Page 15 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

Another stack has a rebuttal, one word per box: “To enjoy life like he should.”

That’s John Luke, the chef.

I chuckle, pulling one box from each stack. John Luke’s is significantly heavier than Armond’s.

I kick the fridge closed and open them both.

John Luke has prepared lobster fettuccini.

Armond has made grilled chicken on a bed of asparagus.

I shove the chicken back in the fridge.

Today is a pasta day.

I stick the box in the microwave, tapping my foot as I lean on the kitchen island. My condo is immaculate, gleaming, and modern.

Some would say it’s not a home, but it’s what I know. My family comes from banking money, and their palatial house in Beverly Hills looks exactly like this inside, only with more help.

John Luke is their personal chef, but he makes seven meals a week for me. I hired my own trainer, who consults with a nutritionist and a sports chef they employ for clients. He brings me the other extreme in my diet.

I also have a housekeeper, the sister of the woman who runs my parents’ house. She works over there five days a week, and two for me.

I don’t need a showy mansion. I generally don’t seek attention, and I don’t tip off paparazzi to my whereabouts, unless Desdemona requires it to get my date some press.

I’m not famous anymore. Ten years will age you out of getting recognized on the street. I haven’t done a talk show or so much as a commercial since my twenties.

When I washed up, I landed on an entirely different shore. No-man’s-land. And anonymity is where I’ll remain, unless they ever invite me to an anniversary show or reunion piece. That will be short-lived, too.

It doesn’t matter.

The microwave dings.

I take the box to the island, not bothering to plate it. Mother would have a fit if she saw me eating out of cardboard like a commoner. But I’m almost twenty years beyond their influence.

Kelsey texts me, and I’m grateful for the diversion.

Kelsey:I’m doing research for my trip. Want to come?

Hell yeah, I do.

Me:Be there in thirty.

Kelsey:Bring pizza. The good one from Mod’s.

Me:As you wish.

I can see her smile when she reads it. She’s always amused when I quote romantic lines from leading men. She’s such a sucker for a good bit of dialogue.

Once, she asked me for something from one of my movies, but given they were mostly ribald comedies, the best I could do was “Lady, I’m here to take your cherry.”

She did laugh at that, though.

My whole career was a joke. One big hit comedy. Two mediocre ones. Then a string of increasingly ridiculous low-budget flicks that ultimately petered out into junk that didn’t even get distributed.

But the hit keeps me in residuals, and since it has a rather hilarious Thanksgiving scene, it sometimes comes up on lists of movies to watch in November.

It’s more than a lot of actors get. I’m not bitter. I played my cards for as long as the people in charge let me.

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