Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Am I coming? Hell, yeah. I would follow him anywhere. He's Dirk Adams!
"Yes!" I announce and take two steps. "I mean, no! I can't eat. I'm in training."
He ignores me and keeps on walking. The kitchen is small and practical with the Turkish theme my mother insisted on giving the whole cabin. My family is pretty eccentric, to use the politically correct word for batshit crazy. My mom gives every cabin her own touch, either an international theme or something New Agey.
Dirk Adams pulls a frying pan out of a drawer and puts it on the stove. He takes a dozen eggs out of the refrigerator and cracks six open into a bowl. He takes a handful of mushrooms and dices them on the cutting board and throws them in the frying pan with a half stick of butter.
"I'm in training," I squeak.
He's still ignoring me. He pours in the eggs and after a minute, a hunk of cheese. While it's cooking, he slices a loaf of sourdough and washes up some grapes. He folds over the omelet, turns off the stove, and slides the omelet onto a plate. He puts it all on the kitchen table, hands me a fork and sits down.
"Come on," he says. "Sit. Eat."
"But-" I start, but I sit, anyway. Even though I'm in training, how can I refuse Dirk Adams?
He hands me a slice of bread and cuts half of the omelet and put it on my plate. Dirk eats with gusto, taking a bite of egg, quickly followed by some bread. It all looks delicious, but my head is filled with visions of Wade in his custom-made suit ignoring me, and I can't make myself eat.
Dirk doesn't like to take no for an answer, at least not at mealtimes. He pushes my plate closer to me. "Eat," he says with his mouth full.
I look at my piece of bread. "How many carbs are in a slice of sourdough?"
"Who gives a shit?"
"I'm in training!" I yell, pounding the table. "It's also the middle of the night. You're not supposed to eat after six."
He finishes his omelet and pops another slice of bread in his mouth. My stomach growls. Training sucks. I hate training.
I love bread.
My fork is still in my hand. I poke the omelet tentatively and finally cut a piece and put it in my mouth. Delicious. I eye the bread while I take another bite of the eggs. Dirk picks up the slice of bread I've been eyeing and hands it to me.
Dirk Adams is feeding me.
It takes me about three minutes to finish my omelet, eat four slices of bread, and a handful of grapes. I look down at my empty plate and say goodbye to my future with Wade Gates.
"You look like someone shot your puppy," Dirk says.
"I was in training," I say, my voice cracking with emotion.
"Take it from me, training is not supposed to make you pass out or starve to death."
He has kind eyes. They're not just pretty. There's something behind them. Intelligence. Caring.
My head drops onto the table. "The sun's going to come up soon," I cry. "That means I'm down to five days. I can never become Keira Knightley in five days."
"Keira Knightley?"
"She's skinny. And I'm-I'm-fat!" I break down in sobs, and my nose drips on the table. Dirk hands me a napkin.
"Okay. Enough of this. You're not fat," he growls.
"Yes I am. I'm way fatter than Keira Knightley. I'm way fatter than you!"
"I'm six-foot-four and two-hundred-twenty pounds. I think you have a ways to go before you're as big as I am. Why do you need to lose weight within five days?"
"That's when Wade comes back."
Dirk laughs. One loud guffaw. "A man. Of course. I should have known. You're killing yourself over some guy?"
I lift my head off the table and sit up straight. "Not some guy. Wade Gates."
"Your boyfriend?"
"Yes, but he doesn't know he's my boyfriend, yet."
Dirk smiles. "Why do you want a jerk who doesn't want you just the way you are?"
"He's not a jerk. He's perfect."
"So perfect that he doesn't want you?"
"Yes," I say, louder than intended. "He's perfect, and I'm not."
"Oh, geez."
"It's true." My voice hitches, and I will myself not to cry in front of a movie superstar.
"Nobody's perfect."
I blow my nose on a napkin. "You're not supposed to say that. Don't you know anything? You're supposed to tell me that I'm perfect. Come on, make me feel better."
He rolls his eyes. "My father used to be in the car business," he says.
"I know." I know pretty much everything about Dirk Adams. Who doesn't? He was voted Sexiest Man Alive five years in a row. He's H.O.T.
