Map to the Stars (11 page)

Okay, so this means he lied about having eaten already just to spend time with me.
Doesn't matter, Annie. The boy is off-limits. Totally off-limits. He's not going to sacrifice his whole career for you. And it would be wrong to get your hopes up again. So very wrong.

Instead I decided to punish him.

I made sure to order extra food.

And challenge him to an eat-off.

Maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to do, but if the guy was going to leave my stomach in knots, the least I could do was make his uncomfortable too. It was all in good fun, although I did feel kind of bad to see how positively green he looked when he held his last forkful in
the air and declared victory. It's not like French food is renowned for being light and airy.

“Okay, you win,” I told him sweetly. “Hey, should we order dessert?”

“Uh . . . ,” he stalled.

“Aren't the French famous for their pastries? Or is it their tarts? What are those things filled with that ooey-goey chocolate stuff called?”

I was going to hell.

He tried to use the table to hide the fact that he was clutching at his side. “Crepes,” he mumbled.

“Crepes, yes! Do you know I've never had a crepe? Do you think they have them on the room service menu?”

“I don't think I'm up for dessert, Pickles.”

“Really? Here I thought you were a growing boy. Aren't teenage guys famous for their limitless appetites?”

“I think mine's reached its limit,” he said with a slight moan.

Whoops. Probably shouldn't have added all that extra butter to the pommes duchesse.

“Maybe we should walk it off,” I suggested. As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized how impossible that would be for Graham. God, sometimes this mega movie star thing was extremely annoying. Here we were in Paris, and totally trapped in a boring and claustrophobic conference room. “Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Um, we could walk the halls? Or maybe there's a gym and we could take a lovely Parisian stroll on side-by-side treadmills?”

Graham grimaced. “Not always all it's cut out to be, this superstar thing, huh?”

I looked at him straight on. “How do you handle it? I don't know what it would feel like to not even be able to pop into a store for a pack of gum.”

He gave me a rueful smile. “I've never really known anything different. By the time I was the age other kids' moms were letting them pop into stores, I was already too easily recognizable.”

“I can't even imagine. You never get to just be normal,” I said, then immediately realized what that sounded like. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It's okay. I know what you mean. But I try to remind myself about the good parts of it.”

“Fame, fortune, and all that?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. Sorry, but that just didn't sound like an even trade-off to me.

“Well, I meant more that I really like acting. It's hard, but it's fun. And it's really interesting to try on all these other characters and escape into their lives for a while. I know you were teasing me for talking about the opportunity to work with a director like Adrian, but it actually was the best part of
Triton.
I'm finally getting to a point where the people in the industry I really want to work with are starting to take me seriously. You have no idea how long it's taken them to see me as something other than one of those other child actors who are one shoplifting arrest or rehab visit away from career suicide.”

“How long? I mean, when did you start?” I knew I couldn't think of a time I hadn't seen Graham on TV or in a movie, but unlike Wynn,
I had not memorized his official biography.

“I was eight when I was ‘discovered' at a birthday party playing laser tag and
Super Mario Bros.
with my friends. The casting director hung around until my mom came to pick me up, even though she was the last parent to get there. I thought he was just some weirdo. Until he talked my mom into having me do a screen test.”

Graham stretched his long legs in front of him and leaned way back in his chair, probably to give his stomach some space. I swallowed the twinge of guilt I felt at my role in his overstuffed belly and propped my elbows on the conference room table while I waited for him to continue.

“At first, it was just for fun. My mom would get so excited. She'd come in from shopping for audition outfits singing show tunes and I'd hear her on the phone squealing with her friends over some director who had asked me to do a callback or an actor we'd seen on a set. It was cool to see her like that.”

I remembered my mom's excitement when we'd cruised Rodeo Drive our first week in town and nodded. It
had
been fun to see Mom act like a little kid.

“Of course, it wasn't totally selfless. I was all for missing as much of Miss MacElhenney's science class as possible. Let's just say I never really got what an amoeba was. So it was a win for everyone. I was just a kid. I wasn't planning ahead for any future beyond summer vacation.

“Except somewhere along the line, I got too far into it to go back to being a regular kid. Even the friends I had before I was on
The Ben Show
started treating me differently. When I was twelve, my
best friend, Jack, asked if I could arrange to drop by the 7-Eleven at a designated time so I could help his chances of landing a girl he was crushing on. All of a sudden I was his chick bait instead of his friend.”

How weird would it feel if Wynn was only hanging out with me so she could meet my famous friends or something? Before I could help myself, I reached across the table and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Graham looked surprised but gave me a grateful smile. He seemed reluctant to let go, but did after returning the squeeze.

