Catch A Falling Superstar: A New Adult Erotic Romance (8 page)

“Like being friends with Archer Stratton?” I smiled while I said it, to remove any possible misunderstanding.

He shrugged. “Hey, couldn't hurt. Just something to think about.”

He stretched luxuriously.

“So, what's your story, anyway, Blue? Or do you prefer Ashley?”

I was pleasantly surprised. That “Blue” thing was getting kind of old. Yes, I have blue eyes. But maybe I'm more than my eye color.

“How do you know my name, all of a sudden?”

He gazed levelly at me.

“I have my sources,” he deadpanned.

“Would your
sources
be that guy with the iPad at the entrance?”

“I can't reveal my sources. Enemy agents are everywhere,” he confided, looking around the room suspiciously.

I chuckled to show him I got the joke. He was referring to his famous role as Quiller, the super secret spy.

We got our food. I got my chicken wrap in a very generous portion, while Archer got his tomato soup. It came with garlic bread.

“Smells good, anyway,” he stated. “If you want to know if a restaurant is any good, order the tomato soup. If it comes from a can or is made from powder, that's no good. And if it's made from scratch, and it tastes good, then that place is worth revisiting to try some of their other things. That's been my experience, anyway.”

“Eaten at lots of restaurants, huh?”

“Oh, don't get me started. I haven't had a decent home cooked meal for years, probably. That's what happens when you travel a lot. But this soup looks promising.”

He grabbed the spoon and dove in.

I got started on my own wrap, which was a tortilla wrapped around fried chicken and salad and a sauce. Not the healthiest meal ever, but with a millionaire movie star taking care of the bill, there was no chance I'd sit here and pick at a salad.

“This is okay,” he said between spoonfuls. “Nice and thick. It's not powder based. But there's canned juice in here somewhere. I can taste the acid.”

He tasted a little slice of bread that came with it.

“And this... may well have been baked here. But probably not. Just a little to floury. Good mix of spices, though.”

“You seem to know a lot about cooking.”

“Family owned a restaurant back in Concord. I started as a busboy, then was promoted to waiter. Washed dishes, did odd jobs, even cooked sometimes.”

“I thought you were a successful child star since before you could even walk.”

“Pretty much. But my folks wanted me to know what it was like to
work
for a living. They felt I got everything to easily. Which was probably true. I actually enjoyed the experience a lot. Well, parts of it.”

“You did?”

“You bet. I miss working with people. You know, just being one of the guys. Doing the same thing. Now, I'm so isolated. There's no camaraderie on a movie set. For the actors, at least. We're all doing our own thing, pretty much. And some actors are, like, seriously weird. You can probably imagine some of them.”

“Not hanging out by the water cooler, talking about last night's
Game of Thrones
?”

“Nope. Doesn't happen much. I don't think we even have a cooler. Everyone drinks Evian from, like, crystal goblets. Nah, just kidding. They drink San Pellegrino. How's your wrap?”

“It's good. Very... filling.”

“Spicy?”

“Yes, it's okay. It's got some Mexican thing going on. Taco-ish, I guess. Still liking the soup?”

“Still good. About the right amount of garlic. And some coriander, I think. Sugar, probably. I can tell that they don't know the secret to a really good tomato soup. It's not bad. But nothing beats one you've made yourself.”

He took a swig of his water.

“So. My background is taken care of, and so is the meal. Now I want
your
story.”

“Not much to tell. Very boring life. No stars or famous directors. You got me curious now. What exactly is the secret to a good tomato soup?”

He looked at me as if I'd just asked him to do a handstand on the table. “I can't tell you that. It's a secret.”

“And enemy agents are everywhere?”

He winced, just a little. It was the first sign of vulnerability I'd seen from him. It sent a warm flood to my heart. And another one, too, much further down. There was tingling going on there now. So he
was
human. But what a human!

“Yeah,” he said, ”I sometimes overdo that secret agent thing. You'd think I'd get enough of that shooting the Quiller stuff. And you're trying to weasel your way out of telling me anything about yourself. I'm not going to take it. Talk to me.”

I sighed. It really was not my favorite topic.

