if you’re not.”

He nodded. “Even if you’re not.”

Ellie thought about that moment in class when she’d sat numbly beneath the heavy gaze of the other students. She thought about the way she’d been trailing Lauren and Kara and Sprague all day, and how her first instinct when she realized Graham would be showing up on the red carpet had been to flee.

“
Though she be but little, she is fierce
,” she said, and Graham—who had been swirling a fry into the pool of ketchup on his plate—looked up.

“What?”

“That was the answer. In my Shakespeare class. The thing I couldn’t say.”
The thing I want to be
, she almost added, but didn’t. “It’s from
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

“Shakespeare, huh?” he said, sitting back and slinging one arm over the top of the booth. “Not the first person who comes to mind when you think
tough
.”

“
The pen
,” Ellie told him, picking up one of the triangular halves of her grilled cheese, “
is mightier than the sword
.”

“Okay, Hamlet,” he said with a grin. “Let’s see it, then.”

“See what?”

“Your game face.”

Ellie was about to say no. She was about to scoff at the very idea. But then she realized that was her reaction to pretty much everything lately, and she thought better of it. Instead, she set down her grilled cheese and licked her fingers, and then she leaned across the table so that her face was very close to Graham’s.

“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded, though she could tell he was trying not to smile. She ignored him, forcing her mouth into a straight line, and then into a frown, scrunching up her forehead, thinking of what Lauren had said earlier—
be more aggressive
—and what Graham had just told her—
bigger, braver, bolder
—all the while glaring at him with as menacing a look as she could possibly muster.