With a grunt I grabbed my two bags and slowly made my way outside to the taxis. I’d given up hope that a car would be waiting for me, that would be too easy. Not to mention too kind and I was pretty sure that my name was at the top of Peter’s shit list in shiny bright colors.
Peter didn’t do things that way — he didn’t believe celebrities should be treated any different than anyone else. It was why when his agency offered to pick me up — I couldn’t sign fast enough. I’d never felt normal, and having an agency that liked me to feel that way? It was nice.
Until they started acting like parents.
I kicked the ground with my shoe and put on my sunglasses as I scanned the row of taxis.
In hindsight, I should have paid for someone to drop off my Audi. After Nat and Alec’s wedding, I hadn’t had time to drive it back to California before my movie started shooting, so I left it. At least I’d have some wheels to get around in.
I lifted my hand.
No cars moved.
I waved a bit.
Nothing.
Okay, so maybe this was a time I wanted to be treated like a celebrity. I cleared my throat and whistled.
Slowly, like a turtle waking up inside its damn shell and realizing it had a job to do, a car pulled to the curb. The man, looking high as an effing kite, waltzed around the car and grinned.
Like I said… Portland.
You’d never know weed was legal in California, mainly because where I was from; it was all about the harder drugs. But Oregon? Yeah, seriously, just walk downtown, weed shops everywhere.
“Hey man, this all you got?” He reached for my bags, missed twice, and then with a loud grunt hauled them into the trunk of the car.
I got in the back seat and sent out a group text to Demetri and Alec.
Me: If I die on the way to Seaside, give my surfboard to Nat.
Demetri: Huh?
Alec: Cool, thanks!
Me: So now I’m suicidal…
Demetri: So you’re killing yourself on the way to Seaside?
I glanced up as the taxi driver got back onto the car, put it in reverse, then drive, then reverse, then of course laughed his ass off, wiping tears from his eyes, and started going — all without asking me which direction I was headed.
Me: Getting in this cab is suicide — dude’s higher than Demetri used to be.
Demetri: Thanks, man.
Alec: Holy shit, really? That’s bad!
Demetri: Hilarious.
Me: Let the countdown into Hell begin! Oh, and you’re both jackasses.
Demetri: Love you too, bro!
Alec: Have fun abstaining from sex!
Me: Maybe the car will run into a ditch? Fingers crossed.
The car jolted. I almost dropped my phone as I gripped the worn leather seat in front of me.
“Dude…” The guy nodded. “Where we headed?”
“Hell,” I said crisply.
“Uh…” He nodded. “How do we get there?”
“It’s easy.” I formed my hand into a tight fist. “Just follow the road to Seaside.”
“Awesome.” He grinned.
“Stop talking,” I snapped.
“Sorry, man.”
I was an ass, what did I care? He could report me to the media all he wanted. My life was about to be over. Peter said he’d send me information on my job while I was in Seaside. The plan was that I would to stay for two months. Peter also suggested I fly under the radar, and that if I just so happened to be seen helping old ladies carry groceries and saving cats from trees, it couldn’t hurt.
I know what you’re thinking. Two months, Jaymeson? Anyone can do two months by the ocean. How spoiled can a person be?
Hold that thought while I take a giant-assed bite of rat poison. It’s Seaside, for those of you who aren’t familiar with my story, let me lay it all out there, you know, put all my cards on the table, drop all the chips into the pile, freaking bleed until I have nothing left.
Seaside is small. Everyone knows everyone. It’s a huge tourist trap at least seven months out of the year. Lots of screaming children, lots of shops that sell shit that nobody needs, homemade ice cream and fudge that are aimed at making you so fat and happy you forget that the sun isn’t actually shining and that it is, in fact, raining.
They have surfing, but you literally have to wear the most expensive wet suit to escape having your balls fall off from the temperature of the water.
They have one movie theatre — it smells weird.
How do I know all of this? I spent a summer there filming a reality show with AD2 and about drowned myself in the ocean once I found out my mom and Demetri’s mom were not only one and the same, but that Alec had once upon a time made out with her. Gross, right? It gets worse. She tried to blackmail Alec with pictures of them together in order to get drug money — it turned into a whole thing… it was dramatic to say the least.
The only positive about that summer was finding out I had a brother — and getting three more movie offers once the webisodes were finished.
So this place? Bad memories for me, lots of bad memories. On top of that, the last time I’d set foot on the beach, I’d kissed an innocent girl, laughed in her face, then asked that same innocent girl — aka the pastor’s daughter — if she’d like to have a drunken threesome with another girl who, FYI, wasn’t so innocent, and whose name I still can’t remember to this day.
Seaside was my Hell. It reminded me of the shitty person I was, because it reminded me of her. And it reminded me of what my mom became once money and fame destroyed her.
I leaned my head against the window and pulled up my Facebook. I needed a distraction. I was probably one of the only celebrities that actually tried to have a Facebook account that focused on my personal life. It was my first name and middle name, nobody had figured it out, and my pictures weren’t close ups. Most people on it were close friends and family who knew my secret and, of course, Demetri and Alec.
But I’d added her.
It was a knee jerk reaction. At first it was because I wanted to check up on her, make sure she was okay and all that.
And then it turned into more.
I started talking to her. Nothing crazy — just leaving random comments on her pictures and liking her status updates. You know, real crazy shit.
I know, I know, I need to get my head out of my ass. But it was too tempting. She was too tempting, and those damn wedding photos? I’d stared at those like a creepy stalker for hours.
I was almost surprised Dateline didn’t call me up — I truly mean it was hours, no exaggeration.
I’d take it to my grave.
For the most part I’d just commented on photos and posted on her timeline. But I’d never made actual contact. Holy crap I sounded like an astronaut exploring a foreign planet. Was she that terrifying to me? My thumb hovered over the message button. Without thinking, I clicked it and typed in her name, Priscilla.