“It's not that big a deal anymore. Actually, I realized that at some point I had begun to care about all of it. My Career with a capital
C
. I don't want to be some washed-up kid actor who crashes my car every third day or can't stay out of the clubs. I think I'm getting pretty good and I want to have a chance to actually act in real movies. Not necessarily
Triton
, but stuff that people will really connect with. Maybe even theater or directing. I don't know.”

“More Jodie Foster than Lindsay Lohan?”

“I was thinking Justin Timberlake, but yeah, I'd take Jodie's career any day.”

“I get it,” I told him. I didn't really. To me, it still didn't seem worth it to give up a regular life where you didn't have to worry about top ten lists or opening weekend box office, but I could tell that it was worth it to him. I didn't have to understand it to understand him.

“Hey, and at least I never have to hear, ‘So, what do you want to be when you grow up?'” He laughed, shook off the melancholy, and transformed back into the playful Graham I'd come to know and—um, like.

“Plus, I'm not as trapped as it seems. In fact, you may not know this, but you are looking at a master of disguise. Roddy's my accomplice and we've gotten pretty good at giving everyone the slip. In fact, I think a walk might be an excellent idea. Whaddya say?”

I listened to the faint roar of teenage lust outside. “Seriously?”

“We
are
in Paris. It's the City of Lights and I say we go see some of them,” Graham said, with another of his sly grins. For one thing, it was still early afternoon and I doubted any lights would be on. For another, I wasn't about to remind him Paris was also the City of Love. I was pretty sure he was suggesting an innocent, friendly walk and I couldn't let on that I had any other hopes for a moonlit (fine, sunlit) stroll along the Seine with him. Oh, and Roddy. Super romantic.

“Think Roddy will be up for it?”

“He's on my payroll, so I'm guessing probably yes. Plus, he loves the challenge of guarding me in situations like this. Makes him feel like he's special ops or something.” Graham laughed and continued, “Okay, here's the plan. I'll go grab Roddy and transform myself into Joe Nobody and you go get what you need and let your mom know. We'll meet in the lobby in twenty.”

“Okay,” I answered, with some hesitation. I wasn't sure Graham in a lobby mere feet away from a mob of screaming fans was the best scenario for an afternoon on the town.

But I was starting to trust him.

“I don't trust him,” my mom said, five minutes later. “Well, I trust him but I don't trust the scenario. Too many things could go wrong.”

“Mom, he said he does this all the time.” I couldn't help the desperate pleading note that crept into my voice. How could she ruin this for me?

“Ans, you remember how crazy it got inside Harrods? It may have ended up fine but it could have gone very differently. Those girls are pretty harmless one-on-one, but there must be over a hundred out there. And even if you manage to slip past them, what happens if you're far away from here and Graham gets recognized? Are you telling me Kylie has signed off on this?”
Kylie!
That was her name. Mom picked up the phone next to her bed and punched in some buttons, I assumed to call Melba. I snatched the phone from her and slammed it back in its cradle.

“Mom, please.
Please!
I need this. Graham does too. We just want an afternoon to sightsee. Imagine what it must be like for him to be
totally trapped inside a hotel. He's just a kid. How is that fair? Plus, he told me he's done this a bunch of times before and it's been
fine.
He said Roddy loves this kind of mission.”

“Roddy's going too?” Mom asked.

Oh. Maybe I should have led with that. Mom visibly relaxed. “Okay, but I want you checking in with me so I'm not stuck here worrying.”

“I promise,” I sang, grabbing a jacket and tossing it into my backpack in case the rain started back up. “Thanks, Mom!”

“Just make sure to save some of Paris to explore with me. Girl time tomorrow morning, before the event?”

“Sounds great,” I assured her, and hurried from the room before she had time to change her mind.

She called after me, “Do you even want to hear how Dad is?”

“Not really,” I replied, turning the hallway corner.

I sought out the same chair in the lobby and played a game on my phone while I waited for Graham and Roddy. I'd looked around the lobby for them when I got there, but it was empty except for an old guy standing off to the side of the front desk and a little girl and her dad across the lobby. The little girl was dressing a doll in her Sunday best. I didn't let myself linger on the happy father/daughter scene.

When I looked up again, Roddy was crossing the lobby alone. As he reached me, I whispered, “Where's Graham?”

Roddy chuckled under his breath and stage-whispered back, “He's already here.”

What?

I twisted in my chair to take in the whole room again. Father, daughter, old guy. Wait. Did Gramps just wiggle his fingers at me?

No. Way.

“How did . . . what . . . HOW?” I asked once we were in earshot of Graham.

“Super sexy, right? Don't tell your mom, but I'm actually kind of a whiz at makeup myself. Lots of free time on a film set. You find ways to amuse yourself. You should see the zombie I can do. Except this disguise here is actually a mask that cost me a small fortune because it's made by a top Hollywood special effects house. I figured you might not want to spend all day with a geriatric dude, so I went with something removable that will still do the trick in getting us out of here undetected. Wig comes off too,” Graham added, giving a little tug on his graying locks.

