by Amy L. Gale
“Wait.” Tyler is right on my heels.
I open my car door and plop inside but he grabs the door before I can close it. Is he here to hammer the last nail in my coffin?
“Sorry ‘bout that, babe. You’re right… about everything.” He leans over and catches his breath.
I wipe away a few stray tears. “It doesn’t matter. Jenna knows what’s she’s talking about.”
“She’s a bully. All talk and no action.” He bends down so that we’re face to face. “You got everyone’s attention.” He chuckles. “Chaz will probably be banned from the next interview. Everything you said helped.”
“You’re the only one who sees it that way.”
“I’m pretty much the brains of the operation.” He smiles. “Let me make it up to you. Dinner, just you and me. I know this great place.”
I need to stay away from Tyler. This is going nowhere fast. His bandmates hate me, last time we were together we almost died, and he’s the complete opposite of what I’m looking for. Right now, we’ll part ways, and I’ll always have a story to tell my friends about how I hooked up with a rock star. We’ve caused enough drama in each other’s lives and luckily learned from the experience.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Saturday at 7?”
“Okay. It’s a date.” What? I clearly need my head examined. My brain runs on autopilot. The more time I spend with the Tyler the worse it is for my sanity and my career. And to think reporters used to be known as the enemy. The hunter has become the hunted, and I can’t seem to resist the chase.
CHAPTER 7—BACK TO THE GRIND
I hold my breath and close my eyes tight. What are the chances this can happen again, especially back to back? Probably one in a million, they say lightning never strikes twice. Of course, if it’s going to happen to anyone it’ll be me. Too bad those odds don’t work in my favor when I’m playing the lottery.
The chime of the elevator sounds heavenly. I open my eyes and focus on the office lobby, slowly becoming visible as the doors open. It’s like nothing ever happened. Everyone hustles to their offices carrying folders. The secretary mans the phones at her desk. A few people sit on the black leather chairs in the waiting area. No one even misses a beat. I guess I really have a lot to learn about L.A. life.
I make my way to my cubicle and plop into the chair. Huh, not a paper out of place. Even my stapler is exactly in the position where I left it. Amazing, everything is back to its former glory in just one weekend. Everything except me, my first day as a reporter seems like a lifetime ago.
I slide my briefcase under my desk and fire up the computer. I haven’t had a chance to check my email since the earthquake. My inbox is probably ready to explode. Thank God Jenna doesn’t have access to this account, she’d put out a plea for all Devil’s Garden fans to send hate mail. Who knows, there may already be a bounty on my head?
I move the cursor to the envelope icon. The screen lights up with a plethora of messages, the first one from Jane.
Ms. Whitman. Please meet me in my office at 10 a.m. Monday morning. I’d like to discuss your article.
Jane
Oh God. The blood drains from my face. Am I about to get fired? I nibble at my nails. Okay, I can explain myself. I’ll tell her about the interview and how I used all the information they gave me to create the article. I didn’t realize it’s best to filter the information and write an article that’s favorable to both of us. It’s my first time as a field reporter and my first byline, but I now know what’s expected of me in the future. Yeah, that sounds pretty reasonable. She has to understand. She was new once too.
I jump a mile when my phone vibrates across my desk. I glance at the screen. Chloe lights up in red letters. Well, I’ve got ten minutes before I’m due in Jane’s office. Maybe my bestie can give me a bit of encouragement.
“Hey”
“I found this fab new restaurant for lunch. You free?”
“After my meeting with my boss, I may have more free time than anticipated.” I sigh. “She wants to talk to me about the article.”
“Come on, Al. The article was great. Brutally honest, rockers going wild, just what Hollywood loves.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but now I feel worse. “We’ll see. I doubt I’ll have an appetite, so I’ll take a raincheck on lunch.”
“Oh, darling. I hate to hear you talk like that. Don’t worry until you have to. Okay, dinner and cocktails on Saturday, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
Ah, Saturday. She’s going to love this. “Well… I kind of have a date.”