“Fine. Grew up here, one younger brother, parents divorced when I was fourteen, not a pretty thing to watch from up close. Mom said she had a college fund set up, so I went to an almost nice one up in Massachusetts. For one year. Then, mysteriously, the funds dried up. Like, completely. Turns out she'd given every penny to her new boyfriend, who's been out of work for fifteen years. If he ever had a job in the first place, which I have my own thoughts about. So that was it. Dropped out, got a job at LuckyStop, and hoping to maybe one day work my way up to assistant branch manager. Can't help but notice that my mom's boyfriend drives a new Dodge Charger now.”

Archer narrowed his eyes.

“You're kidding!”

“Yes, you're probably right. Assistant manager is to ambitious a goal for now. One day at a time and all that kind of stuff.”

I misunderstood on purpose, which was a bitchy thing that he didn't really deserve. But hey, he asked for this.

He was silent for while, looking past me out the window. Probably my tale was a little dark for a man who'd make tens of millions of dollars in a year. Well, he'd wanted to hear it.

“Okay. Some of that sucks, some of it doesn't,” he finally said.

“But which is which?” I said, a little sarcastically.

“Not really for me to say. Though the Charger is probably on the sucky side.”

He put his spoon down in the empty bowl with a metallic rattle.

“You're alive and young. Anything is possible. College is badly overrated anyway. I wouldn't worry about that. But now, I'm sort of worried about something else.”

He was looking hard out the window. I turned to see what it was.

Oh my. Two vans had emptied their passengers out on the sidewalk, and they were on their way inside the restaurant. They were mostly women, it seemed, with only a couple of men to be seen. They were all adults from their 20s to 60s. They were chatting happily among themselves, and they looked like the employees of a local business about to be bought lunch by their management as a reward for good quarterly results or something.

I looked quickly around the restaurant. Yep, there was a long table prepared for them, all set and laid out, with a large
Reserved
sign.

As they entered and noisily found their table and sat down, Archer pulled his baseball cap a little further down over his eyes and discreetly put his sunglasses back on while turning his head. It was such a practiced act that he had obviously done it many times before.

I observed the new group from the corner of my eye. They all found their seats, happily chatting like co-workers can do when they're all ready for a nice, free lunch. The waitress came over to them and gave them recommendations.

Then I overheard her excitedly whisper loudly “we have a very distinguished guest here today,” and then she must have pointed or nodded in our direction, because their whole table went quiet while they craned their necks to stare over at us.

Archer rolled his eyes and sighed. They could easily see him from their table. There were mystified whispers of “who
is
that?”, “I don't recognize him” and “looks like a celebrity”, and then one of the younger women at the table exclaimed “that's Archer Stratton!” in a whisper that could probably be heard on the moon. There were loud gasps, and then one of the women noisily scrambled to her feet in what must have been close to a reflexive reaction. That was all that was needed, and before we knew it, our table was surrounded by women. The first one shyly asked for his autograph. The game was up.

Archer took off his sunglasses, smiled wearily and got ready to sign body parts. People were asking for pens, and the waitress ran over to provide one.

Everyone was staring at us, probably thinking I was famous too, and trying to place me. It was a strange thing to experience. Strangers were crowding in on us, evaluating us and obviously feeling that they had every right to disrupt our lunch. Well, we were both done eating anyway. But it was surprisingly uncomfortable. Archer signed a couple of arms.

Then the horde of women parted as Magnus calmly and effectively made his way through them, his enormous bulk unstoppable as he came to get us.

“Mister Stratton, your car is ready now,” he boomed in a way that was very definitive. He made his way over to Archer, who said “sorry, guys, I gotta go back to the coal mine” so everyone could hear. They all laughed at his joke and parted to let us out.

As we left, I saw one of the younger women eyeing the spoon Archer had used to eat his soup with. I guess it was soon going to make a nice collectible for her.

The big, black SUV was right outside the door, and the engine was running. Magnus ushered us inside, the doors thudded shut and it was quiet.

“Don't worry, Magnus paid the bill,” Archer said.

“Y
ou look a little shaken,” Archer said as we walked from the car to the sound stage entrance.

