Original Work: You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home, Chapter 2, Part 6
Chapter 2, Part 6
Our flight wasn’t due to arrive for another forty-five minutes, so Linda decided to use the time to make a few more phone calls (though I noticed one to Emilia wasn’t on the list) and I decided to stretch my legs before the flight and pick up a magazine or two at the kiosk we’d passed on the way. I made sure to check our gate number so I’d be able to find my way back before I joined the crush of people and their luggage moving around before their own flights.
The news stand reminded me of one of those places you seen on the New York City street corners, with all the magazines lined up in neat little piles you were afraid to touch for fear of ruining the whole display, only this one sold paperbacks, candy and had a television up in the corner tuned to a muted CNN. I spun the rack of paperbacks, half-heartedly checking the titles but none seemed to catch my eye; I wasn’t looking for anything more than light reading anyway.
As I moved to study the magazines, I glanced up at the television and was surprised to see footage of Emilia playing on the screen. The closed captions paired with the footage explained that Emilia had been involved in an incident at the club Paradise last night with another starlet named Michaela Foxx. I had always doubted that her birth certificate had all those x’s in it.
It seemed as though Emilia’s popularity knew no boundaries, though if rumors were to be believed Emilia and Michaela had never exactly been the best of friends. Though Michaela was first and foremost an actress (and not a very good one, though it seemed as though she knew about and embraced her status as a sex symbol and eye candy, because she never tried to stretch her acting ability to it’s breaking point) it seemed as though she was about to test her musical abilities. Michaela Foxx and my sister had something in common, whether they wanted to admit it or not: they both wanted to be the best and that meant stepping on and surpassing the competition. Their feud wasn’t different than any you ran across in the high school hallways, except theirs was funded by million-dollar careers and accessories that could be made to suffer the brunt of their anger.
I sped-read the closed-captions before they disappeared off the screen, trying to understand what had prompted Emilia to confront Michaela at the Paradise Club the previous night, especially when she knew that the press always swarmed the perimeter, on the lookout for events much like the one they’d captured on film last night. I quickly chided myself; obviously avoiding the press wasn’t one of Emilia’s priorities. Emilia had been at Paradise with several of her girlfriends and many an infatuated male looking to be her arm-candy for the evening when Michaela had shown up with her own entourage. CNN claimed that one of Emilia’s friends (who had no doubt rushed off to sell her story to the tabloids as soon as it looked like nothing more exciting was about to happen) stated that the altercation began when Michaela ‘enticed one of Emilia’s followers to her own group’ prompting Emilia to ruin one of Michaela’s thousand dollar bags. I couldn’t help but take a moment to think about any single item I owned that might be worth a thousand dollars and all I could come up with was my car and that was pushing it some days. But Michaela had a purse worth that easily and undoubtedly had a closet full back home.
After the ruination of the purse, Michaela had taken revenge by spilling a drink down the front of Emilia’s dress, ruining the several thousand dollar fabric. This time I didn’t even bother to take stock of my own financial status, unfortunately it hadn’t changed since the contemplation over the purse.
Deciding not to take things lying down, Emilia had gone outside and smashed the mirrors off Michaela’s multi-million dollar car. After that, I couldn’t read anymore, feeling panic closing around my stomach. What was I getting myself into? I might as well have blind-folded myself and marched in front of a firing squad, one of the members being, of course, Michaela Foxx. I wasn’t a miracle worker and having me step in as Emilia’s sudden personality improvement wasn’t going to produce anything akin to that phenomenon. What had I agreed to? There was no way I could ever repair the damage Emilia seemed to enjoy causing and there was definitely no way I could ever explain or justify shattering the mirrors of a multi-million dollar car.
The clerk behind the counter had apparently been watching the story as well because he suddenly turned to look at me, gaping. He glanced back at the television, which was running stock footage of one of Emilia’s concerts and then back at me, his mouth falling open wider. “You…oh man…”
Quickly, I backed away. “That’s not me.” I assured him. This was the first time this had ever happened to me, because we didn’t really get many tourists in Independence and my classmates at least never openly believed that I was actually Emilia. But now it was going to happen to me all the time, I was going to get mobbed, followed, swarmed and I had to like it, I had to act as though it was all in a day’s work. I had to act like Emilia. Minus the public catfights and alcoholic binges.
But the clerk didn’t seem to believe me for a second. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He started rummaging around the register, fumbling around for a pen and something to write with. “I love your music.” He was gushing, the way only a twenty-something boy could do when he stood across from a girl he’d probably had fantasies about.
“That’s not me.” I insisted again, taking another step back. “Sorry.” He still looked doubtful, seconds away from rolling his eyes at me. “How could I be in California and here at the same time?” I raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.” I ducked out of the news stand and hurried back to my gate, keeping my head down and my hair draped across my features, just in case anyone else happened to get star-struck.
If you enjoyed this, please check out the next part here.