You have some serious explaining to do. I will call you. Do NOT call me.
It was often hard to decipher tone through text messages. When someone could've been joking about something, another person took it serious. If someone was delayed on sending a text back, it could've been they were busy or hadn't seen the text yet.
When Renee saw Dean's text, however, there was no mistake as to what his tone was – pissed.
She didn't just cross a line; she hopped, skipped, and twerked over it.
She should've asked him where he was and how long he would've been there. It wasn't her fault she naturally assumed he was going to be in Chicago visiting his family. It was his fault for not being clear about where he was.
Now she was on the first flight back to L.A. as she figured out a game plan. She needed Dean on her show. No one cared she was going on audition after audition. No one cared she was going to star in a small role on a big movie production. No one cared she was meeting with a highly respected and well-known cosmetics company to develop her own brand of perfume. No one cared about any of that.
They wanted to know who was in her bed at night.
It was Renee's fault to a point. She spent most of her career selling a carefree and bitchy single image. Women hated her. Men wanted her. Her shoe wardrobe inspired thousands of copycats. Whenever she was photographed, her outfits boasted of Chanel, vince, and Ralph Lauren. Soon, many other women were wearing similar outfits to hers.
She was eponymous with pop culture and she'd only been a celebrity for a short period of time. It was the life she'd wanted and was mostly happy with it. The only missing link in her life was Dean.
Because their relationship was so casual, she didn't bother mentioning him to the press other than coy remarks along the lines of, there's always someone special for me. If she'd publicly claimed Dean, his unapologetic lothario reputation would've embarrassed her. Groupies wrote lengthy paragraphs detailing his sexual prowess, impressive shaft, and penchant for dirty talk.
So she waited for him to make a move except he'd never made one. A sane woman would've just been heartbroken but moved on once Sydney showed up but Renee had proven time and again, she was just a little crazy. Sydney wasn't going to last long with Dean, no matter how much in denial they both were. Unless Sydney was planning a move to Los Angeles in the near future, Dean was going to be a celebrity fling until he came to his senses.
Maybe I should come to mine?
She gave him financial advice that proved to be fruitful. She helped him pick out clothing that is more suitable and he was named one of the best-dressed athletes of the year. Renee, in her mind, turned Dean into the man he was and Sydney was reaping the benefits from it.
It wasn't fair nor was it right.
She may have crossed a line in visiting his family but to her, she could justify it as being a concerned friend. Dean was never able to stay mad at Renee for too long and she'd always convinced him why she would never betray him.
She just hoped Dean didn't look at her impatience as a betrayal. That could be bad.
Eden Stiles was gossip columnist to the stars. Well, B-list stars. Okay, C-list stars. Fine, she was an up-and-coming celebrity gossip blogger. The embellished truth sounded better in her head.
She'd spent hours combing through celebrity gossip pages and making sure she was always present at red carpets to interview celebrities. While a few humored her so far, she'd been told no plenty of times. It was fine. Everyone was told no before they made it, even if she was told no more times than she cared to remember.
She was going to be patient, though her patience was running thin. She needed to have a juicy story that would separate her from the likes of TMZ, Perez Hilton, and Nicole Bitchie. She needed to be a fresh face in a sea of gossip. The problem was so many of the aforementioned bloggers were getting exclusives from celebrities themselves. Eden didn't have any celebrity contacts at all. It was not looking good for her.
What am I going to do?
She poured herself a glass of wine and settled in front of the computer. At least she can drown her sorrows into reading everyone else's messed up lives and feel a bit better about herself.
She logged onto her blog account and just skimmed through her dashboard from other blogs she'd followed. Some posts were irrelevant to her interests, some were. Some were along the WTF Did I Just Read? variety but that was par for the course when it came to the internet. Either she would be impressed or disgusted.
She was about to log off when she caught something of interest. A nude black and white drawing was getting a lot of hits and reblogs. She clicked on the picture for a closer look; it was beautifully done and the artist paid a lot of attention to the subject. Eden was quite impressed by the subject's genitals. She would be lying if she didn't want to see it in person.
Under the picture was a caption, My boyfriend, Dean.
The comments that followed the picture proved to be priceless:
Yep, he's about that big. I've had him before.…holy crap, did he get bigger?
I wonder how he manages to score with that foot-long between his legs?
I think the artist was being generous. There's no way he's that big. On second thought, the hockey glove did cover a big portion during that Body shoot.
I wonder if he knows he's the boyfriend to some jumpoff who's posting photos?
Eden did a bit more research on who this Dean character was and found a plethora of information. Hockey wunderkind, Dean Ambrose. He'd been called the next coming of Wayne Gretzky and the comparisons were inevitable. There was talk Dean just might break a few of the Great One's records one day.
More juicy gossip pulled out how he had a groupie in just about every city, with many more girls hoping to be a part of his harem. Eden had no interest in becoming anyone's groupie. Dean, however, was proving to be useful to her.
She quickly typed up a blog post and hit send. She poured herself another glass of wine and did a bit more research on Mr. Ambrose. When she checked on her blog an hour later, the hits exploded through the roof and other blogs were linking to hers.
Eden smiled. Whoever Dean's girlfriend was, she should thank her. She just made her famous.
Sydney woke up to her phone constantly going off. What the? She glanced at her phone and saw a plethora of texts from Sarah. She decided to call her friend. If she was texting her at nine in the morning, it had to have been important. Sarah knew to wait until noon to contact Sydney with any bullshit.
"Hey Sarah," Sydney's raspy voice greeted her best friend, "what's going on? Is everything okay?"
"Baby girl, you're famous!" Sarah beamed.
"I'm what?" Sydney wiped the crust from her eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"You're on the cover page of TMZ and ESPN!" Sarah replied. "They featured your drawing! Everyone knows who you are!"
Sydney shot up in bed as worry raced up and down her spine. Dating a celebrity was all fun and games until she was revealed as his girlfriend. Now things just became that much more interesting and Sydney wasn't sure if it was the type of celebrity she could handle. "Oh shit."