Refracting a Diamond

As James settled into his favorite lounge chair, the latest issue of Pop Tiger resting in his lap, hazel eyes surveyed the various girls gathered in groups around the pool. To his dismay, there wasn’t a face in the crowd he didn’t recognize, not a single body that hadn’t already been embedded in a moment in his memory. James Diamond had never been great at memorizing facts or equations (or anything that had to do with school, when it came down to it), but his memory was borderline photographic when it came down to the girls he’d slept with.

Unlike most of the more promiscuous guys his age, James gained absolutely nothing from acquiring countless drunken hookups with girls whose names he couldn’t remember. For him, each encounter was a perfect moment captured in time, the peak of human emotion and physicality, but after that peak, there was nothing left except a downward spiral.

The thing with girls was that they wanted to date him, they wanted to fuck him, but they never wanted a relationship with him. It only took a passing glance for them to size him up, to pass him off as nothing more than just a pretty face and a set of washboard abs. Pretty boys never had any substance, so why should he be any different?

James Diamond had aspirations, hopes, and dreams, it was just that no one bothered to ask what they were.

But even he couldn’t deny his own narcissism, letting his back fall against the teal cushion as he flipped through the glossy pages until he came across the interview he’d done a few weeks ago. It was nothing new, just the same question every other teen magazine asked with a different airbrushed photo of him on the opposite page. Everyone was so desperate to delve into his love life: what he looked for in a girl, what he thought made a great first date, whether he preferred blondes or brunettes, the list went on.

He didn’t really care if she was blonde, brunette, or even had purple hair, all James wanted was a girl who got him, someone who loved him for who he was instead of just the idea of him. In Hollywood, it seemed to be a rare commodity.

Shaking his shaggy chocolate locks from his eyes, he flipped over to the next page only to find the jade gaze of Aubrey Stewart, star of the latest slew of vampire films, staring back at him.

It was always the girls that could get any guy they wanted that seemed to need James’s companionship the most.

That distant, ruthless look she was trying to portray didn’t hold a match to the way her green eyes had softened that night in her Malibu mansion after her most recent premiere. That devil-may-care attitude so characteristic of her image seemed to fade away the second they were behind closed doors, replaced by the expression of a lost little girl, so fragile and vulnerable. He’d been possessed by the desire to make her feel whole, to piece together the fragments of a broken starlet. Even though they both knew it was just sex, they still fell into their respective roles, both simply going through the motions of two young people hopelessly in love. The dim glow radiating from her bedside lamp seemed to warm her milky skin, drawing him in, and afterwards, when they were both spent, he’d held her in his arms like he didn’t want to let her go, and a part of him didn’t.

The morning after always left him feeling hollow. Aubrey didn’t call or text, and in the back of his mind, he’d never expected her to, there was just that little spark of hope in the pit of his gut that refused to burn out. All he was left with was a gift basket from the afterparty, from which he ripped off the tag and stuck it into the shoebox he kept hidden under his bed, filled halfway with various souvenirs from each of his “dates.” It was his own notched headboard, the material reminder of months spent in a haze.

A girl with a head full of bouncy mocha curls passed by, only to be met by the outstretched arms of her boyfriend. Her name was Rachael, she’d moved out west from Virginia with hopes of breaking out into the modeling industry, and she’d gotten a few gigs doing tanning lotion and shampoo. They’d gone to a house party together in the Hills and ended up fooling around in the Jacuzzi. James could still feel her fingers threading through his hair, nails digging into his scalp as she looked up at him with doe-brown eyes, the innocent gaze framed by a few loose tendrils. She’d been wearing a pink and white striped ruffled bikini that tied around her neck, and he could remember how easy it was to tug the knot loose as his lips grazed her neck.

James was so entangled in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t notice Camille as she eased into the chair beside him, sliding a pair of oversized black sunglasses down to mask her eyes as she let the sun seep through her fair skin.

“Hey James, what’s up?” she asked casually, adjusting a floppy sun hat on her head.

As the building’s resident method actress, Camille was nothing if not dramatic.

“Nothing much, glancing over this interview. Nothing but garbage.” He sighed as he shook his head slowly, tossing the magazine aside. “What about you?”

“Actually, don’t judge me, but I was kind of looking for you, and I figured this would be the best place to start. I hate to ask, but I really need a favor.” Her plush lower lip jutted out as she spoke, and James became putty in her hands, unable to deny his friend anything.

“Sure, shoot,” he replied, his eyes focused on the tiny cerulean waves as they lapped against the side of the pool.

“Well, you see, I have this premiere tonight for that action movie I shot last summer, and since Logan spends twenty-four seven with his new girlfriend.” He stole a sidelong glance at her when he heard his best friend’s name fall from her lips. Though her shades masked any trace of pain in her eyes, he could tell by the way she was fidgeting with the ends of her braid that the thought of Logan being with anyone other than her still made her ache inside. “And Stephen’s visiting his family in Colorado, so I pretty much have no one to go with, so I figured you could be my date? I mean, you do make some pretty smoking arm candy.”

A bare foot slid from the chair, easing into her sandal on the concrete. Though she exuded confidence, she was still prepared to recoil with her pride intact if she didn’t get the answer she hoped for.

James couldn’t help but laugh a little, partially at her remark but mostly because he’d never seen her this nervous. “No problem, I’d be happy to be your date.”

“Great!” Her face seemed to light up as soon as the weight was lifted from her shoulders. “So I’ll meet you in the lobby around six?”

He nodded briefly before asking, “Is there something in particular that I should wear so that we don’t look too tacky together or whatever?”

“Uh, don’t worry about it. I trust your fashion judgment.” Her response was almost breathless as she rose to her feet, a slight smirk tugging at her lips before she disappeared through the French doors

Camille always knew the right words to say to stroke his ego.

With his ego so thoroughly inflated, James barely noticed Logan ducking in and out of their shared bedroom as he finished getting dressed, appraising his outfit choice in the mirror as he combed through his hair. It was only when he was finally able to tear his eyes away from his own reflection that he saw Logan sitting on the edge of his bed, dark eyes squinted in concentration as he laced up his leather loafers. Though Logan Mitchell was no James Diamond, James couldn’t keep his competitive streak from bubbling up to the surface as he silently inspected his friend’s appearance.

“Why are you so dressed up?” he asked as he fastened the remaining two buttons of his pristine white dress shirt. “Got a hot date tonight?” An added wink made his questions seem more casual and less like he was prodding for information, which he was.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Logan replied. Though he didn’t offer any more information, the flush that rose to the surface of his cheeks gave him away.

James couldn’t shake the inherent awkwardness of the situation, and there was no amount of small talk that would dissipate the heaviness between them. Guilt seemed to pull at his every tendon, even though he knew he shouldn’t feel bad about going out with Camille. Yeah, she and Logan had dated in the past, and James did consider Logan to be one of his best friends, but none of that seemed relevant. He’d never seen his friend as happy as he was with his new girlfriend, and as much as James wanted to feel equally excited for Logan, it was only half-hearted.

As selfish and bitter as it made him feel, James’s vision was blurred by jealousy, frustrated that Logan had something he longed for so desperately. It was a difficult concept for him to wrap his mind around, how Logan, the awkward, flustered member of their group, could manage to attain something that James, no doubt the best looking, couldn’t seem to get a grasp on.

No, James wouldn’t feel bad for taking Camille out, regardless of her history with Logan. After all, he was just doing a favor for a friend, nothing more.

But when Camille stepped out of the elevator to meet him downstairs, James’s self-assured mantra seemed to fall to the wayside.

It wasn’t so much the scarlet flapper-inspired drop-waist number that seemed to sway around her hips with each click of her stilettos or the red lipstick that coated her pursed lips, James was enthralled by the way she carried herself. Despite how broken she was on the inside, her expression remained strong, each step a bold statement as she approached him.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, a contrast to the rest of her presence as almond eyes darted around the room self-consciously.

“Hey.” James’s tone was a little more collected, his gaze traversing the length of her petite frame. “Wow, you look amazing.”

The blood rose to her cheeks as she diverted her stare. “Shut up, you’re just saying that.”

Hazel irises softened as he worked to regain eye contact, hooking his arm into hers. “Would I ever lie to you?”

