Hollywood Remake (A Celebrity Love Story)

Chapter 27: A Bout De Souffle (Breathless)

“Kate?” Aidan called into the empty living room. Had she gone to the bathroom? He glanced in that direction, but the door was ajar and the lights were off. She wasn’t there. She was nowhere in the suite.

“Fuck,” he said out loud.

He knew what must have happened. He was about to propose again, just before the phone rang, even though he’d promised he wouldn’t bring it up this week. She hadn’t been happy about it. He saw the way her face had shut down and all the sunshine had gone out of her eyes. It was like a window shade being drawn, the moment he started speaking. She’d asked him for six months. That’s all she asked. And he couldn’t even do that. Now she was pissed at him. And he knew what Kate did when she was pissed.

She ran.

She couldn’t have gotten very far. He’d only been on the phone for a minute. Maybe he could still catch her. Maybe it wasn’t too late. He hadn’t actually said the words “marry me” out loud again. He’d still been building up to it when the phone had interrupted him. Maybe he could still backpedal if he could catch her before she left.

He raced to the open window and stuck his head out, craning to see down to the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

There, just stepping out from beneath one of the palm trees, he caught a glimpse of the top of her head.

“Kate!” he shouted.

She didn’t respond. There was a doorman beside her now, waving over a taxi that was pulling in from the street.

Aidan cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “KAAAATE!”

She turned her head, looking upward.

“Kate!” he shouted again, waving his arms until her face seemed to be pointing in his direction. “Stay there! Don’t go!”

Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t make out the words. Subtitles would have come in handy right about now.

“I’M COMING DOWN!” he bellowed.

She lifted one hand and raised it toward him, but he couldn’t decipher the gesture. Was she waving? Or was she telling him to stay where he was?

Didn’t matter. No time to think. He had to get down there before she got in the cab.

He bolted out the door of the suite, running past the elevators – too slow. Instead, he headed for the stairs, taking them three at a time as he raced down to the main floor.

He tripped somewhere around the second story, landing on one knee with a loud crack. There was no time to think about the burst of pain that shot up his leg as he hauled himself back to his feet again. He had to get downstairs. He had to catch her before she left for the airport.

At last, he made it to the lobby. He sprinted for the main doors, oblivious to the hotel guests milling about who gaped at him as he passed. A few of them were pointing. Two or three turned to follow him out the door and onto the sidewalk.

What? They never saw a celebrity before? At the Beverly Hilton?                       

Didn’t matter. No time to worry about fans. He drew up to a standstill for a moment, placing his hands on his hips as he gasped for breath. He turned his head and looked toward the spot on the sidewalk where he had seen Kate standing minutes before.

No Kate – only the doorman who’d been flagging down the cab.

Aidan looked about wildly. A taxi was still standing at the corner of the hotel driveway, waiting to make a left turn out onto the street.

“Wait!” he shouted, rushing toward the cab. He leapt for the car door and grabbed the handle, tugging it open.

“Kate! Hold on! Will you please just fucking—”

His gaze was met by a pair of Japanese tourists in shorts and floppy sunhats, their eyes wide with amazement. The woman covered her mouth with her hand and let out a cry of alarm.

“Sorry," Aidan muttered. "Pardon my French." He slammed the door closed again and turned to look around.

No more cabs. A little crowd had gathered, talking excitedly and pointing at him. A few of them had cameras. A few looked like paps. A woman screamed. Another photographer pulled up on a motorcycle next to the curb where he was standing.

“Hey Aidan!” a man shouted. “Aidan!”

“Fuck,” Aidan said under his breath, ignoring the onlookers and scanning the sidewalk for any trace of Kate. “Fuck fuck fuck.

He must have missed her. She was nowhere to be seen. With a groan of disappointment, he trudged back toward the entrance of the hotel and went over to the doorman who’d been helping her.

“Where’d she go?” Aidan asked, still panting with exertion.

The doorman only stared back in amazement.

“Come on,” Aidan said. “The woman. The cute little brown-haired one. Did she say where she was going?”

The doorman shook his head and gave an exaggerated shrug.

He wanted a tip, Aidan thought. Disgusting. Truly disgusting. True love on the line here, and the man wanted a tip.

Aidan reached behind him for his wallet.

His wallet wasn’t there.

His back pocket wasn’t there.

His pants weren’t there.

Aidan looked down, the realization slowly dawning on him that he hadn’t gotten dressed yet this morning.

His wallet was upstairs where he had left it, on the table next to the bed. Along with his car keys. Along with his room keys. Along with all three of his phones. Along with all of his other worldly possessions, aside from a white t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs.

Snap, snap, snap, went the cameras. The crowd had swelled, forming a U around him.

“Hey Aidan!” someone called. “Aidan over here!

Snap, snap, snap.

"Aidan, did you forget something?”

Snap, snap, snap.

Flash, flash, flash.

They may as well have been a firing squad. Aidan closed his eyes against the glare of the flashbulbs, and said it again – this time with feeling:

“FUCK.”