Social Media

by JA Huss

  LA, you’ve got five ways to get somewhere, and all five ways are clogged with cars going the same way. I’m just not comfortable driving alone yet.

  I could call someone. But everyone I know has a job.

  I ponder things for a few moments, my eyes sweeping the room. I get up and feed the fish. Now that the tank is clean, I realize there’s a turtle in there. He’s soaking up some UV rays under the sun lamp. That makes me smile for ten seconds.

  It’s hot out today, so the wall of windows is closed and I have the air-conditioning on. I could go swimming. But that’s about all I’ve done for the past few months.

  I plop back down on the couch and grab the tablet from the coffee table. I could go on Twitter. Jesus, I haven’t been on Twitter since the kidnapping. I haven’t even thought about Twitter. My account was deleted, but the police made them put it back up so they could monitor it. I just never bothered to delete it again.

  I navigate to the web and type in my profile link and then log in.

  I have so many messages, it says 99+ in the message tab. Same thing for the notifications. I check the messages first, because those are probably all from the Filthy Blue Birds. I scroll all the way down my list and start reading chronologically. Mostly it’s a bunch of messages asking if I’m OK. Those are all timestamped the morning they found out I was missing. Then they get weird. Like some of them thought I was dead and were saying their goodbyes.

  Creepy.

  I click out of messages and go to notifications, and glance at the first one on top. A blue link appears above that notification, indicating that I have five new ones. What the hell? People are talking to me right now?

  The first one makes little sense to me. It’s part of a conversation tagged with my @FilthyBlueBird handle. All it says is—You’re so right. It’s from someone I have never heard of.

  I click the conversation link to see what they are talking about.

  Editor @Realreporter00 - 15 min

  @GrapevineHW You’re wrong. Asher is about done with his @FilthyBlueBird.

  I hate reading Twitter conversations because you get the last message first, so you never know what the fuck is going on until you hunt down the original message. Which doesn’t seem to be included in this set of tweets.

  I close out of that one and go down further, to tweets more than fifteen minutes old. I swear. I must look through a hundred messages before I find the one that sparked this convo. It was five hours ago and it came from @Buzz1Hollywood. That right there should tell me to leave it alone, but I’m human. If people are talking about me, I need to see it.

  Editor @Realreporter00 - 5 hrs

  Who wants to see @FilthyBlueBird doing the dirty solo for her man? We got the goods. Twitter pics are not private, Blue Bird.

  Holy fuck. I want to stop myself, but I can’t. I have to know for sure. I scroll through every single notification looking for the “goods” but after hours of searching—like seriously, it’s after eight and the only reason I stop is because I hear the garage door open—I don’t find anything.

  I do find several dozen references in the Buzz Hollywood feed to the Black Bash, which is happening this Friday.

  Were they lying? Do they have these pictures or not? I’d forgotten all about that night we were phone- and Twitter-sexing back in Denver. It feels like years ago. How could I have known back then what my life would become in a few short months?

  “Grace!” Vaughn calls out as he enters from the garage. I slap the cover closed on the tablet and stick it behind a cushion. He rounds the corner just as I cross my legs and look guilty. “What’re ya doing, Princess?”

  “Waiting for you to get home.”

  He grins widely at me and then joins me on the couch. “I missed you so much today,” he says, drawing me into his arms and nuzzling my neck.

  Aww.

  And before I can even tell him I missed him more, he’s got his hand up my shirt.

  I should tell him about the pictures, but hell, I just want to soak up his attention. I’m so ready for company.

  “Wanna go out to eat tonight? I got us reservations at Mastro’s.” He kisses me, his tongue doing a twisty little dance inside my mouth.

  “Please, get me out of this house.”

  He scoops me up and carries me to the garage door, then bends down. “Grab those flip flops.”

  “I can’t go like this!”

  “Hell, yes, you can. I’m starving for steak. And you, sweets. I need nourishment and girly conversation right now, or I might die. Grab them and let’s go.”

