Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

30. Willow

Chapter 30

Willow

I arrive at the hospital in LA around 11 a.m. Tito meets me at the hospital entrance and escorts me to my mom’s room. My mom’s surgery is scheduled for 2 p.m., so I have a little time to spend with her before she goes under.

I open the door and am pleasantly surprised by the size of the private hospital room. It doesn’t feel too crowded despite being occupied by my parents, sisters, and Heena.

“Willow, thank God you’re here.” My mom rises from her bed as I enter. “They’re hovering over me like I’m a newborn baby.”

“Hey, Mom,” I say, giving her a tight hug. “How are you feeling?”

“Not you too.” My mom groans. “They haven’t cut into me yet. I’ve heard that the feeling-bad part comes after the cutting-me-open part.”

Behind her, my dad rolls his eyes affectionately.

“Hey, Will,” Heena says, giving me a hug. My Dad, Aspen, and Maple follow suit.

“How was your trip?” my mom asks. “I looked up your little singer this mornin g. You didn’t mention that he looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ.”

“Mom! It was fun. But we’re just friends.”

“Why? He’s unnaturally attractive, Willow. Do we need to get your eyes checked?”

Despite myself, I laugh. “He’s very cute, yes.”

“Then what’s the issue? Does he have a girlfriend? Surely you’re prettier than her,” she tsks. Heena laughs, and my mom grins at her. “See, Heena gets it.”

“No girlfriend, Mom. We’re both just so busy. He’s on tour, and I’m all over the place anyway.”

“That didn’t stop your father and I,” she responds. “When we first started dating, I was a full-time model, and he was a big-time director.” She pauses before adding, “You don’t think he’s…small…do you?”

My dad coughs, but the rest of us laugh. Words can’t even describe how grateful I am to see that she hasn’t lost her usual good spirits.

“I wouldn’t know, Mom.” I touch my chin reflectively. “But I hope not.”

The color leaves my dad’s face as the women laugh.

“Then what’s wrong with him?” Mom demands.

“Can’t we have this conversation when you’re not about to have surgery?”

Mom sighs dramatically. “But there’s nothing else interesting to talk about, and I have hours before they’ll take me back.”

“Mom, I think Dad will actually combust if we start talking about boys in here.”

“There’s too much estrogen in here as it is,” my dad jests.

“See?”

“Fine. But I want you there when I wake up, Willow. To continue this with your poor, sick mother. ”

“Mom,” Aspen scolds. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t worry, honey, I was just joking. I plan on beating this thing with record speed.”

“Good,” Maple says.

“So, Aspen. Any boys on your radar?”

All of us handle the wait while my mom’s in surgery differently. Aspen is pacing the hospital room. Maple is writing an essay for school. My dad is pouring himself into his work, making phone call after phone call. Heena left the hospital entirely, saying she needed to go on a drive and blast some music. And I am social-media-stalking Riley. I’ve never done it before, so it’s a treasure trove for killing time.

I start with his Instagram since that seems like his favorite way to stalk me. First up is a photo of Lucky drinking from a mountain stream, posted earlier today. I guess he went on a morning ride after he dropped me off—cute. Next up is a photo of him on tour, looking exceptionally attractive. I zoom in on his bare arms and try not to stare. The next post is where things get interesting. I put my earbuds in to listen to the video, one of him singing backstage, hunched over an acoustic guitar.

“ An angel in the flesh, enough to still Da Vinci’s brush, ” he begins the first verse. I listen to it all the way through, then replay the video. The chorus ends with, “ She stole my heart and its keys, but I got away with the masterpiece. ”

Holy shit was I wrong to doubt this man’s live vocals. He sounds phenomenal, somehow even better than his studio versions.

Am I vain to hope that this song is about me? I mean, as far as he’s told me, the only other alternative is Claire. Unless he has someone els e? I feel a twinge of jealousy pang through my chest at either possibility. There’s no way it’s about Claire. And he would have told me if there was someone else, right? Especially since I asked him to kiss me. I open up the comments.

Janie_Whelan: WHO’S THIS ABOUT???

Riley.Coleman.Fan2: RILEY MARRY ME UR SO HOT

thee_vegan_baker: “SHE STOLE MY HEART AND ITS KEYS BUT I GOT AWAY WITH THE MASTERPIECE”???!!! OKAY SLAY KING

EthanBoone: thanks, I need to change my panties now.

I laugh out loud at the last one. I recognize his friend Ethan—Riley has mentioned him often enough. Apparently, he’s quite the ladies' man, and I can see why. He’s funny.

I keep scrolling, passing more tour and songwriting photos, eventually returning to his pre-fame college photos. There’s one particular photo of him grinning boyishly in a backward baseball cap at what must be a frat party. I’m ashamed to admit what frat-boy-Riley does to me. No wonder Claire was into him—despite apparently hating everything else about him. That bitch.

I glance to the top of my phone to see the time—I’ve been stalking him for almost an hour—when I see he’s live right now. Without thinking, I click on his live.

He’s sitting at his desk at home, a guitar in his lap, seemingly doing some Q&A thing with the 18,000 or so fans who’ve joined. Someone must have noticed me pop in because all the comments are now reporting to each other that I’ve joined the video.

“Willow Jordan has joined?” Riley asks, reading the chat. “Who’s that? ”

I think the stress of my mom’s surgery has gotten to me, as I find myself typing, “Did you ever find the right rash cream?”

