Long Blonde Hair, Sky Blue Eyes Pt. 03

She apologized again, saying that she would be filming Mr. Tom's evening and cocktail dresses in club locations that were only available Friday and Saturday nights, and that most of her daylight hours would be spent on top of tall buildings prancing and posing in Mr. Tom's daring spring creations. She also warned that she had a 'date' with her three male co-stars in the perfume commercials at the hottest nightclub in NYC Saturday night, but assured him it was just a photo op, and her PA/bodyguard would take good care of her.

He pressed her on not having met the PA, and was assured that would happen before they left for Texas. She was on her way to Central Park for a late afternoon/sunset photo shoot wearing Donna's 'country girl' wear and had to cut the conversation short. But she did tell him repeatedly that she loved him and promised she wouldn't do anything he wouldn't approve of, so he had to settle for that.

On the positive side, football season was underway, and the New Braunfels Unicorn's games were being livestreamed. He laughed to himself at the irony of being a Unicorn for life, and of dating a Unicorn so dazzling you could see a rainbow aura around her.

He iced down some Lone Star, ordered carne asada tacos from Chevy's Fresh Mex, took a shower, and put on his Blue and White Fighting Unicorns jersey. They were playing nearby Smithson Valley High School in the KSAT game of the week, but the announcers kept reminding their listeners that they were three touchdown underdogs to the Rangers.

He laughed; they had 28 point 'dogs to the Rangers his senior year and that had turned out well! Maybe tonight they could replicate that magical night. All they had to do was grab a three-touchdown lead with trickeration and deep passes, force the Rangers to throw the ball instead of ramming it down your throat like they prefer, pick off five passes - including two pick-sixes - and recover a blocked punt in the end zone to win by six points! Nothing to it!

But probably not; that was the only time they beat the 6A powerhouse in his four years of high school, and they hadn't since.

The Unicorns didn't win, but they competed hard and hung around until late in the fourth, when Smithson Valley's depth, their lack of depth, and the 100 degree heat on the field wore them down. Erik had a buzz from the beer and excitement, and inspiration from the gritty effort. Somehow, that translated into an insight he had lacked in his efforts to turn his epiphany into a workable program, so he stayed up most of the night writing code.

Annika sent him a facetime invitation while she was having lunch in her room, but he was sleeping in and missed it. He replied at 1:30, but she was in a mid-town studio without her phone, which was in her room. That afternoon and night she was all over the city, including the park, a rooftop, and two clubs; it was after three am Sunday before she got back to her room and phone.

Three cups of Independence Coffee Company Jet Fuel had Erik off and running Saturday morning - well, afternoon - and the 'diesel efficiency module' he had envisioned was functional by just after five, CDT. He shared the good news with Annika, but got no reply, so he tried Johnny... and got no reply.

Disappointed, he called his dad and got an enthusiastic but tempered response. Weird - he should have been bouncing off walls with excitement.

His mom wanted to talk; she congratulated him on whatever he had accomplished, and, strangely, asked if the barbeque was still on. He assured her it was, and that he, Annika, and the others were coming down early Friday and staying until late Sunday, so expect them on Friday next. She tried to sound enthusiastic, but fell just short, which bumfuzzled him.

'What's going on?' he asked himself, and then her.

She hurriedly replied "Nothing, Honey, but your sister wants to talk now," and handed him off to the youngest family member, seventeen-year-old Emily. That conversation covered a dozen topics over the next half-hour, most of which had to do with her junior year social life. He was listening, enjoying the sound of her excited voice, but not focused, and he almost missed it.

"Wait - say that again," he interjected before she could start on another topic. She quickly repeated the heads up, and then said her girlfriend was calling about the movie tonight, so she needed to go. She went to hand the phone back to mom, but Erik hung up without thinking.

He started to use his phone, but moved to the PC with the three wide-screen monitors, and brought up one social media account after another. The headline was on Instagram: a celebrity influencer account with over 100 million followers. "Does America's Darling Have a New Beau?" asked the caption, below which was a photo of Annika wrapped in the arms of a tall, dark, handsome, European-looking man. She was gazing into his striking face with an enraptured look, and their bodies were pressed together. Her hand were on his back; his hands were on the top part of her ass, wrinkling her slinky, barely-there dress as he squeezed. They were in a night club of some kind, and a bunch of beautiful people were watching them from the dance floor.

Erik blew out the breath he had been holding, cussed a blue streak, and then tried to calm himself. Unfortunately, the 8K UHD OLED monitor would not stop showing every detail of the damn picture, so he walked to the cabinet, got out an unopened bottle of Garrison Brothers Single Barrel Whiskey, poured half a glass, and tossed it back. It tasted good but didn't wipe his memory banks, so he had another... and then another.

'Guess that explains the parents and Sissy,' he thought, and took a seat at the kitchen table. 'Well, Fuck! I can hardly wait for this explanation!'

