by Virna DePaul
“Gwen!” Alice yelled. “Lyle needs you now!”
I jerked my chin away. “Yes, I’m coming!” Alice’s voice had startled Garrick into a fully upright stance, allowing me enough space to make my getaway. He caught my hand and spun me around.
“Please let go,” I muttered, my gaze shifting left and right, anywhere but up into his face.
“At the shoot? Will you talk to me at the shoot?”
I stared back at him, my throat going dry. I had forgotten about the photo shoot scheduled for that afternoon. Lyle had told us that we’d stop filming early and let out around three to head into downtown. “Well,” I stammered. I couldn’t bear to tell Garrick no, to squash the hope in his face. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
He relinquished my hand and I hurried away to become someone else, unable to cope with standing in my own skin.
* * *
We arrived at the photography studio, a swanky place off Central, just after 3:30. Attendants bustled around the floor, preparing equipment and setting up makeup stations. The background, white and red draperies, spilled down to the floor. A step stool and several big blocks sat in the center. I had purposefully ridden with Erica in her rental to delay the inevitable conversation with Garrick still to come. She said nothing on the way, leaving me to my thoughts, and I had to wonder if she had overheard our conversation because I caught her flashing me a few looks of concern, and a few more of kind-hearted encouragement.
Garrick’s words outside my trailer swarmed through my mind.
He wanted to kiss me again. He didn’t want me to be one of his Google girls. It thrilled me. It frightened me.
How was I going to keep my resolve to stay away from him after all that?
I tried to start by banishing him from my thoughts and focusing on the task ahead.
I had done what seemed to be a million photo shoots for Diamond Eyes. Soaps were pretty big on those. I knew they’d block us for framing before slathering us in makeup and wardrobe. Alice and Lyle stood in the back, observing and chatting with each other quietly.
Our photographer, a woman in horn rimmed glasses and painter pants, roped Shane, Garrick, Tyler and me together. We took a few dozen group photos first, some with Erica and some without her. Because I got to step back into Lacey’s persona, I found it enjoyable, even funny at times. The photographer had us do cute things like hold hands, or jump simultaneously, or hold our hands up in fists as though we were rallying for a throw down or a bar brawl. In some, I grinned. In others, I glared. Occasionally I pouted, bit my lip, or smirked. Garrick had perfected the smolder before the first flash exploded.
Shane and Garrick were naturals, Tyler less so. He seemed to have only one or two expressions that he displayed, bored and more bored, in spite of his range on set. And no matter how hard the poor photographer tried to coax another look out of him, Tyler remained unnecessarily obstinate. Probably, I imagined, because this separated him from his phone for an unnecessary hour and a half. Garrick had to tickle and poke him to trigger a goofy grin.
“Alright,” the photographer announced with an overly animated smile, adjusting the new lens she had just fitted into place on her camera. “Let’s go ahead and do some pictures with just Gwen and Garrick now to capture the intimacy between Payton and Lacey. The magazine spread is pretty broad, and I think they’ll want a pairing picture for the cover.”
My heart plunged into the pit of my stomach where it beat erratically, nauseating and exciting in the same instant. I felt the color drain from my cheeks and my eyes grow several sizes too big. I should have anticipated this.
Shane and Tyler shuffled off, muttering to each other and snickering, working the tension out of their wrists and shoulders. They high-fived with Erica, who had her nose in a copy of Straightlaced, wielding a highlighter. I could tell by the relief in their voices that they were glad to be through with their part, whereas my true struggle was only about to begin.
The attendant had me change into a different outfit—a daring, sexy dress that she claimed would hint at Lacey’s rarely explored sexuality, the vixen that lay beneath her sophisticated façade, just waiting to be released. I didn’t think it fit me very well, as evidenced by the way my breasts bulged above the brim, but the attendant insisted that was how the gown was made. She finger-combed and curled my hair and applied a fresh shade of midnight red lipstick.