Riley laughs, seeing the chat. “Okay, whoever Willow Jordan is, you’re funny,” he says.

The chat goes crazy, some people claiming we’re friends or dating while others are exasperatedly trying to explain to him who I am. Then they start asking about my mom. Mercifully, Riley changes the subject, strumming on his guitar and asking the fans what song they want to hear. I remain for the rest of the stream, too enraptured to exit, but don’t say anything else.

After the livestream ends about an hour later, I make a post with some B-Reel photos from fashion month, keeping myself occupied by scrolling through my camera roll.

Tired of staring at my phone and hearing Aspen’s incessant pacing, I decide to kill two birds with one stone. “Aspen,” I say, and she instantly stops. “Want to go grab some food or a coffee or something with me? I’m sick of being cooped up in here.”

“Sure,” Aspen says, seemingly relieved to be given something else to do, as if she didn’t even consider that not-pacing-for-hours was an option.

We head down to the cafeteria and scan the options. Luckily, most people are too distracted by their own health concerns or those of relatives to pay much attention to us. Except the actual hospital staff, who—to their credit—are trying hard not to stare. We both end up buying fruit cups before sitting at a window table.

“How are you doing?” I ask her.

“I’m good,” she says, giving me a smile that’s clearly fake—I’m fluent in Aspen’s facial expressions.

“How are you really?” I ask again. “And don’t say you’re fine because I’m pretty sure you just wore the tread off your shoes in there.”

“I’m okay.” She shrugs. “I mean, Mom getting sick isn’t helping my nerves or anything. But I have a therapist now, and she’s been helping me through a lot of it. She told me to try focusing my energy on the future and lining something up for after Fairview Ridge wraps up. So I’ve been sending out feelers to different producers and directors, trying to see what else is out there.”

“That’s great! So you like her, she’s good?”

“She’s good.” Aspen moves a strawberry back and forth in her fruit cup. “She’s nice and funny but definitely has her shit together. She’s young, like mid-thirties, so I think she understands a lot of what I talk to her about. And she has little kids at home, so she does most of her work over video call, which is great for my schedule.” She pauses. “I’m sorry again about scaring you the other week.”

“Oh please, you know you’re always free to call me about anything.”

“I know.” She gives a small smile. “But I still feel guilty for doing it.”

“Don’t. Are you thinking of doing more TV, or do you want to pivot into film?”

“I’m thinking film,” she says. “It’s not as big of a commitment, and it’s something new.”

“I think that would be great for you,” I say earnestly. “I want a ticket to all of your premieres. And Oscar ceremonies.”

Aspen laughs. “As if we’re not always invited to the Oscars anyway because of Dad.”

“It would be different if it was for you. I bet you could beat Dad’s record, too.”

“You mean, get more than three Oscars?”

“Yep. There’s at least ten with your name on them.”

“You’re delusional. I’d be happy to even get one.”

“Hey, you already have an Emmy. It shouldn’t be that hard to get an Oscar. ”

She waves me off. “An Emmy for lead actress on a drama series is hardly an Oscar.”

“Aspen, you’re ridiculous. I wish you could hear yourself talk, sometimes.” I shake my head, grinning. “ I only won an Emmy for Best Actress ,” I mock.

“What,” she protests, knowing exactly ‘what.’ “Enough about me. How was your trip with Riley?”

“It was so much fun,” I gush. “We went to a dive bar, horseback riding, stargazing, and I got to meet his parents and some of his friends. It was nice to be a regular girl for a couple of days, you know?”

“Believe me, I get it. That must have been so great.” Her mouth morphs into a smirk. “You like him.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. I can read Willow as well as you can read Aspen,” she says, fully smiling now. “You’re smiling. You totally like him!”

“I’m only smiling because you’re crazy. I don’t like him.”

“Fine, you don’t. But would it be so bad if you did?”

I sigh. “Aspen, the press would tear him to shreds, you know that. They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you.”

“They hate me. I’m like their ‘mean girl’ scapegoat or something.”

“They’re just jealous.”

“Then why do they love you? If they’re jealous of me, they’d be jealous of you. We have practically the same face.”

“Because you’re a world-famous supermodel, and I’m just an actress on a shitty teen drama.”

“Aspen.”

“What? It’s true.”

“Your ‘shitty teen drama’ is one of the highest-grossing TV shows of all time. ”

She shrugs. “Either way, they’re just jealous of you.”

“And either way, they’d turn their backs on Riley if we started dating, and you know it.”

“You could keep it secret.”

“That seems like hiding, and I don’t think either one of us would want to do that. I mean, we’d be in a relationship , not robbing banks. We shouldn’t have to hide it.”

“Then don’t. Maybe they’ll be better to Riley than you think.”

“Nah. No way.”

“Maybe you should let Riley make that decision himself. If seeing you is worth the media scrutiny. You might be surprised by his answer.”

“But what if I don’t want him to go through that? The media loves him right now, and I can’t be the one to shatter that. I know what it’s like to have the entire world shit on you, and Riley is one of the least-deserving people of that on the planet. He’s been through enough already,” I add quietly. Aspen raises her eyebrows in interest, but I wave her off. “Not my place to tell.”

“Fair enough. I see what you mean. It’s something to think about, though, at least. Anyway, we should probably head back up. I think Mom should be coming out in a few minutes.”

“Sure. She’ll be okay, Aspen,” I voice as we stand.

“I know.” Aspen smiles tightly.

We both throw out our uneaten fruit cups on the way back up.