“But even the way you're standing. And moving.”

“Gee, Pickles, I'm glad you have so little faith in my stellar acting skills.”

I shook my head. I had spent the last week with this guy and two feet away I needed to squint to see the real Graham inside the disguise. From a distance he'd more than pass for elderly.

“Wow” was all I could say. “I guess we're ready then.”

Graham exchanged a look with Roddy and they both laughed. “Amateur,” Graham told him, jerking his head at me. I crossed my arms.

“This is only part one of our elaborate three-tiered plan. Ready for step two?” he asked.

I nodded, curious. Graham whipped out his phone. “Behold the magic of Twitter.” He typed for a few seconds and then proclaimed, “@MrsCabot4Ever has just spotted Graham Cabot going into Café Charbon in the eleventh arrondissement. Hope they have extra staff on hand today.”

I listened as a scream went up outside. The doorman began whistling for taxis as we settled back into chairs in the lobby and waited. Ten minutes later there was noticeable quiet outside. Graham turned to Roddy. “Time for step three.”

“Wish me luck,” Roddy said, lifting his bulky build out of the squishy chair.

“Luck,” said Graham, settling farther into his. “Okay, be ready to move in precisely two minutes,” he told me.

“What's he doing?” I asked.

“He's going outside to talk to the girls who stayed behind. There are always a handful who think the tweet is a giant ruse.” He snorted, even though those girls were perfectly right. “Roddy is going out there to validate them. He's going to tell them that I'm coming out in ten minutes and he wants to enlist their help in keeping me safe. He's going to get them good and keyed up for my arrival.”

“But isn't that dangerous?” I asked, as we stood. I tried not to let his closeness affect me.

“Thing is, they'll be so focused on being part of my security detail and preparing for my arrival, they won't be paying any attention to an old guy and his aide walking out the doors right now. They're convinced they have inside information that I'm coming out in ten
minutes.”

We reached the door. “You go first. Hail a cab, then come back to help me get to it,” Graham instructed.

There were still a few taxis queued up outside and the doorman whistled one forward. I did not acknowledge Roddy presiding over a girl huddle. Heading back to Graham at the entrance, I took hold of one elbow and positioned myself between him and the fan squad elite. To keep up the charade, we had to walk slowly and deliberately down the canopied stretch of carpet to the curb, when all I really wanted to do was book it into the cab. I held my breath the entire time. It wasn't as if Roddy and the hotel staff couldn't easily deal with a handful of bite-size girls. My bigger concern was that a scene of any kind would put the kibosh on our outing.

Graham got in first and slid over to the opposite side of the cab. I glanced over at Roddy and saw him turn his head subtly to check on our progress. As soon as I made a move to get in, he said loudly, “I'm going to secure the perimeter. Counting on you girls to be on your best behavior when he gets out here.” He eased his way backward toward the cab door. In a display of impressive mobility, he jumped into the cab and slammed the door.

“Drive,” Graham shouted to the driver. It only took a beat or two before the first girl cried out in protest and began running after us. Our driver was taken aback at the pounding on his trunk, but recovered quickly and darted out into the next lane. He sped away from the hotel, and the battle cries of “But I
love you
” were soon distant memories.

“See, no big thing,” Graham said, yanking off his wig and mask. He leaned over me to fist-bump Roddy.

“But we haven't gone anywhere yet. Why are you ditching the disguise?” I asked.

“Cover's blown with this one. Besides, a day on the town with Gramps isn't how I want to show you Paris. If people aren't expecting to encounter me, I can usually get by with a baseball cap and some sunglasses.” He pulled both out of a small backpack Roddy handed him.

“Où allez-vous?”
asked the cab driver for the second time.

Graham gestured at me and told Roddy, “It's her first time in Paris.”

Roddy nodded and rattled off a series of sentences in rapid-fire French as I stared in disbelief. Talk about shattering the “big hunk of muscles” stereotype. While Roddy chatted with the now-smiling driver, Graham pulled on a pair of black socks and Velcroed on a hideous pair of tan sandals. He tugged a Tommy Bahama short-sleeved button-down shirt over the plain tee he'd been wearing. He turned and made cross-eyes at me. “What do you think?”

I pretended to peer into his backpack.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, laughing.

“The fanny pack,” I said with a perfectly straight face. “With that getup, I feel like it has to be there somewhere.”

He put his entire head into his bag and moved it side to side. “Damn. Must have left it at the hotel. Trust me, though, the French pride themselves on their fashion sense. Looking like this, no one will
even want to glance twice at me.”

Roddy shook his head at the two of us but he didn't seem overly concerned at what I thought passed for flirting, so I guessed he wasn't going to do any reporting back to Melba. Instead he motioned for me to look out his window. He leaned back against his seat so I could see past him to a city sparkling in the sunlit remnants of the morning drizzle.

