When It’s Real by Erin Watt

34

HER

@OakleyFordhi

@OakleyFordWe love you. We love you. We love you.

@OakleyFordfollow me

@OakleyFordI drew this for you

@OakleyFordJust bought tix for the 1st tour stop! Can we please meet?

@OakleyFordWhen r u coming back to Dallas?

@OakleyFordIt’s my birthday! Can you message me back. Pls! it’s all I want.

@OakleyFordI love you

@OakleyFord Can’t wait for the tour!

@OakleyFordhow do I get VIP passes 4 ur tour?

@OakleyFordxxxxoooo

@OakleyForddump that girl she’s not good enuf f u

@OakleyFord @mrsoakleyfordsuch a gold digger

@OakleyFord @weirdmagicaloneshe dumped her boyfriend to get with oak #slutacular #gohomethot

I close Twitter and wonder if I’d be allowed to delete the account altogether. Nothing positive is on there these days. I’d gotten into the habit of not reading it, but for some reason, after checking my texts, I opened the app and checked not just my feed, but Oakley’s, too. Big mistake.

“You’re up to something,” Oak says.

I shove all thoughts of Twitter aside and smile at him. “Something awesome.” Oak has been bugging me for weeks, wanting to know what all my text messages with his mom have been about. I’ve only managed to hold him off by telling him that he’ll know…soon.

Sometimes Oak’s spoiled upbringing shines through. He doesn’t like to share and he doesn’t have much patience. He’s used to getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.

Other than my V-card. He waited for me, but I was happy to give that up. It was indescribable. No matter how many adjectives Oak teaches me, there aren’t any that I can use that would articulate how he made me feel.

It hurt at first, but he waited, again, taking his time, whispering to me about how wonderful I felt and how it was like heaven for him. For me, too. I shiver thinking about it. I’m falling so hard for him. I know that I didn’t love W, because what I felt for him is like the teeny flame of a candle compared to the inferno Oak evokes in me.

But while he’s patient as it relates to those things, everything else in his life he wants immediately.

Oh, there’s a pair of sneakers that had a limited run of, like, ten? No problem, Oak, we’ll send a pair out for you. Do you want someone to come and have a custom insole made, as well?

I’ve had to be careful about showing any interest in anything. I was cruising Instagram and stumbled onto a travel photographer’s account. I probably spent two hours flipping through her pictures. The next day someone arrived at my doorstep with a camera and a note that said, “Vaughn, your friend Oakley asked what camera I used. I told him that as a starter, you might like this one instead. You have a real gem there.”

When I complained to Oak about it, he replied, “You’ll need something to do when you’re on tour with me.”

And there’s no point arguing with him. There are times when he simply refuses to listen and the camera is one of those times. As are the pristine set of white Vans, a crossbody bag I mentioned casually one time and a pair of gold sandals I admired in a store window.

I’m not the only one who’s gotten goodies. Shane and Spencer both got new sneakers and passes to an exclusive skate park, along with one-on-one lessons with some guy I didn’t recognize, but the twins did because for once in his life, it was Spencer who couldn’t speak when they met. Paisley got a beautiful Prada bag in scarlet-red.

I protested, but she said that he could easily afford all this stuff with the money that fell into his sofa cushions. I guess that’s true. Still, I watch myself around him. I don’t need more surprise gifts. Hopefully once the tour starts, he’ll be too busy with sound checks and rehearsals to remember to buy me things.

I still can’t believe he wants me to go with him. I made a huge fuss about it at first, but like I said, it’s pointless to argue with Oakley Ford. He’s leaving tomorrow morning for New York City, the first stop of the international tour. I’m flying out to meet him a few days later, because Paisley is away for work and I need to be at home for the twins.

Truthfully, I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never traveled without my family before, and I’m not sure what I’m even going to do on this tour. I’m not a groupie or a roadie or anyone connected with the music industry. For now the only item on my agenda is to take pictures of Oak with my new camera. After that, who knows?

Since Oak will turn twenty during the first week of his tour, we’re throwing him an early birthday party tonight, which is what his mom and I have been so hush-hush about the past few weeks.

“I don’t like surprises.” He tugs on the black eye mask I borrowed from Paisley.

“You don’t like the ones you’ve had in the past. You’ll like this one.”

“How do you know?”

I lean over and kiss him on his cheek. “Because it’s from me.”

“Ty, help a brother out. What’s going on?”

Ty snorts from the driver’s seat. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not crossing the Bennett sisters.”

