Page 12 of Building What's Meant to Be

“Hey, that girl on TV is wearing the same dress as you,” Clark Gable’s Mustache says.

“Must be a trend,” I mutter.

“No way, that’s you. You’re Puma’s Gal Pal. The one that was there during his arrest.” This must be revenge for giving him the cold shoulder.

“I just have a pretty face.”

“It’s totally her,” a woman says, flashing an image on her phone.

The two teenagers continue to whisper while looking my way and then indiscreetly snap selfies with me in the frame.

“I hear you got into a little hot water. I have a pool down the street if you want to cool off,” Clark Gable’s Mustache says.

“Uh, didn’t bring my bathing suit, but thanks anyway.” My voice is a pitch too high.

“Does that really matter?” he asks, getting closer to me.

As the small crowd closes in, thoughts from when the police led me away from Puma’s hideaway crash into me.

I’ve never been called smart, clever, or anything other than pretty. Not beautiful or gorgeous. Certainly not a bombshell. Justprettyas if my okay looks are all I’ve got going for me.

As for discernable talent, I won’t lie, that’s in short supply. I don’t have anything to offer an audience and Victoria got all themusical talent. But if I’m not an aspiring celebrity, then who am I? What good am I?

As the crowd asks me questions, the officer’s words echo in my ears.If I’m smart...

I had the sense not to say or do anything stupid while under interrogation, but what about now? Should I declare my innocence? Explain myself? Sign the requested autographs?

Thing is, I didn’t do anything heroic or worthwhile. I was just in a few photos, my name tossed around the tabloids, and am still wearing yesterday’s dress...or was it the day before? Time resembles the Slushie in a spindly guy’s hand as he gives me a once-over.

Unless you can turn back the clock, keep moving, buddy.

Maybe I no longer want to be the queen of Tinseltown. I’m not sure why I was other than the fact that I never turned down an invitation and had an endless supply of funds to keep the good times rolling.

Money my father started earning when I was busy calling my brother Baldy, pranking my sister by cutting her dolls’ hair, and following Andrew around like his shadow. That was because I wasn’t ever allowed a moment in the spotlight. It was always John, Victoria, and Andrew shining like a trio of gold stars with no attention paid to me. I’m by no means dumb, even if I acted like it. Academic perfection even failed to get Mother and Father’s approval.

After I pay for my water, with little more than a friendly if not tentative wave at my new fan club, I rush back to the car.

The last time I was in North Carolina, I visited the set of an action thriller shot on the Outer Banks.

I could go there or take a right and head to Nashville. What if I keep driving until there’s no more road—all the way to Miami? I know some people who live in South Beach. But my phone isstill quiet. News probably traveled across the country while I was in flight and I am officially on the banned list.

Persona non grata is right.

Or more like persona forgot-a.

Persona ignore-a? Avoid-a? Brush off-a?

This would be the part of the movie when the main character turns up the music and sings the song of freedom.

Free from my family who doesn’t understand me. Free from Puma and his illegal activity. Free to be me.

I probably ought to take a vacation. No, a man-cation. A vacation from men. It’ll be me lounging on the beach with a frilly drink and no actors, musicians, or bad boys from now on.

I turn on the radio. Wouldn’t you know it? A song by PJ and the Oak Brook Boys echoes. Naturally, the guitar player and #TaylorsGeorgiaPeaches come to mind. He and I sort of had a thing. Or more accurately, I wanted a thing and in so many words he told me to get lost.

It went something like this: I showed up uninvited to a shindig he was playing solo at. Granted, it was open to the public so it’s not like I was a gate crasher. I thought (er, hoped) the love song was penned with me in mind. Then I kind of insisted it was, blew up what turned out to be Taylor professing his love for someone named Mae, who, I later insulted by being super catty and calling her,Mehas in not much to look at.

Totally not fair of me because it was dark so I didn’t get a good look. She was holding a chicken in her arms, which, upon reflection was an interesting sidenote.

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