Page 103 of Off Script
Movie star couple Ben Sutton and Willa Radford celebrated Christmas together in a more low-key and relaxed, but no less luxe, way. Photos snagged from the actor’s Instagram account show the pair sunbathing on the beach together in the Bahamas. Fans report that the lovebirds are staying at the famed Pink Sands Resort on the small isle of Harbour Island.
Another celebrity who celebrated on a smaller scale was actor Bridgette Pierre. She hosted an intimate dinner party at Zero Bond in New York City on Christmas Eve. Amongst the attendees were her rumored fiancé, renowned chef and restauranteur Henry Chattingham, and her best gal pal, artist Simone de Vengue. The sophisticated and exotic menu included Russian caviar, Spanish octopus, and Japanese sea urchin.
Professional football player and national spokesperson for the California Food Bank, Ted Nelson spent the Saturday before Christmas passing out food at the central Los Angeles food pantry before spending the evening with family, friends, and several of his Los Angeles Sharks teammates at a party held at the Malibu home he shares with wife Mila and children Sophie and Teddy.
No matter how you choose to celebrate—large, small, or not at all—here’s to hoping that all of our readers are happy and healthy. Cheers to the new year—may it be even better than the last!
36
Carlisle
Thanks to Ben’s hush money, I’m financially solvent enough to wallow in my sadness without worrying about my employment status or bank balance for a few months. I have plenty of money to support my boxed wine, potato chips, and ice cream habit—the only necessities a girl needs while nursing a broken heart.
At first, I waited by the phone hoping that Ben would call. Despite Becky’s assertions, I fully expected Ben to call as soon as the initial hysteria over his arrest died down.
But he never did.
I’ve thrown a pity party for myself for the last two weeks, sulking about losing Ben. I’m miserable and depressed. I don’t think I’ve felt this low since my mom died.
Christmas is in three days, and I haven’t heard from my dad at all. So, I have yet another reason to be sad. It's painful imagining my dad enjoying the holidays on the beach with his replacement family. I wonder if he misses me at all. I wonder if Ben misses me at all. Because, God, I miss them both something fierce.
Why do all the men in my life leave me?
First my dad, then Matt, and now Ben. When the same thing keeps happening to me, I can’t blame them anymore. I must be the problem. I must be inherently unlovable.
My phone buzzes with a social media notification, and I realize that time has gotten away from me. It seems to do that a lot now. I zone out for what feels like a few minutes only to realize that an hour or more has passed. I guess when your life has fallen apart, you have a lot to reflect upon.
Pitifully, I raise my head from the couch as I muster the strength to clean up. I’ve fallen into this pathetic routine of spending my days eating junk food and watching horror movies. I don’t even like horror movies, but I can’t stomach watching anything romantic and I avoid live TV like the plague so that I don’t inadvertently see a news piece on Ben or Willa or a commercial for one of his movies.
There is food debris scattered all around. Grimacing, I sit up, shaking off the cookie crumbs that landed on my mom's old velour robe that I've taken to wearing every day. Gathering up the trash, I toss it into the kitchen garbage can. Then I straighten and fluff the couch’s throw pillows and turn off the television before heading into the bathroom to shower. Harper will be home from work soon, and since I don’t want her to worry about me, I pretend that my heart isn’t irreparably broken.
By the time Harper arrives home, I’m freshly dressed and sitting at our small dining table with my computer open researching recipes for my food blog and there’s a simple casserole in the oven for dinner. I think she sees through my thin veneer of stability, but she’s kind enough not to call me out.
Harper leaves tomorrow to go home to Mississippi for Christmas and New Year’s. She’s invited me to come home with her—numerous times—but I declined her kind offers. She has looked afterand supported me ever since my mom died. I don’t want to be Harper’s albatross, dragging her down every time I suffer a heartbreak or setback.
I want to grieve in solitude over Christmas. I need to totally fall apart, to cry until I run out of tears, to feel every painful feeling until I have none left to feel. And then I plan on putting myself back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty, but hopefully sexier. I did it after Matt and I broke up, so surely, I can do it again in the aftermath of the wreckage of my relationship with Ben. We were only in each other’s lives for a month and a half, but somehow healing from this heartbreak feels more monumental.
My relationship with Matt was my first love, but it wasn’t my forever love. We were young, innocent, and entitled enough to believe that life would work out for us. That together we could conquer whatever obstacles laid in our paths. We were too naïve to realize that sometimes life throws you a series of curveballs, the likes from which you can never fully recover. At least not with your relationship intact. I went into my relationship with Ben without blinders on, aware that sometimes, despite your best efforts, things won’t work out. That your love will be pushed past its breaking point and won’t prevail.
But for some stupid reason, I believed ours would, and it sucks knowing that it didn’t.
When I wave goodbye to Harper the next morning, I give myself a time limit. I’m allowed to fall apart and eat and drink away my feelings for the next two days, but starting on December 26th, I will move onwith my life.
I wake up the morning after Christmas feeling better than I have in weeks, which isn’t saying much, to be honest. My heart feels like it’s being held together with duct tape and staples, but it’s still beating. Though my foundation has been shaken, I’m ready to rebuild.
The grocery store is dead, so I pokily peruse the aisles, carefully selecting my produce and pantry items, without the normal hustle and bustle of shoppers. After being isolated, first at Ben’s house and then in my apartment, it’s refreshing to be out in public again. I can’t help but feel a little sorry for Ben that he can’t do something as simple as grocery shopping without being followed and harassed by fans and photographers.
But then I quickly admonish myself. I’m not allowed to think about Ben, especially not in a sympathetic way.Fuck that guy. He sucks.
As I wait in the check-out line, I stare straight ahead, never allowing my gaze to fall to the side where the magazine racks are located. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of his handsome face gracing a magazine cover and I growl in frustration. But I remain steadfast and determined and don’t allow my eyes to stray to his face again.
I’ve lived enough Hollywood gossip to last a lifetime, and I don’t need to subject myself to any more of it.
When I get home, I unpack my groceries and begin to cook. After scheduling my twelve Christmas cookie recipes, I stepped away from my social media accounts because I'd lost motivation, and I needed time to wallow. But I’m ready to make up for lost time.
Since New Year’s Eve is next week, I’m making several simple yet elegant appetizers that I think my followers will enjoy. I spend the next few hours listening to upbeat music and happily cooking. After my hiatus from posting, it feels good to be productive again. Before long, I’m humming along and dancing to the music while I cook.
Grabbing my camera and some props from our small pantry, I begin setting up my shots. When I’m happy with the arrangement and lighting, I take tons of photos so that I can find my perfect shots.