"Okay," he continues. "Well, my dad used to tell me that there's an 'ass for every seat.' In other words, no matter even if it's a purple car with orange interior, somebody out there is going to want that car. You may not be perfect-and nobody's perfect-but there's an ass out there for you. I guarantee it."
Could he be right? There's an ass out there for me? I'm just a purple car in a silver car world?
"But the only ass I want is Wade Gates," I say. "I mean, I want his ass."
Dirk clears the table and washes the dishes. I rub my eyes to make sure I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing. My family has rented out cabins and houses to a lot of rich people, and most of them are slobs. It wouldn't dawn on them to clean up after themselves. That's what servants are for.
But not Dirk Adams. He washes his own dishes.
Once the kitchen's clean, he throws a bag of popcorn into the microwave and takes two beers out of the refrigerator.
"Let's go sit on the couch. The living room is a hell of a lot more comfortable."
"Don't you want me to leave?" I ask. "You kind of saved my life, but I'm fine now, and you must want to get some sleep."
"I'm a night owl." He takes the popcorn and the beers and walks to the living room. I follow him and sit next to him on the couch.
Oh my God. Dirk Adams and Raine Harper are sitting together on a couch. I hear the Twilight Zone music playing in my head. I can't wait to post about this on Facebook.
"So what's so special about Wade Gates' ass?" he asks.
"I've loved him since preschool." In my mind's eye, I see little Wade Gates walk into Mrs. Chinster's class, his crayon box in one hand, and his blankey in his other. Even then, he was something special. "And I walked right up to him and said, 'Hello, let's be best friends,' and I took his hand."
"And you were inseparable ever since?"
"Well, not exactly," I say.
Dirk hands me a bottle of beer and swigs from his own. "How much of not exactly are you talking about?"
I bite my lip. I don't know how much to tell him. I've gotten a lot of crap from people about my love for Wade Gates. But Dirk is so understanding. His whole thing about an ass for every seat was very insightful.
"Well, he bit my hand and went to play with Lucy Ferris, the prettiest girl in class," I admit.
Dirk spits out his mouthful of beer, spraying it across the room. He's laughing uncontrollably, spilling even more beer from his bottle, as he convulses with laughter.
"It's not funny!" I yell. "I had to get two stitches." I show him the tiny scar above my thumb, and he laughs even louder.
"Typical," I say, upset that he's laughing at my relationship with Wade. I put my bottle down on the coffee table and cross my arms in front of me.
"Okay. Okay." He catches his breath and taps my leg. "Sorry. I'm sure he got better from there. Did you guys go out in high school? Homecoming dance? The prom?"
"Not exactly."
"Did you flirt? Share an ice cream cone?"
I pick up my beer and take a swig. My face is hot. Embarrassed.
"Does he know your name?" Dirk continues. "If you walked down the street, would he know who you are?"
"Yes!" I shout, snapping my fingers. "I tutored him for senior French, and he grew up on the lake, a couple houses away from mine. He would definitely recognize me."
"Good. That's something. So you guys grew up together."
"Well, our families are pretty different," I explain. "Mine's certifiable and his are certified accountants."
"So, no summer barbecues together?"
"But I love him!"
"So tell him," Dirk says, reasonably.
"Don't be an idiot. I can't just tell him. I'm not ready. I have to be thin first." I take a handful of Dirk's popcorn and shove it in my mouth.
Dirk grabs some, too, and we eat half of the bag before I get a stroke of genius. "I know! I know!" I yell. "You can train me. You're always training for one movie or another. You were a beast in Speed Freak III. I only need to be one-tenth of a beast."
"You can't become a beast in five days, even one-tenth of a beast. Besides, you're fine. Guys like a little junk in the trunk. Men don't want to sleep with a bone. It's gross."
He's so full of shit.
"You're so full of shit," I say. "You've slept with every bone in Hollywood. You're the king of bones. You wouldn't know junk in the trunk if you were hit in the head with it."
Yes, I realize I'm yelling at an American treasure. But I have no choice. He's so full of shit. Besides, not only do I have junk in my trunk, but I have it in every other part of my body, as well. He's full of shit, and I'm full of junk.
"Point is, he'll love you the way you are," he says.