“Mobs of people can have that effect, I guess. I'm so used to it I hardly notice. I just know how to survive until Magnus gets there. This was a very small and nice mob. Sure you're okay?”

“Yes, pretty much. Never been the focus of attention like that, even with a small group like that. But I can't imagine what would have happened in a large city.”

“In a large city, I would never be allowed out in public naked.”

I feel myself staring at him. Most people aren't allowed out naked, it's against the law. Of course, some people should be allowed to be naked all they want. Like Archer Stratton.

“Naked?”

“Yes, without a whole pack of armed guards.”

“Oh, I get it. That's what you call naked?”

“Sometimes. There's that kind of naked, and then there's the fun kind. Okay, I've still got work to do. What I'm going to do now is look over the script for tomorrow and play with Alfredo a little. I have a scene with him tomorrow, so I guess I'd better warm him up for that. I'm thinking you might want to go home and change into some other clothes, then give me the guided tour of this town. You up for it?”

“Well, sure. But are you? With all the crowds you attract and everything?”

“I have a feeling there will be no crowd at that point,” he said airily. “Magnus will drive you home. I'll pick you up later. Wear something nicer than that uniform. Something tighter. Got any jeans? I mean, tight ones? Just suggesting. Lisa wears her yoga pants pretty well. But I think you might outdo her. In that, too,” he added.

He sent a telling glance toward my hips and boyishly lifted his eyebrows in appreciation. It was very suggestive, and again I felt a little tingle down below. Was there the possibility for something here? Something... really nice?

W
hen I came back home I took a long shower, razor in hand, doing more upkeep than usual. I wanted to keep every option open that evening. That look he had given my hips, even when badly disguised in baggy LuckyStop uniform pants, had sent a little surge of heat to my pussy.

I did have nice and tight jeans, J Brand and everything, not too badly worn. I did my makeup with more care than I had put into it for months, then tidied up my bedroom, changing the beddings, just in case.

The doorbell rang. I felt a spike of excitement and I wanted to run to get the door. Does one really let Hollywood stars wait on the porch? Calm down, girl, I told myself. It's just another guy. But I was unable to fool myself. This was not
just another
anything.

I could have saved myself the effort. It was not Archer.

It was an older man, wearing mom jeans and a military shirt with a wool hat. He looked clean enough, but his cheeks were hollow and his face unshaved. He looked like a hobo, more or less. I groaned inwardly. I had no time for this!

“Can I help you?” I said, inserting a dismissive tone.

“Ah, hey, miss,” he said in a flat, creaky voice, his eyes darting all over the place. “Ah been lookin' for Blue. She around?”

“I'm sorry, looking for who?”

“Yeah, I was told to go look for – uh – Blue. Suppos' ta live here in dis here house.”

He had a little tremble going on in one hand. He didn't seem dangerous, just insecure. But Blue – that was Archer's name for me. What was going on here?

“Who told you to look for Blue?” I asked suspiciously.

“Why, God told me. He said, “go look for that Blue girl at 1010 Amlin Street.” You her, miss?”

“
God
told you? I think there must be some misunderstanding...”

The man straightened and smirked with straight, white teeth.

“Okay, Blue, I think this will work just fine,” he said in a familiar voice.

“Archer?”

“Sure. Didn't come up with a name for this character yet. Pretty convincing, huh? One of the perks of having a whole makeup department at your disposal. They loved the idea of making me sort of unrecognizable. Great fun for all. Except for you. Well, suck it up.”

He winked, which seemed to be in character. Then he took a step closer and put his hand on the door frame and looked me over.

“Turn around.”

I did a quick 180 for him, then back again. He had a tone there that was a command, and it made me want to obey.

“You look very nice. You did before too, of course. But most people would wear jeans better than a LuckyStop uniform. You absolutely do. So, where we going?”

I had been trying to think of something, but it wasn't easy. What do superstars like?

“What interests you? Not that much to see here. There's the fort, the many art galleries, the old buildings... Nothing big ever happened here, as far as I know. It's the dullest town in the state, probably. You being in town now will probably make headlines for months after.”