He slides to a stop in front of the restaurant we booked for this event. Katrina’s funding most of it, but Paisley and I did all the decorations. Even the twins helped assemble the gift bags full of mix tapes and cassette players that Paisley and I found at garage sales and thrift stores. I’m following through on my threat to throw him a kid’s party—a normal one since most of his past parties involved lavish things like ice sculptures and famous singers.

Ty and I lead Oak to the back door.

“Five steps,” Ty instructs.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Oak says. “My gut says to run away.”

“Are you sure it’s not saying your girlfriend is going to punch you in the gut if you don’t stop complaining?” I warn.

“No, but I’m hungry so I could be getting mixed messages.” He reaches out and grabs my hand to pull me beside him. “I’m going to buy you something outrageously expensive to punish you.”

I flick his ear. “Maybe that’s my whole goal. To get you to shower me with gifts and goodies.”

“Nah, you’re after my body. Which is very superficial of you, by the way, but I’m learning to deal.”

“Deal with this first,” I announce and then pull off his eye mask. “Surprise!”

“Surprise!” yell the forty-some people gathered in the private room. It’s a mix of my friends, his people and a few of his friends—or at least the ones that he’s indicated he’s somewhat close with.

Oak arrows straight for Kinney Banks, a solo artist he once opened for. “Dude, when did you get in?”

The two give each other hefty backslaps.

“Last night. Your girl reached out to me and I figured I couldn’t miss Oak’s twentieth birthday party.” Kinney lifts up a tack with a donkey’s tail on the end. “Because where else am I going to get to play pin the tail on the donkey?”

Oak turns to me with a huge smile. “My gut was wrong.” He lifts me up and spins me around. “You’re the best, baby.”

“I know.”

He sets me down but doesn’t let go. Together we make the rounds. King and his gorgeous wife came. The band members—sans Luke, who disappeared after the drunken kiss and hasn’t come back. Oak said that any guy who would take advantage of a drunk girl wasn’t one he wanted in the band. I’d protested, but he was adamant. Ty spoke up and said it was a liability because Oak had so many young fans around.

When we get to Katrina, she clutches her son for a long, emotional moment. Before he breaks away, she holds him briefly by the shoulders. “Look at you. Twenty. I can’t believe it.”

“You look great, Mom.”

She flushes with joy at his compliment.

“Carrie, Kiki, thanks for coming.” He gives them each a kiss on the cheek.

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Carrie says. She shoves a small wrapped box into his hand. “We didn’t know what to get and Vaughn isn’t much help.” She casts a dirty glance in my direction.

I merely shrug. It’s not easy to shop for someone like Oak.

“I’m sure it’s awesome.” He tears into it and pulls out a key. “What’s this?”

“We’re having an after-prom party. The same group as before and we’d like you to come,” Kiki explains. “We have entry rules. No cameras. No slobbering over the guests. Just a good time for all of us.”

Oak tucks the key in the back of his pocket. “I’m there. Time and place and I’m there.”

“Vaughn will let you know.”

I squeeze his hand as we move to the food table. “Still thinking it’s a bad surprise?”

“No, you did good.” He dips his head to kiss me. “Real good.”

“Where’s the birthday boy?” a hearty voice booms from the door.

Oak’s head jerks up and the pleasure and warmth drains away. “Did you invite my dad?”

“Yeah, all of your family.” I’m a bit uneasy by his expression. When I brought up the idea of inviting Oak’s father to the party, Katrina had been hesitant, but eventually she came around and reached out to Dustin personally. And her reservations had been wiped away when he responded nearly immediately that he would come.

I figured, stupidly, that Oak’s strain with his parents had to do with a big misunderstanding, but now I think it’s something else.

“Oh, babe. I knew I should’ve trusted my gut.” He drops my hand and stalks toward the door.

I hesitate and then scamper after him. Crap. Dustin Ford has brought an entourage with a capital E. There must be fifteen people that stream in behind him.

I detour to Paisley. “Um, can we order more food?”

She eyes the new group with dismay. “No. The restaurant said they couldn’t provide more food than what I ordered. I said the party was fifty, and I honestly didn’t believe everyone would show up. When has that ever happened before?”

But we’ve never hosted a thing for famous people before. Everyone came. King. Paxton Hayes. Even Kinney Banks, who flew a private plane from Chicago to LA to make this event.

Mr. Ford has stopped by the food table and is now surveying the crowd. Near the wall, I can see Carrie and Kiki and the rest of my friends staring at him with stars in their eyes. I guess I don’t blame them for being starstruck. Dustin Ford is megafamous. He was named People’s Sexiest Man Alive three years in a row. He has an Oscar. And two private jets.

