Page 2 of Fa-La La-La Land
Dex shoots me an apologetic smile. “You all right, Stell?”
I nod mutely, and he goes back inside, leaving me to stare at the black metal door, my face growing warm again as I replay every embarrassing moment of the last thirty seconds.
The most mortifying part is, Rhys James isn’t the first celebrity I’ve ever met. I work for Georgia Rose Beck, the biggest home reno influencer on social media and TV. She’s the first in what I hope will be a long list of celebrity clients for my fledgling social media management company. I can’t turn into a babbling idiot every time I meet someone famous.
Granted, Rhys James is the only celebrity whose poster I spent years kissing goodnight. And who I fantasized about marrying…I still have the Pinterest board of dream wedding ideas to prove it. But as I walk back into my apartment, my embarrassment grows. My behavior was inexcusable. I’m not a teenager anymore.
I shut the door behind me and lean against it for support. Humiliation turns my knees rubbery, and I have to fight the urge not to wish for a sinkhole to open beneath my feet and swallow me.
“What’s wrong?” Britta asks.
Dex is taking her out tonight, and she’s dressed in a gorgeous green dress, which I picked out, FYI. Cut low in the front, it flows elegantly to her gold sandals, and she looks the epitome of chic California casual. Basically, the total opposite of my look right now. And I’m the one who cares about fashion.
“Taking out the trash turned into the most cringe moment of my life.” I push away from the door and walk the few steps to a barstool at the kitchen counter, then recount what just happened with Rhys James.
The sympathy on her face makes me feel equal parts seen and more embarrassed. “I can’t go over there tonight.”
A knock draws her gaze from me to the door. She gives my hands a quick squeeze and says, “Yes you can. You were overly excited, but he was a jerk, and that’s much worse.”
She lets go and opens the door to let Dex in, and after I beg him to explain to Rhys that I’m not a lunatic, they’re on their way to eat sushi—a first for Britta.
I slink to the shower to scrub away the stink of tuna and shame. Neither of which washes off easily. By the time the bathroom is good and steamy, I’ve internalized Britta’s advice, and my embarrassment has been replaced with indignation.
Rhys was a jerk out there.Isa jerk, if the stories are to be believed. Plenty of rumors have leaked lately from former employees and girlfriends, claiming Rhys James isn’t really the fun, personable guy he seems on stage. I’ve seen more than one TikTok of him being rude in public to the same fans who’ve paid a lot of money for tickets to his shows.
I know better than anyone not to believe everything—oranything—you see on social media, so I assumed the videos were cut and stitched to make Rhys look bad. But the fact is, in the hallway just now, he came off as the entitled tool those videos have portrayed him to be. He’s the one who should be embarrassed, not me. I don’t need Dex to tell Rhys I’m not crazy. I’ll go to their get-together and prove it myself.
My fantasy about what meeting Rhys James would look like may have turned into a nightmare, but I won’t let what he thinks about me affect my reality. Fantasy is strictly for escape. Reality is about facing life with a smile, finding ways around—or through—whatever challenges it throws at you.
Rhys has not only proven once again why fantasy and reality shouldn’t mix but also given me the challenge I need to smile and move on from ever again confusing the fantasy Rhys James with who he is in real life.
Chapter Two
Stella
The shower washes away the tuna smell but not my humiliation. That clings to me for another couple hours until I work up the nerve to go over to Dex and Archie’s, determined to make a better second impression on Rhys.
By the time I return to my apartment later that night, Rhys has made an even worse impression on me. He’s not only rude, he’s boring. Apparently he only knows how to sing, because every time I tried to talk to him, he shut down. I was lucky to get a one syllable answer from him. The good news, though, is that my fantasy relationship with him is officially over. I hope I never see him again.
Except, within a few days, Britta has agreed to marry Dex for reasons I’m not allowed to talk about, and I’m on a private plane headed to Vegas with…you guessed it… Rhys James. He’s as awkward as he was the first time we met, but I’m not. When he complains about how the media is treating him, I seize my chance.
I look around Britta and Dex to where Rhys leans his headagainst the side of the plane, closing his eyes against the sunlight beaming through the window. “You’re letting the media control your story instead of controlling it yourself through your socials,” I tell him. “Your accounts are boring. They don’t feel personal at all.”
His eyelids slowly flit open, and he tilts his head to shoot me a condescending look. “You think my accounts are boring? You think you could do better?”
“Yeah, I do.” I give him engagement stats from Georgia’s account to prove it, then nudge Britta to change places with him so he’s sitting next to me.
We talk for the next hour—or, mostlyItalk. By the time we land in Vegas, I’m hopeful about having a relationship with Rhys. Purely professional, of course. I’ve at least laid the groundwork for a year from now when Georgia plans to move production of her show to LA, and I plan on curating a long list of celebrity clients for my social media company, Stella Sparks Social Strategy. 4S for short.
After Britta’s wedding, I don’t see Rhys again before going back to Paradise a few weeks later. I watch his socials, though. That’s all I can do, a thousand miles away in Idaho. They don’t get better. In fact, they get worse, and so does the media lashing out against him.
A few months after meeting him, he texts me a question about his social media and what I’d do differently. I answer it without one squeal of excitement or hyperventilating. I’m not texting Fantasy Rhys James. I’m networking with potential client Rhys James.
Over the next year, I get another couple texts from him—always about business. I let him know when I move back to LA, inviting him to officially come on as a client. My expertise isn’t free. I’m ready to make my dreams come true in La La Land.
Reality, however, keeps trying to sidetrack my dreams.Working on the set for Georgia Rose’s latest home reno show isnotgoing well. She’s supposed to restore a historic home in the Hollywood Hills in her latest season ofAt Home With Georgia Rose.Instead, in the first week of filming, she’s spent most of her time in the bathroom while her husband, Zach, clenches his fists every time the director complains about her morning sickness. So, that’s roughly about a million fist-clenches a day.
Twice already since we started filming this morning, Georgia has rushed away, overwhelmed by nausea. I’ve recorded as much footage of the kitchen as I can, documenting its transformation from a small, closed-off galley into an open-concept space shared with the living area. Sadly, the videos I’ve captured are mostly of her nodding while the director, Sid, gives her instructions, which doesn’t exactly make for compelling content.
