We managed to evade them by looping two blocks down to Eighteenth Street and using the beach entrance at the back. There were a handful of fans lingering there as well, and Hayes stopped and took a few photos. And then, just as we were about to maneuver our way through the gate, one of them asked, rather politely, “Is that your girlfriend?”
I felt it, every single hair on my arms and the back of my neck standing up. I spun to look at him, which was probably a rookie move. Hayes waved to his fans and smiled. “You guys have a good day, all right?” And then he shut the gate and it was over.
“Crisis averted?” he asked.
“Crisis averted.”
We were meandering back through the sultry lobby when I spotted her: a striking brunette, with olive skin and exquisite bones. She looked to be early thirties, slender, sexy. Not the kind of person you could overlook, and yet Hayes did not seem to see her. He was doing that thing that celebrities sometimes do, purposefully avoiding eye contact with strangers so they wouldn’t assume they had permission to start a conversation. I’d seen him do it before, in crowds, in public spaces. Shutting out the world. This time, his iPhone was the distraction.
But I noticed her right away. I saw her see us, see Hayes, and then I watched as a million emotions washed over her face. She looked away quickly and then turned back, as if drawn against her will. Her eyes scanning, scrutinizing, looking away again. And then I understood. She was too old to be a fan. She knew him. Sheknewhim.
“Do you know this woman who’s riveted by you?”
He looked up, his eyes landing on her just as she glanced over. I watched it register on his face. The recognition, the history. He’d slept with her. He might have even loved her. Whether or not he would call it that.
“Fee,” he said. “Yeah.”
She smiled faintly, and he, we, made our way in her direction.
“Hey,” he greeted her, slightly flustered, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Fee.”
“Hayes.” She said it slowly, the hint of an accent.
“How are you?”
“Good. I’m good.”
“That’s good.” He was tugging at his hair, uncomfortable. “Um, Solène, this is Filipa. Fee, this is my friend Solène.”
She smiled at me, her eyes missing nothing. And likewise, I found myself assessing her, wondering, reading between the lines. Whatever it was going back and forth between them, it was intense.
Is this how it would be, were I to randomly bump into him years from now when at least one of us had moved on? Would he be anxious and awkward and pulling at his hair? Would my eyes betray both my desire and contempt? I saw my face in hers and it scared me.
“Are you here in town for a while?” she asked.
“Just a few days.”
“Work?”
He shook his head. It was painful to watch.
“Um, I need to check in with Matt,” I said, excusing myself. I wanted to give them a moment alone.
But even from my perch a few yards away, where I was scanning aimlessly through emails, I could feel the weight of their conversation. Of them. And it struck me, how much she looked like me. How he had a type. How perhaps we were all versions of this Hayes Campbell ideal. Yasmin, too.
Eventually, they parted and Hayes collected me to head up to the room.
He didn’t speak until we were in the elevator. “Sorry about that. That was…”
“Yeah, it was kind of obvious what that was.”
He sighed, and then reached for my hand, squeezing it.
When we got to the suite, Hayes made his way out onto the balcony, where he stood staring at the ocean for a good ten minutes before finding his way back inside to me.
“So, Fee…” he said, clearing his throat.
“I don’t need to know,” I said.