My heart started racing when Garrick stepped back into the room in khaki slacks and a snug button up that accentuated his shoulders. He gawked right back at me. Self-consciously, I crossed my arms.
“Let’s get you two together now. If you could meet in the center of our step up and stand back to back, that would be wonderful.”
I gathered the fabric of my dress up off the floor and crossed to the display. Garrick joined me.
“Chin up a bit, Gwen!” Erica called. “Lacey is Payton’s rival, not his lesser shadow.”
“I’ll give you a moment,” the photographer offered with a serene smile. And I knew that meant my cheeks shone cherry red.
Clearing my throat, I smoothed my hands down my hips, eyes glued to the floor. Stop shaking, I commanded myself. Feeling the heat of him on my predominantly bare back, I suppressed a shiver and racked my memory for a time when shooting for Diamond Eyes had me this nervous. Unable to resurrect such a scene, even in spite of the number of gorgeous actors and supporting cast contracted alongside me for the series, I groaned. In vain, I tried to put myself in the frame of mind I used back then.
They’re just pictures, I told myself. Depictions of a relationship portrayed on television, meant to attract viewers and grow the fan base. Depictions I desperately hoped my father would never see. With any luck, any unnecessary cleavage would be doctored…
As the photographer instructed Garrick to turn toward me and wrap me up in his arms from behind, I secretly chastised myself for failing to talk to him earlier and get things settled between us. This would have gone much smoother had we been on the same page, and he realized where I was coming from, why I couldn’t give myself to him.
“Gwen, why don’t you face Garrick now,” the photographer suggested. “And relax, both of you! My word. At least pretend to like each other. You look like you’re dreading every second of this. Would either of you like something to loosen up?” She chuckled. “We keep a bottle of Grey Goose for just such a purpose.”
“No,” Garrick and I answered simultaneously and too quickly. Apparently both of us considered adding alcohol to the mix a highly dangerous idea.
“Fair enough.” Extending her open hand, the photographer flapped her fingers. “Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll be taking warm up shots from various angles to find the best places to shoot from. Ignore me and focus on each other.”
“Do they have to be in the room?” Garrick murmured, indicating Shane and Tyler. Tyler sat preoccupied, glancing over at Lyle and Alice every so often, while Shane stood beside him, making kissy faces at us.
“Very mature,” I told him. Erica stared, trying to suppress grins of her own. I puffed my cheeks at her.
“Focus on each other,” the photographer reminded.
The photographer moved around the edge of the drapery, her lens flashing every few steps. Garrick’s arms encircled my waist and he put his chin on my shoulder. I lifted my arms to slide my hands over his forearms, feeling every muscular indentation.
Hesitantly, I glanced up to meet his eyes and, to my surprise, found him gazing down at me. He didn't look disturbed or reluctant like I pictured he might, like the photographer had alluded to. It occurred to me then that of the two of us, I was most likely making it awkward and the photographer had addressed us as a unit to avoid individual embarrassment and take the pressure off me.
Garrick's hands slid down my waist, coming to rest on my hips. The calm, oaky scent of his cologne filled my nose, encasing me in a cloud of serenity. I felt safety descend. A tiny scar, one that I had never noticed, marred his chin. Faint creases, the itch before a wrink
le, had started to appear at the corners of his eyes. Either he smiled a lot, or he carried something heavy on his otherwise blithe heart—possibly something to do with past hurts and his vocal thoughts about love at dinner. But I was too entranced at this up-close-and-personal view I had of his face to start thinking about that. He even had a few freckles of his own here and there, things one would only notice a breath away and in the right light.
Garrick raised my hands to his mouth and pressed his lips against my knuckles, looking me square in the eye. The world around me melted away. He took the lead, his sure and steady hands positioning me as he saw fit. One moment I was standing before him, grinning bashfully, and the next I hung in his arms, the expensive fabric of my slitted dress cascading down to the floor while he held me bridal style. My smile came easy, natural and broad. Everything brightened. He'd place me in his lap, his chin over my shoulder, and play with my hands. Lips coming to my ear, he'd say silly things, voice low, and I would laugh. The flashes and constant buzz of conversation around us fogged out into insignificant background noise.