  I grab the flops and he sweeps me into the garage and places me in his 911, dragging the seatbelt across my lap as he kisses me.

  When he closes my door I sigh. He’s so perfect.

  And I don’t want to ruin our night with talk of the media, so I’ll tell him about the tweets tomorrow.

  I just want to enjoy my fairytale life for now.

  Chapter One-Hundred-One - Grace

  #ThisCastleIsMine

  “YOU’RE nervous?” Vaughn asks as we drive through the gates of his parents’—my in-laws’—palatial Beverly Hills estate.

  “Of course I’m nervous. Your entire family is here.” Thanksgiving at the Chambers house was a low-key affair. It was buffet-style. We ate on the couch some years. They didn’t have a lot of family, and what they did have lived on the East Coast. It was not extravagant.

  “Yeah, but they are pretty cool, Grace. We’re all close. And besides, you saw most of them at the wedding.”

  “Oh, God. Please tell me all those people won’t be here.” My stomach twists from my nerves.

  “Of course not, sweets. Only about a hundred or so.”

  “What?”

  “I’m kidding.” He reaches over to squeeze my leg as he pulls in the circular driveway and waits for the valet to come.

  Vaughn exits the car while my door is opened for me. I’m just about to take the offered hand of the valet when Vaughn sneaks his hand in. “Princess,” he says with a grin as he helps me out of the low-riding sports car. “Welcome back to the castle. No film crews are here this time.”

  I roll my eyes at him and we walk towards the front door. It’s already open, there’s a butler-looking man in formal attire standing guard, and his mother. He says she meets him at the door whenever he comes over, and he was not kidding. Who knew Vaughn Asher was a mama’s boy?

  She kisses him on the cheek, then me, chatting about food and family. I swallow hard and cling to Vaughn’s hand as I’m led into the expansive living room. It’s got a huge cathedral ceiling with dozens of windows covered in elegant draperies. The back yard is not a water park like ours. It has a pool, but it also has manicured gardens, and of course, the pool house where Felicity is staying.

  There are children running everywhere and double the amount of grown-ups.

  “How are you feeling, Grace?” Vaughn’s mother asks. He calls her Mom. I know her name is Dana, but somehow I can’t bring myself to call her either of those things.

  “I’m much better, thank you.” That’s about all I can manage.

  “Well, we’re ready to eat now that you’re here. So let’s go get settled in the dining room.”

  “We’re late?” I ask in Vaughn’s ear.

  “On time for food and conversation, darling. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed, so I said we’d only come for dinner.”

  Well, that was thoughtful.

  Mrs. Asher takes my arm and leads me forward. “The children are all eating outside, it’s a tradition, so don’t worry. It will be a nice calm experience for you.”

  Vaughn snorts behind me.

  She drops me off at the table set for a bazillion people and points to the little cards with everyone’s name on them. “I do arranged seating to liven things up. You’re here, sweetie.”

  Mr. Asher—Adam, for some reason I feel OK calling him that. Maybe because he’s a movie star and I’ve heard it so often—is talking in a booming voice as he leads an entou
rage of relatives towards the table.

  Vaughn’s calming hand is on my back as he pulls out my chair. “Sit, princess. I’m right across from you, so don’t worry.”

  I look up at his concerned expression and give him a smile. “I’m OK.” I sit as he pushes my chair in, and then I arrange my napkin on my lap.

  “Yo, Grace!” Felicity calls as she enters. “I’m next to you, sister.” We are in the middle of the table, with Adam at the head to my right, and Mrs. Asher at the head to my left. Thankfully, Samantha is sitting on the other side of me, so I’m flanked by the only two people I really know here.

  I love Mrs. Asher and her seating chart.

  “Conner?” Vaughn says as his brother takes a seat across from Felicity. I watch my husband assess that situation. He’s in denial about this and I have to stifle a small chuckle. I’m not sure if Conner and Felicity are dating, per se, but they are definitely up to something. Vaughn’s eyes shift back and forth between the two as a waiter reaches behind him to take a crystal flute and fill it with champagne. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “About what?” Conner is swiping his fingers across his smartphone, not even paying attention.

