One is a journalist who writes about movie stars. The other is a movie star who hates journalists. Now their worlds are colliding.
Reagan Porter is a small town journalist married, in every sense of the word, to her work. When everything that could...
With Violetta finally gone, I locked the room—including the joint door—and ventured out into civilization once more.
My stomach growled. The hotel offered a dine-in breakfast option which I never once turned down. They truly had some of the best food. The dining room was fairly empty when I made it downstairs, so I mingled about, eyes scanning over the television mounted above the bar. This morning it played a talk show featuring an old interview with Violetta.
As I waited to be seated, my phone pinged with a new text. It was from Hayden, with a link for a new boutique for me to try out.
I want to get an unbiased shopper's opinion, he said. Can you spare some time to shop?Send pics & refs.
I smiled. Shopping was definitely something I could get behind on this vacation. It had been a long time since I went out and splurged on myself, and that's what this weekend was for.
Not sure how unbiased I'll be given it's me and clothing but I'll give it a shot ;) I replied back.
Once I placed my order, I slid into a corner booth and propped my tablet up against the centerpiece. Dozens of articles had popped up in a mere number of hours since Violetta's first sighting. Even now sitting in the dining room, I couldn't help but wonder if a paparazzi would jump out at any given moment.
There hadn't been any commotion when Violetta left, but she was so closely followed I was sure she had her ways of getting around it when she could.
My breakfast arrived soon after, two poached eggs on toasted English muffins and a hot pot of coffee. I poured myself a generous cup as I perused the articles. The press certainly had lots of words to say about Violetta. The most recent were about the breakup with her boyfriend, others were about her contributions to fundraisers and worldwide events.
As a woman with many hats, in addition to her career as an actress, Violetta had a presence on multiple sites advertising anything from lingerie to perfume to furry Australian koalas.
The koalas, of course, were not for sale. But she could light up a page anywhere and make even the most stubborn of people go out and buy a plane ticket to the Gold Coast.
I guess that was one of the reasons Spencer, my boss, wanted me to do a feature on her.
My finger hesitated over the "open tab" button on my device. It would just be one quick peek at the magazine. One tiny little look. Just to see how my articles were doing.
"Can I get you anything else?" one of the wait staff asked as they approached my table.
"I'll take a quick refill on my coffee, and do y'all still have pancakes available?" I replied.
The waiter nodded. "We sure do. The kitchen just made a fresh batch. Blueberry or strawberry?"
"Blueberry, please."
He scribbled it down on a notepad then hurried away. I returned to my tablet, opening up instead the link to the boutique that Hayden sent me.
Flare & Solstice, the front page of the website read, For All Your Southern Fashion Needs.
I scrolled through the website. According to their "About Us" page, it was a local family who started the business and their daughter had even started to create her own small fashion line that was featured at the shop. The clothing offered was for a very diverse group, something that made me happy to see. No more of this "size zero only" crap.
We wanted to see real people wearing real clothes and smiling because they felt like themselves and not because a camera was aimed on them.
I wonder if that's how Violetta feels...
How many of her smiles on the cover of magazines and at awards shows and interviews were for the camera and not because she enjoyed it?
That's what I preferred about our magazine; we featured the informative side to our subjects, the side out of the spotlight that no one else got to see. Or at least, that's how I wrote my articles. Spencer often tolerated it because he wanted to keep me as a journalist, but sometimes I wondered how long that would last.
The waiter returned with my coffee refill and a plate piled high with pancakes. I immediately dug in, drowning the cakes in the warm amber syrup from the dispenser on the table.
A few more scrolls through the website convinced me that I absolutely had to go there today.
F&S looks amazing, keep u posted, I texted Hayden. He immediately sent me a 'thumbs up' emoji.
By the time I finished eating, the dining room was filled with late-sleeper patrons who just ventured downstairs after their slumbers. I took that as my cue to leave and went to seek out a jogging path along the lake. I had just put my earbuds in when I heard the unmistakable shrieks of overzealous fans and the bright flashes of paparazzi cameras coming from the other side of the lake.
Poor Violetta. No wonder she was so bitter; if I had people following me around the time, I'd be grumpy too.
She was talking on the phone, loudly, and she did not sound happy. From the way she threw her hand over her face to avoid the cameras, Violetta seemed miserable. Luckily, Baxter, her publicist, finally made his reappearance and now stood between her and the others. It was not an easy feat for one man, but he acted more as a bodyguard than a publicist.
Until he wiped his brow with a handkerchief and swiftly ran after Violetta who conveniently ducked from his sight during the commotion.
I shook my head and continued my jog around the lake. The wind whipped my hair around my face, but I kept my eyes on the prize. Just like everything else in my life, a true exercise regimen had been put on hold. I guess I still got a lot of exercise tracking down the sources for my pieces.
Still, it wasn't anywhere close to what I wanted it to be.
By the time I returned to the hotel, I was sweaty and ready for lunch. I took a quick shower to wipe off the grime. As I let the hot water roll over my muscles, I thought back to how it used to be with me and Marianne. We'd spent many weekends together at this very hotel, usually lounging at the pool or splurging at the spa with only a towel between us. Too many wondrous memories to count.
The smile on my face wavered.
And that's when the fights would start, right when things calmed down—
No, this wasn't about us or what could've been. This was about me. Me starting over. Me living my life.
Me being...happy.
That's what I desperately wanted.
I wished to be my old self again, to laugh and love and dance in the dark without a care in the world by the side of someone for whom I cared deeply.
And maybe this vacation was what I needed to let myself have that again.
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