“Oh my God, is it that new guy at the office? Do tell.”
“No… it’s with… the guy from the club.”
“You mean the hottie bass player from the band? How the hell did that happen?”
That’s an excellent question, one I’m still trying to figure out myself. “It’s a long story, but right now I have to walk the Green Mile to my boss’s office and face her fury.”
“Remember, the story you concoct in your mind is always way worse than reality. Good luck. Tootles.”
I don’t think Stephen King can create a story scarier than the wrath I’m about to face. I press “end call” on my phone and slide it on my desk. Okay, time to prepare to beg for my survival with this company.
“Hey, neighbor. Heard you shook things up in the elevator?”
What the hell is he talking about? Does he know Tyler was in there with me? No way, no one knows about that other than the firefighters who rescued us.
He scrunches his eyebrows. “You know… the earthquake. Heard you were trapped in there. You okay?”
I nod. “I think I’ll be taking the steps from now on.” Okay, so it’s a lie. I’d be ready for the Olympics if I had to trek up the stairwell every time I needed to get to the office.
He chuckles. “Yep, welcome to L.A., home of the earthquakes.”
My phone chimes and a text from Chloe lights up the screen.
Call me as soon as you can. I’m dying to know how you scored a date with the bass player.
Jake smirks. “Guess the band liked the article.”
I grab my phone and toss it in my purse. “I’ve gotta go… Meeting with Jane at 10.”
He takes a step back. I fly by him like I’m running from a fire. Who does he think he is? My personal texts are absolutely none of his business, and he has a lot of nerve to insinuate I’m doing more with the band members than what my job requires. I mean, Tyler and I met as a fluke before I even knew he was in the band. I guess everything happens for a reason but this by far has to be the most twisted fairytale ever invented. Doesn’t matter anyway, right now I’ve got to deal with Jane.
I stare at the glass door that reads Jane Reiser, Senior Editor. Those letters look more intimidating today than they did the first time I walked into her office. Okay, Ali, it’s go time. I take a deep breath and knock on the door.
“Ms. Whitman. Come in.”
I navigate the floor carefully. No need to fall on my face again and repeat history. All I can think about as I make my trek forward is how much I miss my shoes.
“Please, take a seat.” Jane tosses a few papers on her desk and adjusts her glasses.
I slide into the hard leather chair. It’s much colder than I remember. “You wanted to see me?” I place my hands on my lap, trying my hardest not to fidget.
“Yes, the Devil’s Garden article you wrote has been getting a lot of buzz.”
Oh God, this is bad. “Yes… I…”
“I think you did a great job. You were honest and told it exactly how it is… a straight shooter. These qualities make a great reporter, especially in the entertainment industry. So many young reporters want to make friends with the celebrities thinking they will somehow benefit but you… you were professional and didn’t worry about any repercussions. Well done.”
A smile lights up my face. I can’t believe it. I’m not on the chopping block, not even close. I managed to impress my boss with m
y first byline. This may be the greatest accomplishment of my life so far. If all it takes is being brutally honest why aren’t more reporters using this approach? I don’t get it.
“Thank you.”
“Since you’ve done such a marvelous job with the Devil’s Garden interview, I have a special assignment for you. This will be our feature article for the Entertainment Rocks! special anniversary edition.”
Oh my God, my article is going to be the feature. I sit still in my chair, trying to resist the urge to jump up and down, cheering. I dreamed of this moment a million times in my mind but never expected it to happen this soon. The minute I leave this office, I’m texting Chloe to have some champagne ready.
“I’m honored. Thank you for this opportunity.”
She folds her hands together at her desk. Even though she looks a little like Dr. Evil minus the hairless cat, I have nothing to fear.
“After reading your article, I knew you were the right person for the job.” She hands me a manila folder. “Your article will be called “Behind the Bench,” and you’ll be interviewing Elle Crowley. She’s the wife of NFL quarterback Nash Crowley. The interview will focus on the true story of what it’s like to be married to football royalty.”