I found his hand on my upper thigh, his other snaked around the small of my back as he dipped me, and grinned down into my face.
Heart racing and face flushed, my body gravitated toward him again, longing for any little touch he graced me with. No matter what I told myself, the revelation that had come to me in the shower still sang true, and I was just as much putty with him now as I had been in that sauna. I fought the fierce desire to kiss him, to pull myself against him and beg never to be released from his embrace. Spellbound, I memorized the details of his face, chiseled chest, and arms.
I had judged him wrongly, of that I stood certain. Garrick Maze had to be more than a Hollywood playboy if he could ignite my heart with a touch of his hands and a single glance. I burned for him. I’d give anything to stay like this forever.
Unprompted by the photographer, Garrick leaned down and granted my wish. I couldn’t have stopped him even if I wanted to. Slipping his hand to the nape of my neck, cradled in his arm, he pressed his lips to mine. The flashes dissolved as my eyes fluttered closed. Completely enraptured in his dreamy embrace, I instinctively bent my knee, hiking it up a bit higher on his thigh.
"That's a wrap, ladies and gentlemen!” the photographer announced. A light wave of unanimous clapping moved through the room. My eyes snapped open, intensely aware that I’d forgotten the rest of the crew in our passionate embrace.
“Splendid, splendid” Lyle exclaimed, wiping tears off his cheeks. Alice’s eyes, glued to the floor, refused to look at us. Erica held Straightlaced in front of her face, just below her eyes, hiding what had to be a healthy blush. Shane and Tyler sat in the corner, twiddling their thumbs.
What in the world had just happened?
I blinked in surprise, having gotten lost in the moment, and found the attendants I had forgotten about cleaning up and packing away equipment. Noticing pressure on my hand and between my fingers, I glanced down to see Garrick’s hand clasping mine. With a chuckle, he tugged me off of the background tapestry.
“So. About that talk,” he prompted, eyes tracking across my face, my neck, and back to my lips.
Shyly, I looked away. What else was there for me to say? My body and my logic warred against one another in the thick of his presence. I needed time to regroup.
“May I take you to dinner?” he asked. “I know this great place called Jordy’s Café. We checked it out one night downtown. Erica showed us.”
The time had come. He’d made his move. It was up to me to step up to the plate or flee in the opposite direction.
Slowly, dumbly, I nodded.
He grinned, relief and pleasure shining in his expression. “Would you like the others to come? Or can it just be you and me?” And judging by the gleam in his eyes, he had a preference for the latter.
Dinner wouldn’t hurt, right? It was just dinner.
“You and me,” I answered. “Can we meet there?” That way I’d have an out. It wouldn’t look like a date, should any paparazzi get a snapshot. Erica had mentioned going out again tonight to mingle with some peers in the business. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind dropping me off and swinging by when her business had concluded.
“Sure,” he obliged with a grin.
We agreed to meet there in half an hour, parting ways to get changed and, at least for me, to find a place to vomit out all the butterflies.
Chapter Thirteen
Garrick
Anticipation burning a hole in my gut, I trotted out of the photography studio. Max, one of our local lighting guys, had loaned me the keys to his car. He had a tech party to attend this evening and wouldn’t be needing it. Plus, he owed me a favor for covering the cab home the other night. Hitting the unlock button on the keychain, I saw the headlights of his Dodge Challenger light up at the far end of the lot.
I was still reeling from my interaction with Gwen at the photo shoot. She’d looked stunning in that gown, her luscious lips so kissable I could have cried. Until I’d touched her. Connected with her. The way she’d looked at me—God, it had filled me with a pride I’d yet to experience.
The sun had set, little Albuquerque blanketed by a pale purple night sky, alluding to just enough time to stir up trouble before the real parties began. Things were finally coming together. I'd meet Gwen at Jordy's, where I'd take her on a real first date. I'd have a real conversation with her. I’d introduce the real me, and slowly lure her out of her shell. What we could be, what I really wanted and fervently yearned for her to want too, would become tangible.
