A Side Effect of Celebrity

Prologue

A celebrity is a person who works hard all of their life to become well known, and then wears dark glasses to avoid being recognized – Fred Allen

It was never quiet in New York City.

The man staring out at the lights twinkling in the night supposed that's why it had been given the nickname of the City That Never Sleeps. There was always something going on – lights and sirens, parties and shouting, drunken brawls and sporting events.

Even in his apartment high above the streets below, he could hear the steady stream of noise almost all of the time. Often, it was nothing. A hum that disappeared into the recesses of his mind, not to be given any attention or consideration.

Tonight there was plenty of noise. Not a quiet hum but rather as loud as a foghorn being blown into his ear. Over the past three hours, he'd watched so many ambulances and police cars speed through the dark that he'd stopped counting them.

It was a grim thought – counting emergency vehicles instead of counting sheep like he should have been doing, especially since he should have been asleep hours ago.

His makeup artist was going to be pissed in the morning when he arrived on set pale and with dark circles beneath his eyes. Not that it would really matter at the end of the day. Photoshop could do wonders these days. Half of the time, he hardly recognized himself in magazines. The results from the photoshoot tomorrow would be no different.

Though for his own peace of mind, he really should sleep.

But, no matter how he tried, he couldn't seem to quiet his thoughts. They screamed at him, as loud as the sirens that echoed through the streets below. Both affected his ability to sleep – though if he were being honest, it was really the thoughts in his head that refused to let him rest.

One day, Jay Dawson, someone is going to break your heart. I hope it hurts like hell.

The words replayed on a loop. Had been replaying on that loop for weeks now since he'd returned from California to...this.

This emptiness and nothingness. He had never realized how alone he was until he'd returned to his apartment after a month of being away and found the quiet to be suffocating. He'd grown used to crowds and fans and adoration.

Hadn't understood that those things were superficial. That none of the people who screamed his name and followed him like little adoring puppies actually knew him.

All of his so-called friends were on his payroll or a publicity stunt. None of the girls he'd dated over the years had been interested in him – just his bank account or celebrity.

Moreover, how had he not realized it? It had taken a person he'd just met – one he'd been an ass to, nonetheless – to bring it to his attention.

I hope someone breaks your heart, she'd said, and meant it. And walked away, tall and confident. Like she had no hesitations or reservations about who she truly was and whom she had in her corner.

Not like he who was lost and alone – floating adrift in the City That Never Sleeps.

I hope someone breaks your heart.

But, still, he doubted it would happen.