He didn't have to wait long. Before he could finish the next glass, his phone, still on the coffee table, vibrated and rang. He stared at it like it had fangs, but didn't move. 'Fuck whoever it is! I'm not in the mood for conversation - I'm in the mood for straight bourbon whiskey!' So he poured another, and tossed it back.

The phone dinged; someone left a message, but he didn't much give a shit right then. 'Beer for my horses and whiskey for my men!' he sang in his best Willie Nelson voice, which sounded better tonight than usual.

The phone buzzed and rang again, and dinged again. He was tired of that shit interrupting his whiskey drinkin', so he got up and turned it off. 'Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke' he opined, and poured another round.

The Longhorns were playing some group-of-five school at 6:30 on The Longhorn Network. It was well underway, but he was DVRing it, so he chose 'start from beginning' and watched a competitive game develop when he was expecting an ass kicking at the hands of the 'Horns. 'Oh, well - I still have plenty of Texas whiskey to drink!' he consoled himself.

He was pretty well shit-faced by the time the Longhorns decided to play in the fourth quarter, and was not impressed with the final three-touchdown margin of victory. He was, however, very sleepy, so he made his way to the bedroom, with help from the walls, and managed to get the bed covers turned down before he crapped out for the night.

Erik was not feeling too shiny when he awoke, but he made himself get up, void his bladder, swallow a double dose of Alka Seltzer, and take a shower. Breakfast was a nuked Jimmy Dean Sausage and Egg Biscuit with Jet Fuel and a big glass of milk. He kept it down, so he put on his running gear and hit the street. This wasn't his first hangover, it wouldn't be his last, and he knew how to sweat it out. Every step hurt for the first twenty minutes, but he felt better than he deserved when he walked into the apartment an hour later.

He showered, brushed teeth, got dressed in boots, jeans, and a polo, and tried to remember where he left his phone. A thorough search found it between couch cushions, so he stuck it in his pocket and went for a ride in his pickup. An hour later he was in St. Cloud, and an hour after that he was deep into the lake country of northern Minnesota.

He found a small, heavily wooded lake with public access, pulled into the parking lot, and went for a walk. He saw a young family playing around the picnic area, so he headed out on a trail that took him to the north side of the lake, away from their happy noise.

A giant tree, by Texas standards, was growing on a grassy knoll by the lake. He took a seat and leaned back on it. For the first time since arising, he let his mind return to last night's discovery. 'What's one to do,' he asked himself. 'She is what she is, one of the beautiful people. They thrive in the neon lights, seeing and being seen, hooking up with other beautiful people. Why am I even bothered? She makes promises, she breaks promises... so what?

'Either accept her for what she is, or cut her loose and so she can make some more millions, while you obsess over a fuckin' module that won't do more than nudge the miles per gallon up a hair - hardly breakthrough stuff!

'Computer nerd, high society model, and never the twain shall meet! Get over it, asshole; you are what you are, and she isn't. It was fun while it lasted, but you knew it wouldn't last, so don't get all maudlin about it now!'

His little pep talk didn't do much to change his maudlin outlook, but the lump in his pocket did remind him that he had a phone, and it had messages from last night, if nothing else. It was discharged, of course, but the battery case brought it back online a few minutes after he punched the charge button. He was contemplating his next moves when his phone suddenly made all kinds of racket; the kind that means you have unread text and phone messages.

Four slow breaths in and out, and he was prepared to read and listen, beginning with the oldest. NO, SHE DOES NOT HAVE A NEW BEAU! read the headline on the oldest text; the body said, "Call me!"

The next few texts didn't add much, so he changed to voicemail. "Please, Baby, call me! It's not what you think!" 'Really? Sure as fuck looks like what I think!' he replied to himself.

The next one begged him to call as soon as possible, as did the one after that. Then, "Check your email! The whole thing is there, not just the pic the little bitch posted!"

He skipped the final voicemail, from an hour ago. "I can see that you don't believe my promises, but I can't understand why you won't at least talk to me, or anyone else. I guess this is goodbye. Call me if you change your mind."

He found two emails from her. The first was laden with attachments; the second had a single video attachment. "Open these in order," it directed, so he did. The first showed her in the clingy silk half-dress that left more exposed than covered, with a makeup artist doing something to her cheek, and a film crew in the background. The next was from a different angle, the lighting was brighter, there were people milling in the background, and a bar was shown just behind them to the right. Annika was facing the man in the photo from last night, and another man was standing beside them was saying something.

In the third photo, the man beside them (the director?) was placing the actor's hand low on Annika's back, and her arms were on his ribs. The next photo in sequence showed them moving into the clinch he saw on social media, and the director-person moving away.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh pictures were variations of last nights, taken from different directions, and the other three showed them moving apart, people clapping, and the director happily patting them on their shoulders.

Hmmm. Taken in sequence, they told a different story than the one he read last night. He opened the video, and saw the entire commercial being filmed, movements, words, and all.

He leaned back against his tree and lowered his phone. 'Well, FUCK! Looks like I stepped in it again!'