Oh, and he’s ridiculously attractive. It feels weird noticing that, considering he’s my boyfriend’s dad, but it’s true. Everything about him is chiseled and expensive and magazine-cover worthy.

“I can’t believe my boy is twenty!” Dustin crows as Oak approaches him. He pulls Oak in for a warm hug and then gives him a manly backslap. “Where does the time go?”

“Hey, Dad.” Even from five feet away, I can hear the suspicion in Oak’s tone. “Nice of you to make it.”

“Where else would I be?” Dustin flashes a million-dollar smile, but I notice it’s aimed toward the crowd and not at his son. “This is a nice turnout. Small, but intimate. Where’s your mother?”

“In the kitchen,” Oak answers. “She’s talking to the chef.”

I cautiously join them. “Hi,” I say awkwardly.

“Dad, this is Vaughn.” Oak grabs my hand and drags me forward.

Dustin nods. “Ah, the girlfriend everyone is talking about.” He gives his son a pointed look. “I was wondering when you would get around to introducing us.”

One of Mr. Ford’s assistants walks over and whispers something in his ear. I make out the words cameras and outside and photo op.

Clearly, Oak picks up on the same words I do. “There’s paps outside?” he demands.

I swallow a frustrated groan. Crap. Katrina and I purposely arranged everything under pseudonyms so the press wouldn’t catch wind of this. We figured it would leak at some point during the night, but not right from the get-go.

Dustin heaves a big, what-can-you-do sigh. “I’m afraid so. We tried to lose them on the way here, but they tailed us from the mansion.” He turns to me. “Did Oakley tell you about the Brentwood mansion? I’d love to show it to you sometime. We’ve got three tennis courts, an indoor and outdoor pool, a bowling alley in the basement.”

“Oh.” I stare at him, dumbfounded. A bowling alley? In his house? Why? “That sounds…cool.”

Luckily, we’re interrupted before he can try to hammer down an exact time for me to visit his bowling alley mansion.

“Mr. Ford,” a tentative voice murmurs.

I’m startled to discover that it belongs to my friend Tracy. Since when does she murmur? The girl is all about ear-piercing squeeees! and omigods!

“Do you…Could you…Could I get a picture with you?” she finally manages to get out, thrusting her phone at him.

His straight white teeth gleam under the overhead lighting as he once again flashes his famous smile. “Of course, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and Tracy looks ready to faint. “Should we take a selfie?”

Tracy’s courage spurs a few of my other friends into action, and soon Oak’s dad is swarmed by admirers who are eager to tell him how much they love his movies and how he’s the best actor ever and will he please, please take a selfie with them, too?

Oak slinks away without a word, but before I can go after him, Jim Tolson sidles up to me.

“I’m guessing it was your idea to invite Dustin?” he mutters.

I nod.

“Well, I hope you have a good plan on how to reel Oak back from the edge of the cliff. He hates his father. His father hates him. There’s no way this ends well.”

And then he departs, leaving me to stand there alone like a fool.

The evening doesn’t get much better. Although it’s supposed to be Oak’s big night, Dustin Ford sucks up all the attention in the room. He regales the partygoers with anecdotes about his experiences on different film sets. He talks about what it felt like when he won the Oscar. He even plugs his upcoming movie by showing everyone a sneak peek of the trailer on his phone.

Not once does he talk about Oakley’s accomplishments or congratulate his son for finishing another album. To an onlooker, it would seem like this was Dustin Ford’s party. Oakley is all but invisible, and it breaks my heart every time I look at him. He tries to shutter his expression, but flashes of pain peek through. It kills me.

We don’t do any of the silly childhood games I had planned. They all seem ridiculous in the face of Dustin’s elegance and overpowering presence. Oak barely says more than a handful of words to anyone, and when the party breaks up three hours later, I’m grateful.

“Go home or to Oakley’s,” Paisley urges. “I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.” He’s been staring at the back door ever since his dad got here.

“His father’s an attention hog,” my sister says with a sigh. “He’s probably embarrassed, and you need to be there for him. Tell him it’s okay and that you love him regardless.”

I swallow hard but force myself to Oak’s table. “Want to take off?”

“Sure,” he answers dully.

I signal Ty, who nods briskly and ducks out to get the car. Taking Oak’s hand, I lead him to the back door, where I pause for a beat.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

“Yeah” is his sullen response.

