by Frankie Love
She narrows her eyes at Gretchen. “No one knows where he is.”
“Well, I sure as hell don’t either. I’ve been here all night. Haven’t talked to him since last night. We weren’t doing anything that was supposed to last longer than a night. I had no idea those photos would get leaked.”
“Well, who saw you?” Sondra asks just as Jordan comes over.
“Sondra,” Jordan says, taking her arm and trying to lead her away. “Let’s go talk in private.”
“Private?” Sondra’s nostrils flare, and I remember that look from her role in a mega blockbuster film when she took down a throng of zombie aliens. Suddenly, I realize she is Sondra Sinclaire. Like, the Sondra. I swallow, the reality of the level of fame I am now surrounded by washing over me.
“Yes, we don’t know who is out here, listening.”
Sondra scoffs holding out her phone. “It’s a little late to be worried about that, Jordan. Did you not see what was leaked ten minutes ago? Why do you think I’m here?”
Jordan reaches for the phone, looking at the images pulled up.
I can’t help but stand and look over Jordan’s shoulder.
More photos on an online magazine.
But this time it isn’t of Gretchen and Sawyer.
They are of Collette and they are pretty damn compromising.
And it’s not just a photo. There is a link to more.
Gretchen grabs my hand. “Fuck, she has no idea. We’ve got to get her.”
My eyes become steely. Wasn’t it just this morning Gretchen was saying any press is good press?
But I don’t have time to question her change of heart.
I just need to make sure my friend is okay.
The next morning, in our apartment, I make Collette a mug of coffee. No cream, two Splendas, just the way she takes it. The fact that she’s sitting here, and not buried under a cocoon of blankets is a miracle.
The photos that were leaked of her were nothing like Gretchen’s now seemingly tame bare-ass straddle.
Mostly because it wasn’t just a photo. Colette and her Bieber-lookalike five minutes of fame took the form of a ninety-second video of the two of them flushed with excitement as they touched themselves while watching one another.
Last night, in the room with Callahan, the thrill was from knowing those other guests wanted us to watch them. They went to those rooms specifically to be observed as they pleasured one another.
But Collette had no idea she was being watched.
Taped.
Exposed.
“Here you go, sweetie,” I say, sitting next to her on the couch handing her the cup.
Gretchen’s on another couch scrolling through her iPad, trying to wrap her mind around the situation.
“It’s more than a crazy coincidence, right?” she asks.
I nod numbly, feeling like the three of us have targets on our backs and feeling like I am going to be the next one to get hit.
I can’t believe I was so foolish as to go to a room with Cal last night.
What if that had been me?
It’s unimaginable. I was only supposed to be here in LA to make cash for my father’s farm. Not to play out latent fantasies. Shame courses through me at the realization of how far I’ve drifted from my priorities in just a few short weeks. I thought the idea of my SI spread was cringeworthy. The video of Collette all over the internet? I could never show my face in Indiana again if something like that happened to me.
And if no one knows who is leaking these stories then maybe I really will be next.
“It makes me feel like there is no one I can trust in this town,” Colette says, wiping her eyes with a wadded up tissue.
“You can trust us,” I assure her. “The Fuck Club is seriously bad news. I feel so crappy that I asked you guys to go there with me last night. I should have known better.”
Gretchen smirks. “You couldn’t help it. Good cock is hard to come by.”
Her vulgarity in the midst of this crisis warms me to her. She offers the comic relief we all need right now.
“Was it good?” Collette asks. “The sex?”
I nod. “I mean, I have nothing to compare it to, but the club has the nickname it does for a reason.”
I explain to her what I shared with Gretchen last night. How we were able to watch other couples getting it on while we did.
“That’s some kinky shit,” she says, impressed. “And I thought that being in a room where there was a spinning bed and mirrors on every surface was sexy.” Her phone rings and she looks at it before returning it to silent. “It’s my parents.”
Gretchen and I share a grimace.
“Don’t,” Collette says. “It’s my fault. I was the one who thought what happened to Gretchen was a one-time thing.”
“We all did.” I look at my own phone and seeing that my meeting with Danny is approaching, so I tell my roommates I’ve got to get going.
“Why are you meeting with him?” Gretchen asks.
“I think something got messed up with my paycheck. The deposit doesn’t look right.”
The girls nod, knowing my backstory and how much every penny counts for me right now.
“See you later,” I tell them as I grab my purse. “And enjoy your day off even if you can’t show your face outside. It’s Saturday, might as well turn on Netflix and order in junk food. God knows you deserve a cheat day.”
“Love ya, Juliana,” they call out to me as I leave, debating whether to take an Uber as I take the elevator down to the ground level. In the end, I opt for the bus. The fifteen bucks I’ll save means less stress for my father. Right now, that is the most important thing.
After my meeting with Danny, I wander around the dirty sidewalks for half an hour, trying to collect my thoughts, and hoping to stop the tears from falling.