At last!
"Garrick?"
That voice stopped me in my tracks, ripping me out of what I could only describe as euphoria and hurtling me into Hell. I knew that voice. I'd never forget it—a purr issued from lips like rose petals, plump with additional injections of collagen. I turned toward the girl who’d spoken and her perfectly enhanced breasts, my feet positioned at the edge of the battlefield that had become the space between us, my body primed for a fight.
"Rachel," I replied mechanically. What was she doing here? How did she get here? How did she…?
She straightened from the stucco wall where she had been leaning, or lurking more accurately. Her armor consisted of designer jeans and a scoop neck, all of which hugged her perfect, surgically modified body too well. I struggled to keep my eyes on her face as she approached, the click of her heels like the sound of a miner's pick ax. I felt cold and hot, frozen and boiling. Hatred and nostalgia swirled through me in a molten mass of yuck.
"Hi," she gushed.
I hadn’t seen her for two years. For the first few months, every night before bed, I’d work myself into a sweaty, seething rage, stewing over all the insults, all the shit I wanted to fling at her. And now, for the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Why so quiet, sugar?” she asked with a windy giggle and a flirtatious shimmy of her sun-tanned shoulders. She met me in a hug, which I did not return.
This couldn’t really be happening. I had to be dreaming. Or nightmaring.
Wake up, dammit!
“How have you been?” she asked, hands fawning over me, touching my cheeks and hair as though nothing had changed. “I’ve missed you. When I heard you were in town, I just about died of surprise! I’m down visiting a friend in Old Town. Maybe you know her. Tina Orchatta? You look just superb. I hear Straightlaced is going fabulous.”
Oh, yes. I recognized the name Tina, some friend of Rachel’s from high school. My senses came roaring back when I felt my back bump up against a Chevy Suburban. I’d been walking—no, retreating—and had fallen directly into her trap, without realizing it. I had to seize control of the situation before this man-eater had me for dinner!
“I’m so sorry about what happened between us,” she confessed with a pout. Like a viper, her hand drifted down to my inner thigh, where she pressed hard and crept upward. She leaned in, dusting her lips over my jawline and neck.
“Sorry?”
I repeated dryly, eyes focused over her head.
She nodded as she pulled back, her eyes boasting a sickeningly insincere sheen of fresh tears.
Wide eyed and incensed, I tried to process the word. “You slept with my brother.” Clamping my hands on her upper arms, I shoved her away. “We had been steady for four years. I was on my way to asking you to marry me. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it, Rachel.”
“He made me, Garry,” she insisted quickly. “I told you that. I gave in once and he started blackmailing me. I made a mistake, sugar. Can’t you forgive me? Even after all this time apart? My heart aches to hold you again.” Reaching out, she laid her hand on my chest. I knocked it away.
“Don’t touch me. I believe that about as much now as I did the first five times you fed it to me,” I sneered.
She huffed, assuming a pout. “Why are you being so mean? Here I came to make amends and heal old wounds, and you’re determined to carve new ones.”
“I have no interest in you,” I informed her, coming up from the car and straightening my rumpled shirt. Gwen flashed through my mind. “I’m seeing someone new.” It slipped out before I could catch myself, and from the subtle shift in her expression I knew I had just made a strategically lethal move.
“Excuse me?” she growled, as if no one on the planet could compare to her. And a little over two years ago, I would have wholeheartedly agreed. After the strange darkness faded, Rachel balked, giving the impression that the lightest gust of wind could blow her over. “Who?” she demanded, staking her fists on her hips.
“That’s none of your business.” In the next instant, I saw Gwen emerge from the photography studio with Erica, fishing her keys from her purse, beside her. My eyes betrayed me with that glance, and how I corrected myself too rapidly afterward.
“Oh,” Rachel hissed with an unspoken threat, poisonous glare locked on Gwen. “Isn’t that cute.”