It’s obvious he doesn’t feel like talking—or listening—so I just hold his hand tighter and push the door open.

The second we step into the back alley, there’s an explosion of light and noise. The incessant strobe of flashbulbs and the eager voices of the vultures that are always circling Oakley.

“Oakley! Are you and your father speaking again?”

“How was the family reunion?”

“What does Dusty think of your new girlfriend?”

“I love her,” a male voice booms, and suddenly Dustin himself appears behind us.

I almost jump three feet in the air when his muscular arm wraps around my shoulder. Oak’s dad squeezes me tight and then plants a loud kiss on my cheek. More flashbulbs go off. More shouts pierce the night air.

“Dusty! How was the party?”

“Are you giving Vaughn the Ford stamp of approval?”

“Will you be appearing at any of Oakley’s tour stops, Dusty?”

It’s chaos. The questions keep coming and coming and coming, and Oakley’s face gets darker and darker and darker. Dustin, however, is reveling in it all. He eats up the attention, smiling for the cameras and answering questions, all the while keeping his arm around me like we’re father and daughter and he couldn’t be happier that I’m dating his son.

“Vaughn! Is this the first time you’ve met Dusty?”

“Vaughn! How does it feel to be welcomed into such a distinguished family?”

“Bitch! Get your hands off my man!”

The last shout doesn’t just catch me off guard—it also brings a stunned silence to the paparazzi. I don’t know who the screamer is, but she’s not just content with screaming. Before I can blink, something smashes into the side of my head. Moisture drips down my face and splashes into my mouth. It’s bitter and gross and—an egg. Someone threw an egg at me!

I’m too stunned to move. Fortunately, Oak takes control, dragging me away from the back door and elbowing his way through the crowd until we clear the alley.

Ty and the Escalade wait at the curb, and we throw ourselves into the backseat. Oak slams the door and the SUV speeds off, while I sit there in horror, egg yolk sliding down my neck and into my shirt.

“Are you okay?” Oak finally asks. His voice sounds like gravel.

I manage a weak nod. “I’m…fine.”

Out of nowhere, he produces a pack of tissues. Neither of us says a word as he gently wipes the egg off my face. Or at least he tries to, but he can’t get it all off. My skin is sticky and there’s a gooey trail running between my breasts.

I don’t even know why she egged me. “Did April ever get treated like this?”

“No eggs that I can remember,” he says softly.

“So I’m special, huh?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. This night was a disaster. A total disaster. I wanted so desperately to do something nice for Oak, and it backfired in a way I never, ever expected.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“For getting egged?” he says tightly. “That’s not your fault. Some fans can be insane. Don’t take it personally.”

“No.” I take a breath. “I’m sorry I invited your dad. I thought…I thought it would be nice if your whole family was there for your party.”

His face tense, Oak tosses the wet napkins on the floor. “So you could see what a shit show my childhood was?”

“No. Because I thought you could reconnect.” I struggle to explain. “I did this for you.”

His head swings toward the window as if he needs to hide his expression from me, and his voice is brutal and harsh when he answers. “No. You did it for yourself. You weren’t thinking of me. You were thinking about how you’d like your parents back, but my parents aren’t like yours, Vaughn. My dad’s a self-righteous prick. And my mom might be okay half the time, but I was raised by nannies.”

“Your mom thought—”

“Oh, my mom? Of course she did. She probably wants to get screwed by Ol’ Dusty again. She’s feeling her age because I’m getting older so she needs to be reminded she’s still young and beautiful.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “When your mom called to invite him, he agreed to come right away. He seemed excited about it, so I thought…” I bite my lip. It doesn’t matter what I thought, because I thought wrong.

Dustin Ford clearly doesn’t give a crap about his son. He burst into the party like a thundercloud, darkened the room, poured rain all over the celebration and then left.

“My dad came because he had an agenda,” Oakley says flatly. “He always has one. Everyone in my life does.” Bitterness washes over his handsome face. “He doesn’t give a damn about me. He couldn’t take it when my first album went platinum. When I made my first million. When I won a Grammy. And then the label offered me the kind of deal every musician dreams of, and the old man ordered me not to sign it. He kept saying it didn’t make sense business-wise and how I would be indebted to the label forever. But Jim went over that contract with a fine-tooth comb. If anything, I was coming out ahead. The deal was that good. And Dad didn’t want me to sign. Not because he was looking out for me, but because he was jealous.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Gosh, that’s so sad. I don’t even know how to respond to it.

