Broken Glamour

by Maggie Marr

  Lane running through the list of my summer "challenges" made me feel less like a baby.

  “I can’t be with him right now,” I said. I pulled at the edges of the tissue. “I’m not supposed to be with him right now. He’s supposed to go a year without being in a relationship. To have a year of sobriety. I can’t stay in L.A., I can’t be a part of that world any longer. Now that Daddy and Sterling are safe, I have to get away from the Industry. I’ve spent my entire life in this business and I just have to be away from it. I need to find something that is mine, something apart from the business that is just for me.”

  “You’ve said that since the day I met you. You’ve always wanted to go to New York and work in the art world.”

  I nodded. It was true. I’d spent most of college preparing for a career in New York. If Kiley hadn’t thrown a wrench in my plans I’d already be there. Now was the time for me to leave. I had my internship. I had the money that I’d earned. Once again I had my family’s support. I wanted to go and yet … my heart ached with the idea of saying good-bye.

  “I think I’m in love with Ryan.” My words were a whisper.

  Lane’s eyes looked sad. “Oh, Amanda, I am so, so sorry for you.”

  Ryan

  Amanda looked hot. Of course she did. If I was going to make her go to a club that she didn’t want to go to, to see a singer that she’d never heard of, who also happened to be a girl that she now suspected I’d slept with then, well, Amanda was going to make a point of looking smoking hot.

  And she did.

  Dillon and I stood in the atrium at the bottom of the stairs. He was high on the two-hander he had going—something that would feature both of us. He wanted Steve Legend to play the older spy on the project.

  “The script hit my inbox from Webber’s office today,” I said. I was pumped. Finally I’d get back into a studio film. Back in a costarring role. And I would be doing it with Dillon.

  “You’ll need to sit down with Legend,” Dillon said. “Smooth things out.”

  My heart jolted. Steve knew about Kiley and me. I had to face that train wreck at some point. “Not looking forward to that one,” I said. “But I’ve got to do it.”

  Dillon patted me on the back. “Man, you’ll get that ironed out. Legend was down deep in the bottle after Amanda’s mom died. He tells some hell-tastic stories. He’ll appreciate what you went through then, and what you’re trying to do now.”

  “I sure as hell hope so,” I said.

  I glanced from Dillon to the stairs. A long pair of legs capped in an indecent pair of high-heel sandals came toward me. My heartbeat pulsed upward. Her skirt was short and she wore a tiny little halter shirt. Her curves were on display in the tight outfit. Her flesh showed in all the right places. Her neck. Her arms. The top of her breasts. Fuck. I wanted to grab her and yank her to me.

  Then it hit me. Amanda wasn’t mine.

  I glued my smile to my face and looked back over at Dillon. I was an actor. No way I’d let anyone—Lane, Dillon, even Amanda—know that when she walked into the room my heart thrashed my rib cage. This was the worst. My smile was permanently fixed to my face. Dillon rambled on about locations and shooting days and big budgets for action movies and how awesome it was to work with Steve Legend.

  I tried to pay attention but out of the corner of my eye all I could see and think about was Amanda. Amanda walked down the stairs and with each step she got closer to me. Her body. Her face. Her hair that drifted past her bare shoulders to the tops of her breasts. Want careened through my belly and pulsed hard between my legs. I wanted to kiss her and squeeze her and show the world that she belonged to me.

  But I couldn’t.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  I held up a finger, without looking at her, as though I hadn’t realized she was there. I listened to Dillon finish what he was saying. He laughed. I laughed too. A thick oily feeling churned in my gut as I played pretend. A sick feeling in the back of my throat. My time with Amanda would end soon. She’d already said good-bye to what could have been between us. The outfit, her beauty, to be near her was torture. Pure, beautiful torture. To be so close to something I wanted, I needed, but couldn’t touch, could no longer claim to be mine.

  I turned to Amanda. My gaze didn’t wander to her body. I didn’t check her out. I didn’t let on that she meant anything more to me than any driver or sober companion ever would.

  She didn’t want me? Fine. I didn’t want her either.

  “Let’s go.” I waved good-bye to Dillon and gave Lane a peck on the cheek. I turned to leave. I didn’t wait for Amanda. Why should I?

  Chapter 25

  Ryan

  El Royo was an intimate little club. Carly’s parents had started their careers here and she’d been performing here since she was little. I remembered the stories she’d told in rehab about being offered her first drink when she was ten, and having her first hit at age twelve. Those were some kick-ass stories that had caused her a whole lot of trouble.

  We were sitting just to the right of the stage. Carly made certain we had great seats. She was spotlighted, this tiny little creature with blood-red lips. Her tiny black shorts, striped top and high-heeled boots. Amanda shifted beside me and toyed with her bracelet. Let her be jealous. Let Amanda understand what it felt like.

  Carly sat on a barstool and slung her guitar over her head. She nodded to me and smiled. Then she opened that gorgeous mouth and sang.

  Her voice was soft and sultry. The kind of voice that made you think of skin. Lots of soft skin being caressed. Amanda’s hands were close to mine under the table. The memory of what I’d done to her not long ago at a table not much different than this one flashed through me. Her scent wafted to me. To touch Amanda, to kiss her, to pull her close and tell her everything would be fine, that I loved her, I needed her, was what I desperately wanted to do.

  Instead I sat taller. I stared at Carly belting out the words and a tune that seemed much too powerful for such a tiny woman. Amanda was leaving me. Abandoning me. Basically telling me that what I was trying to do wasn’t good enough for her, would never be good enough for her.

  Carly finished her set. The spotlight went out and applause erupted around the club. She came down off the stage and walked over to us.

  “You came!” She wrapped me into a hug. She was tiny and adorable and we’d always connected in therapy at Clarity. We got each other and what we were going through. Carly turned her eyes toward Amanda, expecting an introduction.

  “Carly, this is Amanda, my sober companion.”

  Amanda smiled and held out her hand. They spoke and smiled and then Amanda stood. “Bathrooms?” she asked. Carly pointed down a hall. I forced myself not to watch Amanda’s ass when she walked away from us.

  “How long have you been out of Clarity?” I asked.

  Carly folded herself into a chair at our table. “Five days,” she said. “Free at last!” Carly held her hands up over her head.

  “Did you find a good meeting yet?”

  Carly crinkled her eyebrows and played with a straw on the table. “No,” she said. “I’m not doing that.”

  My heart thumped hard in my chest.

  “Ryan, I go in to Clarity once or twice a year for a tune-up. Work out some shit. Calm the fuck down. Then I come back out and I’m good. It’s like fat-camp for drug addicts.” The waitress walked up and set an open bottle of Patron onto the table. The bittersweet scent wafted toward me. My salivary glands went into overdrive. My stomach clutched. Tequila had been my go-to drink since I was fourteen.

  “I thought vodka was your thing,” I said.

  Carly lifted an eyebrow and her lips twitched into a smile. “But tequila was yours, if I remember. Right?” Carly tilted the bottle and poured a shot. “Want one?”

  I took the shot glass in my hand. My tongue chased over my lips. I sniffed. My heartbeat shot up and I fucking stared at the liquid in the glass.

  Fuck, yes, I wanted one. The want in my belly clutched
hard and my palms were cool and wet against the shot glass. The tequila would slide down my throat, and my arms and fingers would loosen and tingle. I could imagine the looseness that would come over my limbs. Every fucking thing would drift away and I would feel so fucking good. Just one shot would burn away the itchy feeling that fired through my body and my brain.

  The problem was that I couldn’t stop with one. If one shot was good, then according to my addict brain, two would be even better and, hell, if I had two I might as well have three. Three? Fuck, make it four … hell, the whole bottle.

  I looked up from the shot glass. Amanda stood beside the table. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. She could barely believe what she’d returned to. She’d walked back from the bathroom and found me with a shot glass of tequila in my hand.

  My heart thrashed against my ribs.

  Fuck it.

  I threw back my head and drank.