"Look who's been drinking the Oprah Kool-Aid."
Dirk drops the popcorn bag on the coffee table and put his bottle down. He wipes his hands on his shorts and turns toward me. I giggle. It's a lot sitting next to him. It's like spotting a four-leaf clover. Special.
"All right. So you're not his typical type," he says. "There are other ways to catch a man."
"You mean roofies?"
"Uh, well, no, I didn't mean roofies." He gives me a double take, and I smile reassuringly.
"Threesomes?" I ask. "'cause I'm not going there. It's bad enough to be naked in front of one person."
"Nothing quite that drastic. I was thinking more of sharing an interest with him, showing up at the same place. Fitting in. That sort of thing."
"That's a good idea," I say.
"What interests do you share?"
"Well, he's a big corporate lawyer in Silicon Valley, and I'm a caterer at the lake in Esperanza."
Dirk nods. "So, nothing there. How about hobbies?"
"I think he plays tennis. That's way too much running for me. I cook, obviously. I don't think he cooks." I think hard. What does Wade like to do? "Deep sea diving!"
"Great. So you have that in common."
"Oh, no. I couldn't do that. Bad ears," I say, pointing to my ears. "And I'm not a big fan of water. But I hear he's quite accomplished. He went to the Great Barrier Reef. He posted pics on Instagram." Dirk furrows his eyebrows. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not stalking him," I say. "I just like to see what he's up to."
He's grinning at me like a madman. I'm cracking him up, and I'm not sure I should be happy about that.
"Maybe you just need to up the sex appeal. You need to show him some more va-va-voom," he says. "Walk for me."
"Excuse me?"
"Walk," he says, pushing me off the couch. "Show me your walk."
He leans back on the couch, kicks off his shoes, and puts his feet up on the coffee table. He's relaxed, but he's expecting me to put on a show. I can't walk. I can barely stand. But he's waiting, and I figure since he's been so nice to me, I might as well give it a try.
"Should I swing my hips?" I ask.
"Just think of Marilyn Monroe and walk across the room. Men are suckers for a woman with a good walk."
I stand at one end of the small room and take a deep breath. I try to remember how Marilyn Monroe walked. I sneak a glance at Dirk. "I can't believe I'm walking for Dirk Adams," I say.
"One foot in front of the other," he says, gesturing with his hand like a symphony conductor.
I put my hands on my waist to steady myself. I take a step and wiggle my hips as much as I can. "I'm doing pretty well," I announce, surprised at myself as I make it halfway across the room.
"Keep going. Give it all you got. More. More!" Dirk yells.
I should feel ridiculous, but I'm feeling pretty sexy. I'm channeling Marilyn Monroe. I'm wiggling and walking. Walking and wiggling.
I make it just past the coffee table when my wiggle goes too far for my walking, and my back locks in a muscle spasm that drops me to my knees in pain.
Dirk jumps off the couch and makes a beeline for me. He kneels down and sticks his face in mine. "Are you all right?"
"Back," I croak. "Back. Ow. Back."
I'm on all fours, and I can't move at all. "I can't see Wade like this," I wail.
"Oh my God. You were done in by Marilyn Monroe."
*
Here's why I think I'm either dead or hallucinating. I'm lying on my stomach on Dirk Adams' bed, and his hands are working their way all over my body.
"I wish I had my camera," I say into his pillow that smells like him and is driving me crazy. "This would be the best selfie ever."
"Feeling better?" he asks.
"I can assure you that even if I were feeling pain, I would be feeling no pain right now."
He works the back spasm out of me, and when he's done, covers me with his blanket and lies down next to me, facing me.
"I'm in bed with Dirk Adams," I say, giggling.
"I think I've figured out how to get Wade," he says. It takes me a second to recall who Wade is. Dirk is awfully close. "Perception is reality. Even if Wade is attracted to bonier females, you can up your attractive quotient by upping your demand."
"You lost me."
"You need to make him jealous. You need to show him that other men want you. One man in particular."
"Who? Who?" His idea sounds like it has potential, but who could I find to want me who would make Wade jealous? Wade is the best-looking and most successful man our town has ever known.
"What do you mean, who?" Dirk asks. "You're looking at him."
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone