Don't Believe Everything You Hear

Small town Hennesy was supposed to be a slice of suburbia cut away from big city life—that is, until the day Shirley Monroe moved into town.

She was a starlet who had inched her way up, heels and all, into the upper echelon of celebrity fame. Word had it that she had injured herself doing stunts in her latest action rom-com, but the unsavory tabloids would have had the story go that she was hiding out after a short stint in rehab. Whatever the cocktail of dramatic Hollywood gossip was, college student Lydia Ness wanted to get down to the bottom of it.

It did help that her father owned the only grocery store in town, so she was bound to hear the latest tide of small town banter, even if that meant Shirley’s maid—she had to have one, right?—would be doing most of the talking.

As Lydia rang up items from little old Dottie Mayberg, what she didn’t expect to see was Shirley Monroe herself walk through the automated doors that parted for her like it was some grand introduction shot from the lens of a world-renowned director. Lydia dropped a box of Sugar Q’s on her foot, her eyes following the actress who stood out completely with a floral scarf wound around her hair and aviator sunglasses to mask her big doe eyes.

Celebrities really didn’t know how to be inconspicuous, did they?

“Dear, are you all right?” Lydia turned her head to see Dottie watching her behind the reading glasses perched on her nose. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“No ghost, ma’am,” Lydia found herself saying. By the time she looked back to try and spot Shirley, the actress was gone. At this moment, the most famous person ever to step foot in Hennesy was wandering the aisles of Ness Food and Wine, and here she was ringing up cans of cat food and frozen vegetables like it was any ordinary old day!

Once Dottie’s groceries were bagged and deposited in her cart, Lydia dashed away from the register—thankfully Doug still had checkout #4 still open—to sprint down the aisles and try to find the wayward fame magnet.

What Lydia did not expect was to find said celebrity crying over a bag of ramen noodles in aisle three.

“Uh, can I help you?” Perhaps it was a poor choice of words, but Shirley’s shoulders jerked as if she were a spooked mare. She replaced her sunglasses with a flick of her fingers and shoved the orange package of ramen back on the shelf.

“I’m sorry, I can’t sign any autographs right now—”

Lydia held up her hands to try and appear as harmless as possible. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Shirley’s perfect red lips scrunched in a sour fashion. “I’m sure you didn’t,” she said in a clipped voice. “Now, if I could please continue my shopping in peace—”

“It’s not a bad town to live in,” Lydia found herself saying. “I mean, whether you stay or not, no matter the circumstance.”

The actress’s lips twitched as if in danger of smiling. Wouldn’t the paparazzi have loved to see that. “What are you, the welcoming committee?”

Lydia shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life, so I guess I am.”

Shirley Monroe, for all her poise, just looked at the shelves as if she were at a loss for where to be or what to do. “Do you offer personal shoppers? I was hoping to get my groceries delivered right to my residence, but I didn’t see an option to order online on your web site.”

That line of questioning from a celebrity who probably hadn’t done her own laundry in years wasn’t exactly surprising.

“My dad’s not too tech savvy, and we don’t exactly have the manpower for those kind of, um, amenities in town. You might be able to get Rick to pump your gas for you down the street if you give him a tip. That worked for my friend Melissa a few times.”

Even as Lydia blathered on and Shirley stared at her, the former knew she was definitely talking way too much to this woman who was already probably looking down on her in all her small-townness anyway.

Instead of inching away back to her cash till, Lydia felt bold enough to ask: “Why were you crying?”

Anyone else would have found the question intrusive (and why shouldn’t Shirley Monroe think the same thing when the answer could be sold to the biggest celebrity gossip site?), but Lydia fancied herself an amateur journalist who would always ask the tough questions. The only problem? She may have been twenty years too early for such a challenge.

At first she thought Shirley would stalk off, leaving the store without buying a single thing, but there was something in the set of the woman’s mouth that made Lydia have hope for a single, sparking moment.

“I remember eating that brand of ramen when I was a struggling actress living with four other people in an apartment in L.A.,” the woman said. “I almost had forgotten about that girl. How she spent every day wishing when she should have just been out there living.”

“But isn’t that what you did? Made your wishes come true?”

It should have been an easy question to answer. It would have been the kind of segment that would fit nicely in a reel right before a commercial break.

Shirley’s mouth twisted in what could have been seen as a grimace. “Who knows,” she said—with none of the convincing aplomb she would have given any of her award-nominated roles.

Any other reporter might have stepped up the questioning with another zinger, but looking at Shirley Monroe...Lydia could see in the creases in her make-up that she was tired. A kind of tired that probably went right down to the bones.

Shirley Monroe the actress wasn’t standing before Lydia Ness right then. No, this was Shirley the human, concrete yet pliable, an icon made in a woman’s image.

Leaving her alone was the only decent thing left to do.

“Sorry for bothering you,” Lydia mumbled.

The newly local celebrity just inclined her head once, barely a nod, before her high heels clacked down the aisle.

Somehow, asking the questions—really nosing into someone else’s psyche in such a blatant manner—seemed like such a harder job than Lydia had ever thought possible.