  Amanda

  A cold tingle shivered down my spine. Ryan drank. His gaze locked with mine and it held an expression of sheer defiance. Carly filled the shot glass with tequila. Ryan drank again. His gaze never left my face. His eyes were filled with a pain that seemed to say, “you did this to me, you did this to us, look what you did.” A sour sick feeling burned through my belly with the smell of the alcohol.

  “We’re leaving,” I said. I lifted my bag over my shoulder. What would I do if Ryan said no? I couldn’t force him to leave the club with me. At that moment I knew I had failed. I had failed at my job, I failed him, I’d failed by bringing him here.

  “I don’t shoot for the next three days,” Ryan said. He raised the shot glass to toast me. “Relax, Princess.”

  His angry eyes watched me over the top of the shot glass. He upended another belt of tequila. “Stop being so stiff, Amanda,” Ryan said. His voice was rougher, thicker. How many shots did he drink while I was in the bathroom? He held out the shot glass for another hit. “I hear that once upon a time you were a lot of fun.” A wicked grin started at the corners of his lips. “In fact, I know you can be a lot of fun.”

  A flush crept up my neck.

  He threw back another. “Damn!” he said and slammed the shot glass onto the table. “Shit, I’ve missed this.” A smile traced across his face. He shook his head as if shaking away his sobriety, his new reality. The Ryan I knew since he’d got out of rehab was shrinking before my eyes. I didn’t see the Ryan I’d grown familiar with—the guy who was generous and kind and caring. Instead I saw the other guy, the one I’d found rolling around on the floor of Daddy’s bedroom with his pants around his knees.

  “Get the fuck up,” I said. I grabbed the bottle and pressed it into the hands of a passing waitress.

  “Hey!” Carly shot me a mean look. I didn’t care about her. Carly’s sobriety wasn’t mine to protect, Ryan’s was.

  “We are leaving.”

  Ryan smiled at my words, he smiled with my anger. He stood.

  “Whoa, Baby,” he reached for the edge of the table and his chair, “I’m back on this ride!”

  He was drunk. Already. I didn’t know how many shots he’d had, but I’d witnessed at least five. He was a big guy, but he hadn’t had a drink in months. I stepped in close to Ryan and he threw his arm over my shoulder.

  “Wait, wait,” he slurred. He flapped his arms as if he was flailing at a fly. His body jerked around. “Where is Carly?”

  “Hey, Baby,” she cooed and shot me a horrible look. “I’m right here.”

  “Thank you,” he said, trying to get his eyes to focus. He reached for her chin. “Thank you for tonight.” Then he leaned forward while I still had one of his arms slung around my neck and kissed her. On the lips.

  I pushed out a deep sigh. This was the Ryan I remembered. The Ryan I knew before the accident. The drunken letch who was like a hound in heat.

  Carly giggled as she pulled away from his kiss.

  “Let’s go,” I started to walk. I half-carried, half-dragged Ryan until his legs started to move on his own.

  “She’s fun,” Ryan said, and waved good-bye to Carly. “More fun than you.”

  *

  By the time I got Ryan home and upstairs and poured into his bed I was almost in tears. He’d given up months of sobriety. Why? Why? The dogs followed me down the hall, away from a drunken Ryan, and toward my room.

  “Hey, everything okay?” Lane stood next to her and Dillon’s bedroom door in a camisole and shorts. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Great, we’d awakened the whole house.

  Should I tell Lane what had happened? Was it healthy to keep this from everyone? Keeping Ryan sober seemed to be a team effort. We were meant to be Ryan’s support network. All of us.

  I shook my head. “He …” I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to say the words. To admit what had happened to Ryan. We were all invested in his success, in Ryan staying sober. We all wanted him to beat his addictions and be the great guy, not the asshole with the bottle in his hand.

  “I fucked up. I let him go see one of his friends at this club and, well, she drinks and so did he.”

  Lane’s eyes traveled past me down the hall toward Ryan’s closed door.

  “Was it bad?” Lane asked.

  “He was an asshole,” I said. “As for the liquor? I went to the bathroom and when I came back they were doing shots.” I snapped my fingers. “Just like that.”

  She tilted her head and scrunched her eyebrows together. “Seriously? After all this time?”

