Movie Star By Lizzie Pepper Read Online Free PDF Page A

stumbles. The one who doesn’t get it on the first take,” I said. He put his hand to his chest, thumping it against his heart. “Get out of here, cheeseball,” I said, giving him a little push back down the hall.
    I closed the door behind him, went to the bathroom, and stood looking at myself in the mirror. My hair had dried curly and was in desperate need of product. His stubble had chapped my chin. I stuck my tongue out at myself, giggled, then hid my face in my hands like a stupid teenager.Holy smokes, this was actually happening. Then I crawled into the bed—high-thread-count, down pillows galore—and finally called Aurora.
    That trip to Century Island was and still is sacred to me. It reminds me that I fell in love with Rob for real, for who he was and how we were together. Rob played gods and romantic heroes onscreen, and there was a reason he was so good at it. He was remarkably present. When we were together, he was completely in that moment and that moment alone. We were the only two people in the world. He believed in us, and I believed in him. Anything seemed possible. Sheer joy. An unimaginable love. Eternal life while circling an unbelievably distant star.

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    R ob liked to say that he put the pedal to the metal in our relationship. I liked to say “Please don’t use car metaphors to describe us.” In the beginning, every day was a step forward for us as a couple. Right after we returned from Century Island, he sent me two dozen long-stemmed red roses. The note just read “Yours.” Roses have never been my favorite flower. So Hallmark-y. But they fit with Rob’s unrelenting romanticism, which was slowly dismantling my cynical resolve. What was so bad about having a man send me the type of flower most symbolizing love? I decided to let myself enjoy more, judge less.
    He called several times a day, just to see what I was doing. He texted me:
Here’s what has been going through my mind all day: Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Where is Elizabeth right now? What is Elizabeth doing right now? When will I see Elizabeth again? Elizabeth. Elizabeth.
Aurora joked that I was being stalked by the most famous man in the world.
    Most of my previous relationships—okay, both of them—had begun with tipsy fumbling that escalated into hot and hurried sex. Rob, on the other hand, prepared for our first night together as if it were already an anniversary. One night at my apartment we were on my couch, making out.
    He whispered in my ear, “We know this is going to happen.” Werolled off my couch onto the floor. “We know it’s going to be incredible,” he said. He paused to look at me, and every hookup I’d had told me exactly what he was going to do next—but then, to my surprise, he stood up and helped me to my feet. “So why not make it one of a kind?”
    I leaned in to him, my arms around his neck, my hips sealed to his, still in the moment. “What did you have in mind?” I whispered.
    “My plane.” Then he was gone, leaving me rumpled and alone. I looked at the clock. It was just before midnight. My Prince Charming was afraid of turning into a pumpkin.

    A week and one private jet ride later, I called Aurora. I had to tell her—our friendship history mandated a full report of every sexual encounter—but this time was different.
    “Definitely not gay,” I told her.
    She squealed. “I. Need. Every. Detail.”
    “It was great,” I said.
    “That’s it? Crap.”
    I didn’t tell her that having sex with Rob for the first time was unlike with any other lover I’d had. At first I’d had my doubts about the plane: Would the crew know? Would it be cozy and romantic, or was it stunt-sex? If people caught colds from breathing the air on commercial airlines, what would I catch having sex on a private jet? How much of my relationship with Rob Mars was destined to take place in exotic locales?
    We boarded at a private runway in Malibu. As I met the pilot and the crew, I scrutinized each of them. Did