TO HAVE & HAVE NOT

21

Olivia

"Wake up!" Aaliyah exclaimed, her voice cutting through the thick fog of sleep that enveloped me in her hotel bedroom, a haze I hadn't escaped in days.

The remnants of last night's excesses—a cocktail of whiskey, vodka, and a sprinkle of powdered euphoria—swirled within me, and as she stood over me, her outline sharp against the muted light of the morning, I felt the weight of reality crash down.

It had been a month since Coachella, filled with wild nights and blurry memories, but it had also been a month of evasion, of running from the chaos inside me by drowning it in reckless abandon.

"Carlos wrote a song about you," she exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement, piercing through my sluggish thoughts. "It's all over the headlines. Tommy just called me."

My heart raced as I struggled to process what she was saying; Tommy had always been the voice of reason amidst our whirlwind lifestyle, a grounding force that felt distant in this stupor. "What?" I managed to croak, the dryness in my throat a stark reminder of the partying that had spiraled out of control.

Aaliyah leaned in closer, her urgency palpable as she clutched my shoulders. "He named the same 'Olivia Moore' you—you have to get up!"

The weight of her words sank in; I was now a topic of conversation, a muse for a song draped in the glitz and glam of celebrity culture, and I felt a mixture of exhilaration and dread.

As reality crept in, I knew that I had to shake off the remnants of my past few days, confront whatever this song would bring, and, above all, surpass the shadows of my self-destructive tendencies.

When I dialed Carlos's number, my heart raced with an exhilarating mix of anticipation and frustration. "What the fuck was that?" I blurted out as he answered.

The chuckle that followed was unmistakably charming, a sound that captivated the airwaves between us as he replied, "Olivia, I was desperate for your attention. I'm so glad you've called. Now I have your number, and you have mine." His playful tone didn't mask the underlying tension of the situation; the tabloids had gone wild with rumors, and the last thing I needed was to be caught up in another fabricated narrative.

"Carlos, people are speculating we're a couple," I said flatly, disbelief lacing my words as I tried to probe the depths of the implications.

"It's Hollywood; they'll say anything to make a few bucks," he laughed nonchalantly, dismissing the chaos surrounding us as if it were just another scene in a scripted drama. "So... now that I've got you on the phone, do you want to go out with me?" he proposed, imbued with a confidence that made my pulse quicken.

The rest, as they say, was history—a whirlwind of red carpets, clandestine meetings, and the dizzying reality of navigating a relationship in an industry where nothing is truly private.

What began with a simple, albeit confrontational, phone call transformed into a journey that would leave an indelible mark on our lives, intertwining our fates amidst the glitz and glamour of Hollywood.