  “I know from Daddy that the desire for the booze and the drugs is always there. You just find ways around it. You find other ways to deal with your pain. You have to make sobriety a habit, a priority.”

  “What’s going on out here?” Dillon walked out from the bedroom. He put his arm over Lane’s shoulder.

  “Ryan drank tonight,” Lane said.

  Dillon jerked his head back. “What the hell?”

  Lane relayed what I’d told her. I stroked Bernie’s head. Once Lane was finished I looked up at Dillon.

  “I can’t do this,” I said. “We … Ryan and me …” A blush crept up my neck and I took a breath and lowered my eyes toward the floor. “I have feelings for him and he has feelings for me … but I have to go to New York and he has to be sober.”

  My throat started to choke up. A ball lodged behind my heart. A ball of pain and sadness.

  “This is breaking my heart,” I said. I searched Lane’s eyes. She reached out her hand and placed it on my arm. “I know it’s only two more weeks, but I can’t do it.” My gaze flickered from Dillon to Lane. “I just can’t. Me staying isn’t fair to Ryan, and it isn’t fair to me.”

  Hot trails of tears traced down my cheeks. “After tonight, I know me being his sober companion doesn’t do him any good.”

  I bit my bottom lip. I knew, in my heart, it was time to leave.

  Chapter 26

  Ryan

  An elephant sat on my head while an evil clown force-fed me old cheese and sour milk. My lips were cracked and my throat was so dry I couldn’t swallow.

  I opened my eyes. Sunlight bit into my retinas. A sick feeling rolled through my stomach. My clothes were rumpled and stiff against my skin. I pressed my hand to my head. What had I done? What the hell had happened last night?

  Amanda drove.… We went to El Royo.… Carly sang.…

  Fuck.

  I slapped my hand to my forehead and closed my eyes.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  How the fuck had this happened? I rolled onto my stomach and tried to sit up. Sick lurched up from my gut. I lunged for the bathroom. Everything. Every bit of crap came out of my stomach. Bent over the toilet, the sour sick poured from my guts. I deserved this. How had I ever done this shit every night? Because I’d simply kept myself drunk enough that I never had a hangover.

  Shit. The mirror over the sink showed yellowish skin, bloodshot eyes, a cold clammy sweat across my face. Sick death.

  And I deserved it. What had I been thinking? What had I
been doing? Why had I even had the first drink?

  Amanda.

  Fuck.

  I brushed my teeth. Showered and scrubbed the retch and the stink off my body. By the time I was dressed and ready for the day I still felt like shit, but I looked better. Hunger clawed through my belly. I needed to get my ass to a meeting. I needed to call my sponsor. And I needed to apologize to Amanda.

  I didn’t remember all of last night, but I remembered bits. Bits that weren’t good. Bits that weren’t nice. Bits that would have hurt Amanda’s already-raw feelings.

  I knocked on Amanda’s bedroom door, but there was no answer. I cracked open the door. Her bed was already made. The pack—Bernie, Scorsese, Spielberg, and Kong emerged from the far end of the hall and trotted toward me. Kong pranced at my feet and I bent down and scooped him up into my arms. We all headed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Ryan.”

  I stopped. The dude sitting at the table wore a tight black T-shirt and jeans. Did I know this guy?

  “Hey,” I said. Mathilde wasn’t here. Lane wasn’t here. Dillon wasn’t here. And, so far, I hadn’t seen Amanda yet, either.

  “I’m Brock,” he said. “I’m your new sober companion.” He stood and reached out his hand. His shake was firm and his eyes steady. He looked like a solid dude and he obviously worked out.

  “Dillon and Lane had to go to the caterer’s this morning for a menu tasting for the wedding. I guess once you eat you’ll want to go to a meeting. Mathilde left your breakfast in the oven.”

  I cocked one eyebrow. Brock seemed to know everything about the house and me, but I didn’t know anything about Brock.

  “And Amanda?” I asked. A hard ball lodged in my stomach. Something wasn’t right.

  Brock’s gaze met mine. “She left you that.” He nodded his head toward the kitchen island. A letter with my name inscribed on the envelope lay on the counter.