Half an hour later, I find myself walking into Rafe and Edie's house, my head throbbing with tears I refuse to cry. Rafe takes the baby, and Edie gestures for me to follow her.What am I doing? I ask myself as Edie leads me upstairs to one of the guest rooms. I don't even know these people. I never should have accepted their offer of hospitality. They were just trying to be polite.But that's not the only regret bouncing around in my head. I just walked away from Orlando Fontaine. Girls like me don't usually get the chance to be with guys like him, under any circumstances. I should have been grateful he even looked at me twice. I should have reveled in the time we had together, for however long it took for him to get tired of me. He's mind-numbingly hot, astonishingly talented, and he knows how to do things in bed that I'd never even imagined before. So what if he doesn't love me? Half a relationship with Orlando might still have been better than no relationship at all.Edie shows m
Thankfully, the GPS system in Rafe and Edie's sedan already has Orlando's address programmed in. Before long, I'm cruising through the streets of L.A. toward his house.I have no idea what I'm going to say to him when I see him. But I'll figure it out when I get there. I just want to see him again.My palms are sweaty on the steering wheel, but I tighten my grip and pretend not to notice. Not even my overactive sweat glands can distract me tonight.When I pull into Orlando's house, I hit a bit of a snag - I don't know the code to his gate. Any grand plans I had to waltz into his house and surprise him with a big romantic gesture are effectively thwarted, but I'm not about to turn back now.I lean out the window and press the button on the call box.It takes a moment for him to respond."Hello?" he sounds confused. I guess it is closing in on midnight."Hey," I say into the speaker. "It's me.""Maggie." His voice is much more alert now."I want to talk," I tell him. "Can I come
Okay, so coming to the hospital might be mistake number 2,152 I've made since Orlando walked into my life. I thought I was ready for this. I thought I was strong enough to handle whatever I learned today. But I wasn't prepared for the sudden rush of emotion I feel when we walk through the automatic sliding doors into the hospital lobby. I've spent a lot of time in hospitals these past few years. I should have known better.As Rafe and Edie sign us in, my gaze wanders over the people in the waiting room. In one corner, a woman knits while two small children play with a plastic puzzle at her feet. Several chairs away, an elderly couple sits hand-in-hand, the man looking on the verge of tears. Against the far wall, another man sits with his cap pulled down over his eyes and his shirt collar popped up. He looks like he wants to sink right into the wall.All these people are here waiting for a loved one, waiting for news. I know exactly how they feel. Guilt swells in my belly when I think
I just want to go home, slip on my yoga pants, climb into bed, and stay there for days.I glance around the waiting room as I walk through. There are a few more people here now, a few more people who understand the agonizing but monotonous torture of having a loved one in the hospital. The man with the hat and the popped collar looks up as I pass, but otherwise no one pays me any attention.A bright blue sky greets me as I step outside, and a warm breeze sweeps playfully across the parking lot, but neither one can lift my mood. I want to cry again, to sink down onto my knees and weep until all my tears have dried up.I also want to call Orlando, to hear his voice one more time. To tell him I made his father laugh.There's a footstep behind me."I was hoping for Orlando, but you'll do just as well."Throat clenching, I spin around. The man from the waiting room - the one with the cap and the collar - is standing there, and as he lifts the brim of his hat, my eyes go right to the r
Despite the fact that I've slept a number of nights by Orlando's side, I've never gotten a good look at him asleep before. With that loose, tousled hair, he looks almost angelic, but I know that the moment he opens his eyes again, that devilish spark will be back.Repositioning myself in my uncomfortable plastic chair, I prop my notebook on my lap. I've sketched half a dozen different pictures of him over the last half hour. It's tricky to hold the pen with these thick bandages on my palms, but I'm starting to get the hang of it. And Orlando is much easier to draw when his eyes are closed. In this latest doodle, I've even included some of the complicated machines on the far side of his hospital bed, even though only one of them is currently hooked up to him.I'm adding some shading when his voice rises from the bed. "Now I know how my actors feel."I glance up. "Huh?"Orlando smiles. "The way you're studying me from all angles. I imagine that's how my actors feel when I have them i
Sometimes small choices can have a huge impact on your life.Now, almost a year after I first set foot on the set of Death and Deadly Night, I'm standing with Orlando on the red carpet at the premiere. I'm wearing the most beautiful dress I've ever seen, a shimmery gown with dark silver accents, and my hair has been styled into cascading waves that hang down over my shoulder. I have no idea what I'm doing - there are so many lights, so many people shouting - but as long as Orlando's arm is around my waist, I don't care. I can face anything.Orlando is nervous. He doesn't show it, not on the surface, but I've learned to read him quite well. He doesn't have any reason to worry, though. Death and Deadly Night is brilliant. Some might even call it a masterpiece. I have complete faith that the critics and the rest of the world will finally see Orlando for the genius he is, and he can finally move out of the shadow of his family.Not that I don't love his family, of course. They've all co
I hate summer.Don't get me wrong - I love sunshine. I love fireflies and clear, starry nights and drinking iced tea in the shade. I'm not usually a grouch, I swear. But people who believe that's what summer is - the iced tea and fireflies and all that - haven't experienced a real Atlanta summer. Or at least they haven't inherited the overactive sweat glands that I did. Thank you, Blankenship genes.You see, I'm what they call a "hot mess." And sadly, I don't mean that in the romanticized, glamorous way. I mean that in the haven't-had-a-real-job-or-real-boyfriend-in-more-than-a-year way. I literally spent most of yesterday lounging on my brother's couch in yoga pants and an old T-shirt with a popcorn butter stain on the chest, binge-watching a reality cooking competition while trying not to think about how important today's interview is.I adjust my blazer as I step out of the car, trying to ignore the suffocating humidity. Some days, it feels like someone has wrapped a warm, damp t
I still have no idea what's happening. Who was that man? And who in the blazes is Karen?He's only gone a handful of seconds when the door swings open again and a smartly dressed woman in her forties walks in. She has a headset in her ear and she's typing something into her phone, but even as her fingers are still moving across the electronic keyboard, she looks up and begins studying me. She has an air of professional authority about her. Her eyes flick over me, just like the man's did.Finally, she gives a satisfied nod. "He's right. You'll do." She gives me another visual inspection. "We might have to do something about that ponytail, but it's nothing we can't fix.""Excuse me?" I say.She types something into her phone. "Can you follow directions?""I...think so," I say, still completely confused. "Yes. But why - ""How would you like to make a hundred dollars?" Abruptly looking up at me again, she reaches out and grabs me by the chin, tilting my head to the side. "You'll nee