“I have something to tell you guys,” I say. “I’m leaving for New York tomorrow morning.”

“What for?” Mom asks.

I put my arms around the both of them. Not because I really want to. Just seems like the thing to do.

“Since I dropped out of college nineteen years ago, this has been my home. But I’ve had a dream, Mom, Dad. And dreams cost money. I’ve saved my money for this dream, and now the time has come for me to go after it.”

They don’t know what the devil I’m talking about. I haven’t told anyone my plans.

Mom begins to tear up.

Dad doesn’t say anything. He kind of nods. Then he gets up, pats me on the shoulder, and walks out of the room. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just genuinely not interested in much these days.

Mom and I sit on the couch for awhile. I look around the living room seeing as how this will be the last time I see it for awhile. Maybe ever. Such a normal-looking house. Smells like cabbage. Always has.

Mom’s bottom lip quivers. She rests her head against my shoulder. I’m not convinced she’s really sad. Sure she’ll miss me, but I think they’ve been hoping this day would come for quite awhile.

Chapter 2

through the portal ~ first class ~ Miss Lavender Suit ~ The Way ~ 29

With a boarding pass in hand and my luggage checked, I stroll toward the metal detector, imagining it’s a portal, and that once I cross the threshold, I cease to be Lancelot Blue Dunkquist.

My pace quickens. I walk straight, confident, and tall through the terminal, relishing that transient airport smell but maintaining the stoic façade the great Stars don in public.

I am James Jansen.

I am James Jansen.

James Jansen is flying out of Charlotte, North Carolina this morning. James Jansen sports a gray Hugo Boss with a T-shirt underneath (Stars can get away with it), and shoes as mirror-black as volcanic glass. He is clean-shaven, his hair an immaculate brown mane of style. He is larger than life. Oblivious to the mundane act of walking through an airport. This concourse is only a channel transporting him from one place where he is the focus, to another. He is bigger than all of this. He is electric.

I take my seat in first class by the window. Before the coach crowd starts to file in, a flight attendant stops to ask what I’d like to drink. Bottled water. She looks at me kind of funny, half-smirking like she suspects I’m somebody she’s seen before. Makes my stomach flutter. But she doesn’t ask. I’m sure first-class flight attendants see the Stars on a regular basis. They’re probably told not to bother them.

I don’t look at the coachers as they trudging past me toward the back of the plane. I stare contemplatively out the small window at the distant pines which frame the tarmac. But I can feel people staring at me as they pass, and man it feels good.

So the jet’s loaded up and I think we’re getting ready to taxi on out of here when a woman in a lavender business suit steps into the cabin. Her hair is mussed, as they say, like she just sprinted through the airport. Wouldn’t you know it—she sits next to me, and I start to get all flushed like I normally do when interaction with people is imminent.

Our eyes meet, and what I do next is what clinches it. I cut this smile I’ve been practicing for ten years. Jansen possesses an unmistakable grin: he smiles quick, and only from the right corner of his mouth like he’s had a stroke or something. But it works. It’s playful, mischievous, and I’ve got it down cold. In fact, when I flash it, I actually see it take her breath away. The realization of who I am spreading blatantly across her face, glossy lips parting, but she doesn’t say anything. She catches herself, smiles back, and turns her attention to the fastening of her seatbelt.

As we go airborne and I feel that funny pressure against my chest, I wonder if Partner Jeff is looking out the window of his magnificent office. I think I’d like for him to see me in this moment. He’d probably respect what I’m doing. Ambitious people admire the hell out of other ambitious people. We’re all in this big secret club.

After I get bored of looking out the window, I glance at the woman beside me. Her briefcase is open on her lap and she’s sorting through some papers. Bet she’s too shy to initiate a conversation, but unfortunately, I can’t do it. See, Stars never initiate conversations with non-Stars. It’s one of the most important rules. I probably shouldn’t even realize that another human being is even sitting beside me, because I’m so engrossed in myself.

So here’s what I do.

Since Miss Lavender Suit is so focused on her briefcase, I reach down and lift my leather satchel from under the seat. Then I unbuckle the strap, throw back the flap, and pull out a script. There’s this website you can go to that has all the scripts from practically every movie ever made. Few weeks ago, I ordered one for this movie made fifteen years back that nobody ever saw. I hadn’t even heard of it.

The movie was called “The Way,” about this married guy who gets dissatisfied with his life and winds up going to the Amazon Jungle or someplace like that. They didn’t even have it on Netflix, so I had to buy a used copy on eBay. I can see why it wasn’t very popular. It’s almost four hours, and the only good part comes near the end where the guy goes native with this tribe. At least if going native means what I think it means. I never looked it up or anything.

So I pull out this script, and then I lower my tray and set my bottled water and glass of ice down so I can pretend to read the thing. Man, does Miss Lavender Suit get interested in a hurry. I mean, if I hadn’t been watching to see if she was interested, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. But I have my radar out, and she’s cutting peeks left and right. I figure she’ll be initiating a conversation any minute now, but she keeps clammed up like you wouldn’t believe.

Once we hit cruising altitude, I have to pee. I start to take the script with me, since I’m a Star and all and not supposed to trust anybody, but I don’t want her to think I’m reading on the toilet. Besides, I’ll bet the balance of my checking account that while I’m gone she steals a nice long glance at that script. So I just close the booklet and leave it face-up in my seat.

She doesn’t have to stand up to let me out, first class being roomier than coach. Instead, she does that thing where she moves her legs to the side, so I can slide by. Man, I love that. We also meet eyes again, and she’s looking at me like I’ve never been looked at before.

While I’m in the microbathroom, I think of what I’ll do if she doesn’t say anything. But I don’t stay in there long, because Stars don’t do disgusting, ordinary things like taking a shit.

When I come back out, she does that thing with her legs again while I ease back into my seat. I lift the script and open it again. Then I give her one more opportunity. I thumb through a few more pages, let out this big sigh, and drop it back into my satchel like I’ve had it or something. Not real serious. Just annoyed.

And then she does it, and my heart nearly comes up my throat.

“Excuse me,” she says, “I swear I’m not one of those people who freaks out when they see somebody famous, but you’re James Jansen, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“I just wanted to tell you how much I admire your films. You’re one of my favorite actors.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

Man, my heart is racing, but I manage to hold myself together, because this happens to me all the time. Nothing new about it.

“I’m Denise.” She offers her hand, which I accept. It’s a bit sweaty. I’m making her sweat.