What am I even here for?
I find an empty bench and pull out my phone, wanting to hear the comforting voice of the man who has always looked out for me.
“Daddy?” I say when he answers.
“Sweet pea? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I say, my resolve to be strong crumbling the moment I hear his voice.
“What’s wrong?” I swear I can smell the tractor grease through the phone line. See the creases in his eyes from where he has spent too much time worrying about me, his only child. “Don’t tell me those fancy photographers are making my little girl upset.”
“Oh, Daddy, I just feel so far from home. And I thought I’d be back in a month... but I’m not sure that is going to happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got my first paycheck. I didn’t realize how much money would go to my agent, taxes, fees... all that stuff. I thought I’d bet making a lot more.”
“Is it more than you were making at the diner?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “But not anywhere what I expected.” My meeting with Danny went awful. Not that he wasn’t kind and understanding, but the truth is, I am giving up so much being here. Besides my home life, I am also losing my privacy. Soon enough my photos will be released in the spreads I modeled for.
“Hey, you don’t need to do this if you hate it,” Dad tells me. “It’s not your job to save this place.”
“But it’s our home. Our everything.” I blink back tears.
“I think maybe you are a little homesick, darling. You’ve never gone farther than a day's drive in your whole life. And I know you are focused on the money, but maybe think about the experience. Have you made any friends?”
I think about my roommates, they are fun and silly and sweet, but not people I would ever consider true confidants. I’ve never had a ton of friends, mostly kept to myself growing up, helping with Grandma every day after school.
I’m not a loner. On Friday nights, I’d meet up with other Townies and drink beer and bullshit at the local bar, Dusty’s. The night before I came to LA they raised their Bud Lights and wished me well, but none of that crew has called to check in.
Alive. Wanted. Seen.
“You’re awful quiet, Jules. Having a hard time fitting in?”
“Everyone’s just really different here.” I think about the Fuck Club. How I let Cal lick me up and down while watching a ménage one floor above. My face flushes at the memory. The idea of Dad knowing what I did… I’d die.
I’ll never go back to that place. It was so risky, so dumb to return at all. Of course, I want to see Callahan again... just not there.
“Well, you’ve always stayed on the outside Jules, ever since you were little. People never knew what to do with you here. You are so beautiful, so—”
I cut Daddy off. “Don’t say it.”
“It’s true. You are too pretty for this town, all the girls were jealous and all the guys were intimidated.”
I shake my head. “It’s not the same here. Everyone in this town is gorgeous.”
“Well, then you should fit right in, sweetie.”
“Daddy, you’re too sweet to me.”
“Just saying the truth.”
A smile breaks through my tears, and I’m glad I called the person who has known me forever.
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you more. Now go do something that will make you feel better. You’ve worked hard. Treat yourself with a part of this paycheck you just got.”
I hang up, thinking he’s right. I’ve been working hard every day. This is my first day off since I got here. And I should do something just for me, especially knowing my roommates are hunkering down in the apartment recounting their time in the spotlight.
My thumbs hover over the keys on my phone knowing how I want to treat myself but wondering if it’s too forward.
Screw it.
“Cal,” I text. “Wanna meet for a late lunch?”
He replies right away.
With a yes.
7
I’ve been a wreck since the video was leaked last night.
And of course, it had to come on the heels of the best sex of my goddamn life.
Sawyer still hasn’t returned my calls, and honestly, it’s worrying me. I know he usually visits his parents on the weekend, and I’m just hoping that is what’s going on now. But deep down, I know it isn’t like him to go AWOL for so long. He’s never coped well with stress, and the last few months his frustration over being a product for his studio has increasingly bothered him. I can only imagine how those photos have tipped him over the edge.
After this meal, I’m gonna stop at his apartment and find out what’s going on. I know he’d do the same thing for me.
I head to Langer’s, a classic LA delicatessen that I grew up eating at with my dad. He’d always get us the Rubens and now it’s only right I introduce Jules to the iconic sandwich.
She’s already here when I arrive, looking as sweet as the pie they serve at Langer’s. But she’s more than a single slice, she is whipped-cream-on-top perfection. Just looking at her standing, waiting for a table, reading the menu, her long legs in denim cut-offs, gets my cock hard. How could it not? The memory of those legs wrapped around me last night, her tits bouncing, her eyes closed in ecstasy... it’s enough for me to lose my load right here.
Damn, she’s a gift I didn’t see coming.
But I intend on unwrapping her over and over again.
“Hey,” I say, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. I kiss her ear, unable to resist, and her laugh leaves a flutter of sparkles in its wake. She sounds light. Breezy.
The gust of fresh air I need today.
“Someone is in a good mood,” I tell her.
“I didn’t realize we were on kissing-in-public terms.” She spins to face me, a smirk on her face.
“Want me to take it back?”
She shakes her head, patting my chest, leaving her hand there. “You’re bad, you know that?”
“So bad it’s good, right?”
She gives me a small laugh. “Something like that.”
A waitress leads us to a table and I order for both of us, not needing to look at a menu. Jules grins, teasing me for being such a man.
“It’s nice to hear you laugh. I need something to lighten the goddamn mood of my life right now.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks, not realizing that when shit goes down at the club it fucking kills me.
“The shit that went down last night—with that video being leaked on the gossip sites… Just a headache, you know?”
Her eyes fall, her lip twists. “I know. Colette was upset. I mean at first it was novel when it happened to Gretch. Like, kinda exciting. But that video…” Jules shakes her head. “You can’t exactly spin it in a good way.” She sighs, looking back at the reader board menu. “I’m just glad it didn’t affect either of us. Do you think it’s going to mess with business, for the club? Like, your job?”
I run my hand over my jaw. “I don’t know what it means yet. Jordan, the manager, called a staff meeting for later today. The employees who dance at the club are pretty stressed. People sign non-disclosure agreements when they enter the club. Breaking that is idiotic, for anyone.”
“What would happen?” Jules asks as the waitress brings us Cokes and our sandwiches. She picks up a fry and looks down, not meeting my eyes.
I try not read into it. But why is she interested in the NDA?
“The person who broke the agreement would be sued.” I pick up my sandwich and start eating. Damn it’s as good as I remembered.
Her eyes raise to meet mine. “People are crazy. Eventually, the person who is doing this is going to be found out. I don’t understand how people can act like they are invincible. When you play with fire, eventually you’re going to go up in flames.”
Her words give me the confidence in her character I already believed.
“It’s crazy though, I haven’t heard from my buddy Sawyer since the stuff with his photos went down.”
She scrunches up her face. “You’re friends with him?”
I nod. “Yeah. We’ve been friends forever. He’s helped me through the hardest times in my life.”
“Really? How did you meet? No offense, but it seems like you’d be in different circles growing up. Aren’t his parents famous too?”
I never date women that start asking personal questions. I went to boarding school and my parents died before I graduated. I became a man without people connecting me to my family name.
After their death, I started going by Callahan—my middle name. With that easy change, the old me disappeared. The sad truth is, no one has come looking. Just another reason I think of this city as a television set. Nothing here is real. And if Sawyer weren’t still here, I wouldn’t be either. But he’s the only person who knew me before, who still knows me now. His parents invite me to family functions, and I go, so long as no one in the industry will be there. They respect my boundaries. Hell, they understand them.
They know what I lost, how I lost it. Who is to blame.
I hate the fucking paparazzi. Their crazed hunger for a story is why my parents crashed. Why I lost my family.
Sawyer’s parents get it and after that event, they stepped away from the limelight too.
All of us are watching Sawyer closely, wanting to make sure he doesn’t get so caught up in the trap that he loses himself.
Anyway, no one who comes to the club is looking to make eyes with the bartender. They come to fuck a celebrity. So, even though I’ve recognized people from my childhood, no one has put two and two together.
But Jules is different.
She did make eyes with the bartender.
In fact, she made a hell of a lot more with him.
“Sawyer and I were neighbors as kids is all.”
She rests her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand. “Huh, I’m trying to mesh that with my idea of you. So, besides being a bartender who rides a bike you also grew up som
ewhere super ritzy?”
“Does that bother you?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, sorta.”
My brow furrows. “How so?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not trying to be weird. Sorry if I am.”
“No,” I tell her. “Be honest with me. That is one of the things I like about you, Jules. You say it like it is. Even last night when we were in that room, you said what you meant. Asked for things you wanted, how you wanted them. You aren’t hiding behind anything. You are real. And in a city like this, that means a hell of a lot.”
She watches me as if considering my words. “It’s pretty simple really. I just don’t really like the LA scene and I assumed you didn’t either. That is what appealed to me about you when we first met.”
“You mean it wasn’t my charm and good looks?” I grin.
“Shut up,” she says, throwing a fry at me. “Yes, your looks, sure, but throwing punches at those thugs really won you a lot of points.”
“There is a point system?” I laugh.
She tries to hide a smile. “Mmhmm. Really complicated one.”
“And hating LA is part of your rubric?”
“Exactly.” She taps her fingers on her chin. “But maybe I was miscalculating. Maybe this place is your jam.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think if I were into the LA scene I’d take you to the oldest deli in the city and make you eat pastrami? Because I’m telling you, sweetie, most of the douchebags in this city who took you out for lunch would force feed you micro greens and order you low-cal white wine. Your public image would be as important to them as their own.”
She scrunches up her eyes. “I don’t know, Cal. Maybe you’re just playing me. Everyone in this town has an angle. What’s yours?”
My jaw tightens, we’re covering territory that is not first-date worthy. And much too intense for Langer’s.
“Look,” she says, reaching for the dessert card on the table. “I don’t hold back or keep my cards close, or whatever. I’m an open book.”
