Page 1 of Tempting the Player
1
JANE
“I would feel betterif you had a security team or even just one person.” My mom’s voice is soft, and concern is etched into her features.
“We both would,” my dad adds from somewhere out of view.
We’ve had this same conversation so many times that I fight off the defensive feelings at their protectiveness. I know they mean well.
“Please do not ask me to reconsider hiring Grady again.” My old bodyguard is like an uncle to me, but I don’t want someone tailing me around campus. For the first time since I started acting and singing at age five, I’ve been able to live a normal life. Being at Valley U has given me that.
“Okay, but at the very least, let me arrange for the house to be wired with an alarm system and cameras.” Dad steps in next to Mom. His gray hair is windblown, and his shirt is missing a button. He’s the carefree, slightly scatterbrained artist (mostly sculpture) yin to my mom’s organized and always prepared yang. She spent years managing his art career and my acting and singing career. They are opposites in everything, but in total agreement on this.
To be honest, I’m surprised they aren’t digging in their heels on hiring personal security, but all of it feels like too much. Even an alarm. No one else here has an alarm system. Valley is a safe town in southern Arizona, and the college has a below-average crime rate. I know all this because it was part of the very argument I made to my parents when I applied to Valley U.
“I’m fine. Really. I’ve already told you I don’t want any of that. You don’t need to worry. Things are great here.”
My mom’s soft tone sharpens. “There are hundreds of new photos from last week alone, Jane. You can’t tell me that there aren’t paparazzi staked outside waiting every time you step out the front door. Your every move is being documented for the world to see.”
Since I’m sitting in the living room in front of the large window looking out to the street of my off-campus house I say, “I can tell you with one hundred percent honesty that there are currently no photographers outside my house. It’s lunchtime and even paparazzi have to eat.”
Mom lets out an exasperated sigh.
“I’m kidding, Mom. The paparazzi are harmless, and it’s calmed down since Christmas break. I promise I am being careful. We always lock the doors and I live with three other people. I’m perfectly safe.”
“I know you want to be like everyone else, honey, but you’re not. Your circumstances are different. You know better than most how easy it is for creeps to get access to your location and schedule when you’re in the public eye.” Dad gives me one of those smiles that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and my stomach starts to knot.
When I’m silent for too long, my mom adds, “We just want to keep you safe. If something happened to you...”
Her words trail off, but she doesn’t need to finish the sentence for my mind to run with a hundred different terrible scenarios. I know that I need to be careful and I am.
And yes, admittedly it did get a little out of hand last semester when I came out of hiding and revealed my past life to my friends and classmates. I dressed as my most famous character for a big Halloween party and then performed the theme song. I didn’t expect so many people to care that I’m not just Jane Greenfield, a regular girl attending Valley U, but also Ivy Greene, former child actress and singer.
I guess part of me hoped that people would care, but I never dreamed there’d be paparazzi staked out in front of the house for a glimpse of the childhood star in hiding—their words, not mine. So, there have been a lot of adjustments.
I went from a nobody on campus to someone that people want to know. If I were the kind of person that derived my self-worth from how others see me, this might be a total head game. But I learned at a young age that fame and popularity come and go on a whim. No one stays on top all the time, so the only way to survive that kind of rollercoaster is to always love yourself more than anyone else. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not enjoying it a little too. It feels good to be admired.
My roommate, Dahlia, comes downstairs with her golf bag looped over one shoulder. Her steps slow when she sees me on the phone.
“I gotta go,” I say. “I’ll call later this week.”
“Think about what we said,” my mom says pointedly. She and Dad share a look. “We would take care of everything.”
“I will,” I promise.
After we say our goodbyes, I hang up and drop my phone in my lap.
“Parents still worried about all the attention?” Dahlia asks, setting her bag down and then gathering her blonde hair back into a low ponytail.
“Yes. That article that dragged up all the shit with my stalker five years ago has them reliving it like it was yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” my friend says with a sympathetic smile. “And I’m sorry you went through that. Tell Momma Greenfield that I’m on red alert. I’ve got your back.”
The sincerity of her words means more than she’ll ever know. Dahlia is the best friend I’ve ever had. It’s crazy to think that I’ve known her less than two years.
I’m still soaking up her kindness when a familiar dark head catches my attention outside.
“Oh, there he is,” I say, sitting a little taller so I’ll have a better view of the cute guy who runs by our house every day. Always during my lunch break at precisely noon, and always looking too good to be true.