I swallow hard, remembering the hesitation on Katrina’s face when I mentioned inviting Dusty. But I’d ignored the warning signs. The distance between Oak and his mother had been the result of a stupid misunderstanding, and I was hoping it was the same for him and his father.

“I didn’t know it was that bad between you two,” I say weakly.

“I told you I don’t get along with him. Did you think it was for no reason? Just me being a spoiled, stubborn brat?”

I stare at my hands. I don’t like being on the receiving end of that thunderous expression.

“God.” Oak runs both hands through his hair. “I’m so sick of everyone’s agendas. And I’m so tired of everyone wanting a piece of me. You know, if I was stranded in the middle of the desert about to take my dying breath, and a bunch of fans came up and found me? I honestly don’t think they’d save me. They’d just be scrambling to get scraps of my clothing, locks of my hair, something to show their friends later—look, I got Oakley Ford’s shirt right before he died!”

My worried gaze meets Ty’s in the rearview mirror. The deep furrow in his forehead tells me he’s concerned, too, but he doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. I simply reach for Oak’s hand and squeeze it.

“It’s all about what I can give people,” he’s mumbling. “A shot at getting a record deal, a chance in the spotlight, money. Everyone here is fake. It’s a plastic, made-up world full of people who only want one thing…”

He keeps talking, but my mind halts at his words money and fake, and suddenly I’m so guilty I can barely breathe. That’s why I started this, wasn’t it? For the money he was giving me? I have a hundred thousand dollars in the bank, courtesy of Oakley Ford, and thinking about it makes me want to throw up. It’s that same gut-churning sensation I got when Paisley showed me the last check she deposited.

It doesn’t feel right accepting money to date Oakley when I want to be dating him. It’s not fair to him. I want him to know that I’m here in this car, holding his hand, because it’s something I desperately want to do and not because I’m getting paid to do it.

Suddenly dried egg is the least problematic thing in my life. Oak has gone silent. His troubled green eyes peer out the window, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thoughts that I am, that his girlfriend is just another person who “wants” something from him.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take money for fake-dating Oak, because there’s nothing fake about it. It’s real. But as long as I keep cashing those checks, there will always be that shred of doubt in Oak’s mind about us. A part of him will always wonder if I’m with him because I want to be, or because I have to be. I almost regret having sex with him, at least before I told him I loved him. I hope he doesn’t feel like I did it because I had to. That would be terrible. Worse than terrible. It would be devastating.

I’m a basket case by the time we reach my house. Ty stops the car. Oak and I get out, but it’s not until I’m halfway up the front path that I realize he’s not following me.

“Vaughn,” he calls softly.

I walk back to him. “What is it?”

“I…” He meets my eyes. “I don’t think you should come on the tour.”

My heart stops. “Wh-what?”

He wrings his hands together before sliding them into his pockets. “That girl back there, the one who threw the egg…” He shakes his head. “That’s the kind of shit you’re gonna be dealing with on a daily basis if you tour with me. My fans will eat you alive.”

I can’t help but frown. “You didn’t seem worried about that when you asked me to go with you.”

“Because I wasn’t thinking,” he mutters back. “I let myself forget about…about my life. My fucking life, Vaughn, the one where I can’t even have a fucking birthday party without it turning into a media storm. The one where my own father cares about his image more than his son. The one where my girlfriend is called a bitch and is attacked by some stranger because how dare I go out with someone who isn’t her.”

“Her?” I echo.

“Her, them, the world,” he snaps. “They think I belong to them.”

You don’t. You belong to me.

But I don’t say the words out loud. His expression is too bleak, his voice ravaged.

“It’ll be better if you stay behind,” he says roughly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my shit show of a life. You don’t deserve the backlash you’ll get if you come with me.”

I want to argue, but the look in his eyes tells me now is not the time. He needs to calm down first. He doesn’t leave for New York until tomorrow morning. Hopefully by then he’ll have forgotten about this disastrous night, had a chance to regroup and will realize that he still wants me to go with him.

Oak thinks I can’t handle his life, but he’s wrong. I don’t care if a hundred eggs are thrown at me. I can deal. Because he needs me. He shouldn’t have to go through this stuff alone, and as long as we’re together, he won’t have to.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” I finally say. “Okay?”

He nods. “Okay. But…I don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I repeat, firmer this time.

A ghost of a smile tugs on his mouth. Then he leans closer and bends his head, but the kiss he gives me lacks its usual warmth.

“Night, Vaughn,” he whispers.

“Good night, Oak.”

With a knot of misery in my stomach, I watch him walk away.