Chapter 3
Ali Kat
The plane touches down at a private airfield near my small hometown, and I immediately want to exchange the brown, patchy plain of earth for the comfortable blue sky. Every part of me dreads what comes next, and it takes considerable effort to stave off a full-blown panic attack.
It’s just for a few months. You can do this.
I haven’t eaten corn in damn near ten years. Not since I left this life behind for another. One filled with lights, cameras, action. Of course, it was the best trade I could have made. Any reasonable person could easily see that.
But my parents aren’t reasonable.
The plane slows, finally coming to a complete stop on the tarmac. There is no team of people waiting to greet me, just a lone Ford truck covered in rust and dents.
You have nothing to be ashamed of. You did what any sane person would have done.
I stretch my legs, arms, neck, feeling a tightness that shouldn’t be there. Normally, I’d schedule myself a massage, but being stuck in Corn-Husk Nebraska sees me without my usual creature comforts, and the last thing I want to do is take a chance on someone who’ll run to the tabloids after seeing me in my birthday suit.
God, I miss New York and LA.
The stairs are lowered in a flash. I love how quick private travel is. It literally shaves hours from each flight leg, while significantly reducing stress.
I descend to the concrete earth with a small carry on in hand and make my way over to the sad-looking blue truck parked next to a shack.
The last time I rode in that truck, my parents were dropping me off at college. It was my first real taste of the outside world, and I didn’t know to be embarrassed.
I’ve tried to scrub the memory from my mind over the years, the condescending looks, the blatant sneers. It was that day that I decided I was no longer going to be a country bumpkin by the name of Tammy Carter. Of course, at the time I had no idea that I’d eventually transform into Ali Kat Carter.
I see my brother’s head raise, his gaze settling on me. It’s been six long years since I last saw him, and when we parted, it was accompanied by an exchange of harsh words. He lives in the guest house on my parents’ property, in prime position to one day take over the family farm. That is, if there’s still a family farm to take over. The industry isn’t exactly booming.
“It’s good to see you, Jake,” I say, coming to a stop before the open window.
He makes no move to exit the vehicle or even acknowledge me, other than that look. He simply sits, newspaper in hand, jaw clenched.
“I’ll have the attendant put my bags in the back.”
My eyes scan to the bed of the truck, to clumps of hay and car parts in scattered piles.
“You didn’t even bother to empty the truck before coming out to get me?” I snap.
Jake looks over at me but says nothing.
I point to my luggage being placed on the tarmac. “I have like, thirty bags. Where the hell am I going to put them?”
“Thirty bags?” Jake says in disbelief. “You packed thirty bags?”
“Yes! Well, I didn’t pack them. An assistant did. I don’t know how long I’m going to be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, and I’m going to need things like clothes, hair stuff, makeup, jewelry, you know, womanly things.”
My brother furrows his brow. “You do realize you’re not going to be going to premieres and banquets and whatever you fancy folks do in the city, don’t you?”
“That doesn’t mean I can just walk around naked. Do you like your girlfriends to smell like sweat and hay or fresh and flowery.”
Jake’s face somehow grows more grim. I swear, I don’t know how we were born of the same parents. Two people couldn’t be more different.
“Well, just get your things and let’s go.”
“Aren’t you going to help me?”
“You have two hands and two legs. They’re your things.”