My stomach turns. I should’ve known it was too good to be true. Elle Crowley has the reputation of spilling all the gossip on the coaches and other players. It’s a well-known fact that Nash cheats on her with anyone from fans to cheerleaders. Maybe the article should be called “Why the hell would you stay married to someone who treats you like that?”
I get it. Now that I have the reputation for telling the brutal honest truth. I guess I fall into the category of “smut reporter.” This is not the direction I want my career to go but I can’t pass up a feature. Plus, I can’t tell my boss I’m not willing to write the article she’s assigned me. I mean, I’m a newbie field reporter. Hardly big enough to decide what assignments I’m willing to take and declining others.
“I’m familiar with Mrs. Crowley. I’ll give her a call and set up an interview.” I stand up and hold out my hand. “Thank you again for this opportunity.”
“I know you’ll do a wonderful job. Please update me on your progress. The article will be due back to me in two weeks. Keep up the good work.” She turns away and goes back to her work as if I’ve already left the room.
I flash a smile and head to my cubicle. Ugh, it’s like a double-edged sword. There’s no way I can pass up this opportunity but I can’t write everything Elle Crowley says. I mean, I’d have the whole team and probably most of their fans ready to kill me. Plus, what if she’s not telling the whole truth. Sure, I can quote her directly, and I’m definitely recording everything she says, but I don’t want to put any untruths out there. Now I see why journalists filter their interviews. Sometimes you just can’t write it all.
I’m on the fast track to writing for a magazine in the checkout aisle of the grocery store. I can see the headline now “Woman has Elvis’s love child years after his death, by Ali Whitman.” I can’t do this again for ratings or to get people to read a periodical. I’m right back in high school writing the article about Josh and the tragedy in a small town. Sure, it made the local paper, but I’m not about to let myself go through this again. I’m not putting it all on the line just because it’s what the public wants to know.
***
Why does everything great in life have to come with a catch? Hard work definitely pays off, but it’s like there’s a curse associated with success. A dark force refuses to let you be completely happy. Or it lets you have it all and then rips it away after giving you a taste of what total bliss feels like. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life trying to get back an ounce of that euphoria just once more. Maybe the devil will show up and offer me a contract for my soul.
“Greasy food and bottom shelf cocktails? Should I even ask how the meeting with your boss went?” Chloe wipes a few crumbs off the booth and slides inside.
I drag a fry through a mound of ketchup on my plate. “I got a feature article.”
“Oh my God. You did it.” Chloe quietly claps. “Why aren’t we drinking champagne? Let’s split and head somewhere more appropriate for an occasion like this.”
I shake my head. “All I want to do is down this mammoth strawberry margarita and indulge myself in charred beef and cheese.”
Chloe sits back against the booth. “Why aren’t you jumping up and down and screaming through the streets? Is your article about clogging arteries and you need research?” She snickers.
“Explain to me how Cinderella not only gets her shoe back but also marries the prince and lives happily ever after, no catches.”
“Oh darling, Cinderella doesn’t have your talent.” She sips my margarita. “And I heard the prince is lousy in the sack.”
We both burst out laughing.
She puts her hand over mine. “What’s up with the article?”
I exhale loudly. “Well, she loved the Devil’s Garden piece and praised me for being brutally honest.”
Chloe raises her hand to get a waitress’s attention and points to my margarita. “I’ll have one of those.” She props her hand on her chin. “Sounds good so far.”
I nod. “And that’s when everything went south.”
“How does getting a feature upset you? I mean, you wanted this forever.”
The waitress brings Chloe her drink.
“Yeah, but now I’m known as the smut reporter of Entertainment Rocks! You know, the one who tells all and doesn’t sugar coat the truth.”
She sips her drink. “A reputation for being gritty and truthful. That all sounds awesome.”