Now
this
was the Paris I'd daydreamed about visiting. The classical buildings with their curved overhangs like eyebrows on the gabled windows. The French Baroque chateau that now held little storefronts with elegant-sounding names. And really, was there anything that didn't sound romantic in French? “Epicure du Madeleine” sure topped Bob's Convenience Store.

Once we turned so that the river was on Roddy's side, all the really interesting sights were out Graham's window and there was no way to see them except from a vantage point one whisper short of sitting on his lap.

Yup, I was beginning to see what everyone loved about this city.

After about twenty glorious minutes of pressing my shoulder and arm against Graham, our cab pulled up at the base of a hill. Perched at the top was a ginormous white church with a series of domed roofs. I gaped wide-eyed at its beauty. Roddy and Graham looked on like proud parents watching their toddler smoosh her fingers into birthday cake.

“Welcome to la Basilique du Sacré-Cœur,” Graham said. His tone told me he knew exactly how awed I was.

“Basilica of the Sacred . . . wait, don't tell me . . . Heart!” I proclaimed triumphantly.

“Bravo,” Graham said. With his sunglasses lowered on his nose, he finally looked like himself. Impressively so.

“Cœur de la Mer. Heart of the Sea necklace. My best friend forced me to watch
Titanic
about a hundred times.” I shrugged.

We piled out of the cab and stood in a cluster as I took in the basilica's architecture from our faraway vantage point at the bottom of the hill. “Can we go in?” I begged.

“Of course. That's the whole point. The church sits on the highest point in the city and from the top you can get a bird's-eye view of Paris. It's a hike, though, if we skip the tram. But the stairs let you stop and take in the skyline along the way. It's totally worth it. You up for it?”

“To get close to all that architecture? I'm in,” I said, moving toward the stairs leading up the hill.

Graham jogged to catch up. “Architecture, huh?” He cocked an eyebrow and looked at me with a new respect. “Okay, two things. One, to spur you on, picture the best mint tea of your life waiting for you at the top. There's usually a guy selling it on a street cart just outside the church entrance. It's literally the greatest thing you've ever tasted. And, I'm hoping, just the thing for my stomachache.”

“Oh, do you have a stomachache?” I asked, the very picture of innocence.

“I'm fine. Number two: I need you to put in this earpiece.”

I looked at him like he'd just grown a beard. “Say what?”

“I told you, Roddy likes to imagine he's special ops. Or maybe a secret agent. It's easier to play along,” he stage-whispered, pulling me slightly away from Roddy, who had paused to catch his breath. “Besides, if we have these in, he won't have to stick quite as close. We can signal if there's any sign of trouble.” He held my gaze in a way that made me wonder whether my knees were going to be strong enough for the rest of the climb. He wanted to be alone with me. What happened to “just friends”?

“Um, okay,” I murmured, dropping my eyes. Please don't let this be the start of another “tug-of-war with my heart” day. Maybe we were crazy to even be here like this in light of everything that had happened last night. Graham possessed a force field like the ones his superhero alibis controlled. And I was definitely getting sucked into it.

He placed a tiny receiver in my palm and showed me how to tuck it into my ear like the buds on my headphones. “Test, test,” I practiced, watching Roddy nod from a few yards away. I heard, “Hey there, Pickles” in my ear as if Graham were close enough to breathe into it. God, his voice was delicious.

Roddy interrupted any further reflection on this by announcing, “Onward!” We resumed our climb, pausing at intervals to take in the city laid out like a carpet beneath us. I should have had a million superlatives to describe what the rooflines looked like from that vantage point, but the best I could come up with was . . . wow.

What was less than inspiring were all the hawkers who began accosting us as we reached the base of the church. One guy grabbed
on to my arm and tried to fasten a bracelet around it, ignoring my protests. “Ten euro,” he demanded.

“You're insane,” I told him, tugging the woven band off as Graham put a protective arm around me and pulled me against him. The man continued to pursue us until he caught sight of Roddy closing in and backed away.

“I'm definitely seeing the benefit to having a bodyguard,” I told Graham, hoping he would forget to drop his arm from my shoulder. He didn't. But at least it seemed a little like he regretted putting space between us again.

“You should pass him your backpack too. This area's known for its pickpockets.” Roddy held out his hand for it, even though he'd moved out of earshot again. It freaked me out until I remembered he could hear every word we said. I doubled back and passed it off.

“C'mon, I think I see the tea guy,” Graham said when I returned. He grabbed me by the hand and led me to a far corner of the grounds, while Roddy followed behind. I spared a few glances to see if anyone had a clue a major movie star was in their midst, but the only star here was the view of Paris. When he dropped my hand to procure the tea, I turned my attention from would-be stalkers to look out over the rooftops and felt the pull of the city's beauty.