And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 10

IT MIGHT SEEM LIKE A SMALL STEP, but it's a big step for me, I took an Uber that costs more than $10! I could buy a coffee, I could get 10 Donuts, there's so much I could have done with $10 that I could have saved when I take the bus or walk but when you're going to a place known for the paparazzi and celebrities, you don't stinge.

I mean, after all, it's not a normal day. I'm meeting Harry Wolfe for a lunch at a place that's normally swarming with the paparazzi!

So, of course, Priscilla and I went through my newly purchased wardrobe. We decided on a checkered vest that was low cut enough to show my side boobs and a long set of mum jeans to look casual enough.

I did my makeup myself to look elegant and modelesque even if I didn't meet the height standards of one.

I'm a little nervous about my fit. I press my black heels tightly together. I wish I had a celebrity stylist... a good one. Someone that would make me look like Blake Lively, Gigi Hadid or Ariana Grande.

I've been thinking about them a lot.

How do you look at an oversized sweatshirt in pink and think of Ariana Grande? It's just her. It's her branding. Her essence. I want something like that but I don't even know who I am.

Maybe I'd be the side, boob girl. I'll always find every opportunity to free the nipple and show off my side boobs.

Aesthetic: Naughty.

The Uber reaches a shop lot away but it's fine. Bracing myself. I walk towards the cafe, already seeing the Paparazzi eyeing me as I walk in. But that's all they do. Not one of them brings up their camera to take my photo.

I feel the soft pinch of disappointment. Did I hope to be recognised? Of course, I did, I'd even practised my walk so that my photos would look good.

I walk into the cafe, and then I glance at it. This. This southern cafe right here has a three-month-long waitlist on weekends and a month-long for weekdays. I'm not sure what I expected at a glance.

It's a bit... average? There are plants everywhere, I touch one to see if they're real.

"The plants are real, and well taken care of." I hear a Southern-accented voice coming from behind me.

I jump, then flush, "Hi, I'm here on a reservation."

"Everyone is, honey. Can I get a name?"

"Harry Wolfe," I mumble, a little shy. She's pretty, in the way blonde girls usually are. Her hair is thick and styled with curls, her eyes are brown and she's got a cute button nose.

She grins at me, "oh, you're that sweet thing from the news." Before I can respond, she's standing, "Come, right this way honey."

She leads me to a table by the windows, with Harry Wolfe sitting there, his eyes are reading a paper, and they flicker up to meet me. A practised smile graces his lips. "Hey, stranger," he teases.

"Aren't you sweet," The receptionist says, as I settle in across from him. I sit on the edge of the seat so my legs won't look fat in the photos later. "I'll come by in a minute to get your orders."

She sashays away to the counter, as she leaves, Harry Wolfe leans near me, "Dotty's sweet and everything, but just don't tell her anything if you can help it."

My eyebrows raise.

"I can see her charm getting to you," he says leaning back to glance at the menu.

"Have you... come here before?" I ask, trying to stifle that curiosity in me. I mustn't like him. He's nothing like who he pretends to be. He's awful.

But if he's so awful, why does he always look so sweet, with his stupid dimples, wavy hair and gorgeous green eyes?