He looked like he wanted to say something else, but I didn’t give him the chance to. I quickly rushed past him, outside to the spacious patio, and took a seat on the far end.
What the hell was that? Why did I act like I’ve never seen a hot guy before? There’s definitely something in the water down here…Or maybe I’m still drunk…
“Earth to Selena….Earth to Selena…” Joan cut through my thoughts and sat down. “How long are you going to wear that ridiculous disguise?”
“Until we leave Fayetteville…I don’t want people recognizing me right now. As you can clearly see,” I took off my shades, “I’m vulnerable right now.”
“Ha! Anyway, since you only have a personal assistant now and I’ll be juggling Katy’s former duties, we need to make some changes ASAP.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, here’s your new phone,” she slid me a pre-historic flip phone. “I need your old one right now.”
I picked it up and saw that there were buttons on the keypad. Buttons.
There was no touch screen. There was no camera. There were no apps—not a single one. There was nothing but buttons and a screen so small I could barely make out the home screen’s menu.
She’s out of her mind!
“Is this a joke?” I tossed the phone to her. “I know you don’t know me that well, but are you fully aware that my name is Selena Ross? I don’t do flip phones.”
“Are you fully aware that I could live off the severance package Matt gave me for the next twenty years? That I really don’t have to be here?”
“No…”
She slid the phone back to me and I reluctantly handed her my iPhone 5.
“Of the contacts in this phone, who do I need to give direct access to your line? Who are your friends?”
I don’t have any...
“What’s that, Selena?”
“I don’t have any friends…”
She raised her eyebrow. “Well, I’ll forward any important emails and updates to the flip phone. As of today, I’m deactivating your Twitter, your Instagram, and your—”
“What! Why? How will my fans keep up with me? How will they survive?”
She gave me a blank stare. “We also need to work on re-building your image. Katy was nice enough to give me the promo plan she was working on. For now though, keep a low profile. We’re definitely here for another five and a half weeks. Speaking of which, how was your mother when you visited her yesterday?”
“Um,” I slurped my coffee, “I never got around to that. I figured that since—”
“We had a deal. You were supposed to meet with your mother before I got here. Didn’t you say you hadn’t spoken to her in four years?”
And I’m trying to make it to five…
“I guess I thought you would forget about that since I’m paying you double?”
“No. Let’s go. I’m taking you to see her today.”
“I’m not coming, Joan. I’m not ready.”
“And why not?” she gave me an evil death stare.
I’m scared…
I sighed. “She hates me…Everyone hates me right now. I’m too depressed, too hurt. Can’t you see that? I need to stay at my hotel and work on myself for a few weeks and then—”
“Please shut up,” she pushed her chair to the table. “Do you really expect me to feel sorry for you? I don’t. Just because I’m your assistant that doesn’t mean I have to buy into your crap. If you’re not in my car in two minutes, I’ll be on the next flight out of here.”
My mother’s place hadn’t aged a bit. The three story wooden colonial boasted bright white paint, wide windows with cream shutters, and a wooden veranda that wrapped around the entire house.
The American flag hung high from the second level, lightly grazing the left side of the porch, and I could see my old tree house—my father’s last gift to me before he died, quietly sitting in the distance.
I stood in front of the house and contemplated turning around, running all the way back to my hotel, and telling Joan to kiss my ass.
I was sure I could find another assistant in no time, one that wouldn’t inflict her morals and rolling eyes on me, one that would do exactly what I said and not talk back to me. Then again, the top assistant agency in New York was run by the sister of Phillip Hartford’s wife.
I decided it would be easier to visit my tree house first. I climbed up the metal ladder and yanked the door open.
Everything was just as I left it: “I’m going to be a star one day” was in bright pink paint on the center wall, my high school drama awards were standing proudly against a re-purposed bookshelf, and every play program from my college theater days was suspended from a neon green clothesline that hung from the ceiling.
My impressive stack of hand-sewn quilts was neatly arranged into a large plastic bin, and the secret recipe to my award-winning cherry bourbon pie was still tucked underneath a loose floor panel.
I picked up the oversized picture that hung on my corkboard—a picture of Taylor, Jessica, and me at a Halloween party. We were all dressed as Disney characters: Taylor was Prince Aladdin, Jessica was Sleeping Beauty, and I was Cinderella. We were all smiling broadly, standing in front of a haunted corn maze. Taylor’s arms were wrapped around my waist and Jessica was pretending to pull at my hair.