Then, laughing, he shot a short video of the lake and the surrounding forest, and sent it to her with a text. "Sorry, been out of pocket for a while. Sure is pretty up here. I'll read all your stuff after my phone is recharged. When are you coming home?"

That should throw her off for a few minutes, at least, and maybe he could get away with it - if he could act as well as she does!

His phone rang seconds after he sent the text. "Oh, God, I'm so glad to hear from you! I was so worried! I'm going to get YOU a satellite phone so I can always get hold of you!"

There was a pause, and then she asked, "Have you read my texts or listened to my voicemails?"

"Not yet; I forgot to charge my phone in the truck on the way up," he lied. "Why? Is there something I need to know?"

She hesitantly answered, "No, but if you go on Insta you'll think there is. There was a little bitch nobody there when we were filming who thinks she's some hot-shit social media influencer, and she posted a question over a photo. I knew it would piss you off if you saw it out of context, so I started calling and texting to explain."

She was getting wound up now, so he let her talk. She might have "proven" the photo was innocent, but she doth protesteth too much, he thought.

"When I couldn't get you, I panicked and sent all the texts, a couple of emails, and left a bunch of voicemails. Sorry about that, but I was so worried because the way it was posed looked so bad... if you didn't know the whole story!"

"Not to worry. I'm just chllin out in the lake country today. I couldn't reach you yesterday, so I called my family and caught up with them, then watched the Longhorns and sipped some Garrison Brothers whiskey. I went to bed after the game, got up, worked out, and drove out here. Sorry about not checking my phone, but it was on vibrate and I didn't hear it until it vibrated in my pocket.

"As to the social media stuff, yeah, my sister mentioned something, but you've warned me often enough that things aren't always as they seem in your world, so I wasn't overly concerned. Guess it must look pretty bad, though, as worried as you are."

"At first glance and standing alone, it does. That's why I sent the entire sequence, and a video."

"Yeah, I just opened a couple of photos. They teamed you with a real heartthrob this time; all dark, handsome, brooding, and sophisticated. What's his name?"

"Berk something-unpronounceable. He's from Turkey, or somewhere over there. They say he's a former athlete and a coming actor and model, but I've never worked with him before. Mr. Tom paid him a fortune for the shoot, so I guess they're right."

"Looks like a real ladies man; is he?"

She stuttered a little in answering, "N.. no, not really. I mean he's quite continental and very charming, but it was just another job, so..."

"Hmmm. To quote Shakespeare, 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.' You went to a lot of trouble to dispel the notion that you have a new beau. If I saw the unedited record of the shoot, would I be unhappy?"

When she didn't answer right away, he said, "That pause was a little too long for any response you give now to be honest and truthful, Annika. It only takes that long if you have to choose your words carefully, which means yes, doesn't it?"

"No, not really, but he was a huge flirt, and we did get along better than most of those I work with. Maybe you would have been unhappy, but it meant nothing to me, beyond a fun evening filming a Mr. Tom evening wear commercial at a club."

"Okay, then, I'll take your word for it. Surely I won't find anything else on social media that makes me doubt your word, will I?"

"You shouldn't, although you have to remember that things aren't always as they seem in photos."

That sounded less than fully forthcoming to Erik. "So the shoot ended, you went home, and that was that, right? Nothing else went on after the shoot ended?"

There was another pause, and then she rushed into an answer she wanted to take back. "Actually, we all stayed around after we wrapped, as we often do to celebrate. The bar reopened, people flooded in, the music started, and... yes, I danced a few times before we left."

"I danced a few times with whom, before 'we' left. Who is 'we'?"

"Okay, I danced with Berk," she answered in an exasperated voice, "but I left with Rhonda. Seriously, Erik, it was nothing! Just a few dances."

"So my sister won't find anything else on Instagram or another platform that calls the veracity of that answer into question? Like you and Berk the Beautiful all cuddled up on the dance floor, or touching each other back at the table?"

He was making shit up as he went, but he didn't like the reticence and mincing of words.

"Look, Erik, I'm coming back Tuesday; we can talk about it more then, if you want. I'm just glad I heard from you, so I can quit worrying. Maybe we can Facetime tonight, after ten your time."

"Maybe. It depends on what I find on social media between now and then, because I don't currently have the impression you're telling me the whole story." With that, he hung up, turned off his phone, and started for his truck. Ainsley, the name he had given his AI helper, was going to get a workout tonight!

'It shouldn't take Ainsley more than a few minutes after I give her the search parameters' he thought, 'but I doubt Annika or many other celebrities know that, yet.'

It didn't take Ainsley more than a few minutes. The pictures and videos weren't terrible, but a few sure as hell didn't pass the boyfriend test, either! No pictures of them having steamy sex or even making out, but what he saw indicated they were sharing the intimacy he thought was his alone.

He made a quick compilation and emailed them to her as attachments, as she had done to him. The title: "Seriously, it was nothing!"

****