“My assignment is to do a tell-all article with Elle Crowley. You know, the one married to Nash.”
Chloe covers her mouth and then drops her hand. “The one who called the cops on their coach after he left a victory dinner and ended up getting him charged with a DUI.”
I nod. “Yep, best not to piss her off.” I gulp my drink. “My boss wants me to be brutally honest and I’m sure the readers are dying to hear what she has to say, but I’ve got to watch my back too.”
If I could do it all over again, I’d scrap the Devil’s Garden article and write something everyone involved loves. Repeating history won’t make things any different. Not with my career, not with Tyler, and not with me. What would he think of me if I did exactly what I said I wished I hadn’t, write another article without taking everything into account?
Chloe steals a fry. “I see it this way. Write the article as you see fit. It’s still going to be the feature, you make your own reputation. No one assigns one to you.”
Easier said than done. Jane can pull the article or worse, fire me. “I have to get through the interview with her first. Then I’ll make that decision.”
“Sounds like a plan, don’t worry until you have to.” She flashes a smile. “Okay, now spill it. How’d you score a date with the hottie?”
Ah, the other half of my complicated life. “The short version. We were trapped in an elevator together when he came to demand answers about the article. Almost succumbed to our animal passions while looking death in the eye, made it out unscathed until I agreed to apologize to the band. And dealt with the wrath of Jenna Crane, the guitar player’s wife, and ran out crying. Then Tyler chased me down and asked me out.”
“Wow, that’s fabulous. Sounds like a Lifetime movie.” She taps her fingers on her glass. “So, where’s this going?”
I shrug. “It’s just dinner. Normally I get that first, but I blame you for shoving all those shots down my throat.”
“I can’t stand in the way of destiny.” She winks. “Seriously, you must like him.”
I mean, he’s gorgeous, sexy, and the perfect mix of bad-boy rocker meets small town boy. He’s the first man that’s ever come close to making me feel a hint of what I once did ages ago in another lifetime. Even though I know there are a million reasons to stay away, and an abundance of obstacles, I can’t
wait to see him again.
“He’s fun to hang out with.” I hold back a smile.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” She smirks. “It’s okay to like a guy. It’s been forever you know.”
I look down at my plate and then back up at her.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” She fidgets with her fingers. “You deserve to be happy and if Tyler is fun and cool to hang out with go for it.” She sips her margarita. “Plus, he’s super-hot.”
I chuckle. “And he has a flashy car, very Hollywood.”
“Okay, enough of the greasy food and heavy conversation. Let’s celebrate your hot article and even hotter date.” She throws two twenties on the table. “Time for some shopping. Let’s get Cinderella ready for the ball.”
Am I ready for all of this? New city, new clothes, new Ali… but somehow it all seems the same. Is the ghost of Ali past about to haunt me?
CHAPTER 8—DATE?
How can Tyler have the ability to turn me into a disorganized mess? I mean, he asks me out, my brain ceases all functioning, and I say yes, and here I am waiting for him to take me God knows where. A girl needs a clue as to where she’s going so she can decide what to wear.
I glance at the clock, 6:50 p.m. Great, I’m going on this date naked. I rummage through my closet trying to find an outfit that’s appropriate for everything. If I can invent one, I can retire tomorrow.
Okay, last time he took me to a diner, so I doubt he plans on hitting a five-star restaurant. Tyler’s low key, casual, more about the experience than the venue. Not the typical L.A. guy even though he can probably fit in anywhere. Is it because he’s in a band or just amazingly versatile? He’s so different from any other guy I’ve met. Mysterious yet transparent and can set your soul on fire with one look into those baby blues. I’m in way over my head, like always.
I’ve got it. I throw on my turquoise sundress and silver sandals. The doorbell chimes through the quiet apartment. I hop on one foot while trying to fasten my sandal and take a quick glance in the mirror. One day I’m actually going to be ready early. I smear on desert rose lipstick and smack my lips together. It’s go time.