James always tried to keep his distance when it came to his emotions and the opposite sex, but his words were whole-hearted, embodied with the same raw passion that he tried to convey through his music. It was another thing that was hard for James to process, how with just a glance or a few simple words, Camille brought out the truth buried beneath all the hair gel and body spray.

She made him want to be a better person, and no other girl had ever had that sort of effect on him. James only wished that she was someone else, someone that wasn’t off-limits.

The premiere flowed effortlessly, both parties accustomed to the blinding flash of the paparazzi’s cameras, and James had to admit that they looked pretty good together. Camille’s milky white skin and espresso features were a brilliant contrast to his sunkissed skin and tawny locks,like she was a modern Snow White and he was the Beast: not a perfect match, but just enough to make people stop and stare.

James couldn’t say he was surprised by Camille’s performance; even in her day-to-day life, she embodied the sort of subtle power he imagined it would take to be a top-secret agent, so the role didn’t seem forced. The plot left a bit to be desired, but it was interesting watching his friend kick bad guy ass every other seen, all the while he kept stealing glances at her, the surreal expression that glowed in her syrupy irises. It still hadn’t sunk in for her that all of this was real. She had four big-budget films under her belt at the age of seventeen, an impressive feat, but it hadn’t gone to her head. Though she was quite the drama queen, the success hadn’t gone to her head, and James could respect that.

After the film screening, things seemed to go tumbling downhill.

As they wove their way through the banquet room that was hosting the afterparty, Logan’s face didn’t stick out in the crowd to James, but for Camille, it was one of the first faces she saw when she entered the room. Even with his back halfway turned to them, an arm casually wrapped around the small of her back, it wasn’t hard to recognize that half-smile-half-smirk that spread across his lips or the way his brown eyes squinted at the corners when he smiled.

Camille’s hushed voice had a desperate edge to it, her vulnerability seeping through the jagged words. “Please get me out of here.”

There was an urgency in her dilated pupils, in the way her teeth gnawed into her lower lip. James had never experienced it firsthand, but he recognized her desperation, how she didn’t want to cause a scene but she couldn’t stand being in the same room with them, watching the boy she loved so in love with someone else.

He obliged, a palm pressing into her shoulder blade as his arm shielded her from the frenzy around them, leading her away from the crowd. As they walked down the sidewalk to the parking lot, no words were exchanged between them, only the sound of traffic and Camille’s frantic footsteps could be heard in the dark. Thoughts raced through her brain, and though James was curious, he didn’t push it, holding the door open for her as she eased into the passenger’s seat of his convertible.

The sound of Coldplay drifting through the stereo distracted James from the tension as he navigated through the streets of downtown Los Angeles, ready to get back to their building as quickly as possible without getting them both killed in the process.

He didn’t notice the tears trickling down her cheekbones until they reached the parking lot of their building, the pale blue glow of the streetlights casting shadows across her features as she stared at the dashboard, a hand running hopelessly through the loose strands that fell from her side bun.

“What does she have that I don’t?” she tried to steady her voice as she spoke, but they got caught in her throat, choking her up. “What is it that makes him love her so much when he could never really love me? Am I really that fucked up?”

“No!” The single word came out too loud and too strained, and James had to struggle to lower his voice. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, Camille. You’re amazing, and any guy would be lucky to be with you, but sometimes, it’s just not meant to be.”

Her eyes met his, a mixture of black mascara and eyeliner trailing down her skin, just another broken girl. Then she leaned over the center console and pressed her lips against his forcefully, determined to feel anything for anyone else other than Logan.

The kiss sent sparks down James’s spine, all of these unspoken feelings rising to the surface in one sudden gush, and it would’ve been so easy to take it further with her, right then and there, but for some reason, James couldn’t bring himself to continue.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” he admitted, glancing back towards the building for a moment before bringing his gaze back to her.

“James, I know what you do with all those other girls, why can’t you just do the same for me?” she pleaded.

“Because you’re not them, you’re so much better than that, and I don’t want to ruin what we have with some meaningless hookup.”

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted, offering him a weak smile. “You know I care about you, James.”

He nodded, he knew. She just didn’t care for him in the way he needed. “Whenever you’re ready to move on, you know where to find me.”

And with those parting words, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her to piece herself back together.