  Vaughn opens his mouth to add something snide when Tray appears to his right. “What the fuck—”

  “Vaughn,” his mother chastises.

  “We’re dating, V,” Samantha says as she eyes her husband with a strained smile. Or maybe he is her ex-husband and they are going for a do-over? I’m not sure. But it’s none of my business. I heard Tray was the first link in the chain to getting me back, so I’m not upset with him at all.

  The whole room is filled with talking and laughter as everyone settles into their places and then Adam taps his spoon on his water glass. “It’s been a blessed year for the Asher family. We’ve had two marriages, no deaths, and two new babies.”

  The room goes quiet and everyone looks at me. No deaths and two new babies. I’m not sure that’s accurate, so I just sigh.

  Adam clears his throat to ease the uncomfortable moment and bring everyone’s attention back to him. And then he smiles at the two women cuddling newborns. The men across from them beam proudly. I can only assume they are cousins of Vaughn’s.

  I look away quickly and adjust the linen napkin on my lap one more time.

  “And Grace,” Adam says, directing everyone’s attention back to me. My face gets hot and my nose starts to tingle. I don’t want to cry here. I seem to be extra sensitive to crying these days and I really don’t want to cry here.

  “You are the perfect wife for my son. So strong and sweet. Intelligent and beautiful. We’re sorry we missed your wedding. Perhaps you will let us have a party for you when you’re feeling up to it?”

  There’s a chorus of yeses from around the table and my eyes get teary. But then I look across the table at Vaughn and his smile gives me strength. “Thank you,” I manage. “I feel so lucky to be part of this…” And then it hits me what I’ve got here. “Family.” They all go quiet to see if I’ll say anything else. And I’m about to just shut up and let the moment pass when Vaughn seizes control.

  “That’s what we are, Grace. And you’re part of it now. I know we’re crazy and we’re far from typical, but you’re stuck with us, sweets. Forever.” He raises his glass and waits for everyone to catch up with his toast. I raise mine too, as I stare into his blue eyes. “I love you, Mrs. Asher.”

  Everyone cheers and clinks glasses at that and I raise my glass to my husband and mouth, “Thank you.”

  The blessing is said and then the servers enter with plates of covered food. Conversation begins and we all settle in for the feast. Sam and Felicity chat with me. Vaughn is attentive and happy. Various aunts and uncles and cousins pepper me with tidbits of information about one another, trying for embarrassment.

  And it all hits home.

  I have a new family.

  I will never forget my real parents or my brother. I will always be grateful and love the Chamberses for taking me in when I needed them most.

  But it’s time to start my own family. And this is where it begins.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Two - Vaughn

  #ImInDenialAndIDontCare

  “SO, Felicity,” I ask, once we are all settled in with dinner. “How’s school? I never see you anymore.”

  “Oh, Felicity,” Grace says, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. “You should just come home. I hate that you’re not there.”

  Felicity gives her a tight smile, then looks at… Conner.

  I look at Conner and catch him in a shrug.

  What the fuck?

  I’m about to open my mouth when Felicity beats me to it. “I’m good, ya know? Living here in the pool house. Working for Conner.”

  “Wait, what? How did I not know you’re working for Conner?”

  “Don’t be silly, V,” she laughs. “You know I’m working with Conner. We did Grace’s case together.”

  “Yeah, but that was months ago.”

  “She’s a good worker, V,” Conner says as he stuffs his face with turkey. “I loooove”—and he drags that word out for an unnecessarily long time—“having her around.” And then that asshole actually clicks his tongue and winks at her. At my Felicity!

  I look over at her and… “Oh my God. Are you blushing, Felicity?”

  She giggles nervously as she plays with her mashed potatoes. “No.”

  Grace kicks me under the table, but when I look down, I can see Conner’s foot touching Felicity’s leg.

  I turn my head to glare and he grins across the table at my daughter.

  “That is so wrong. Conner, I fucking warned you,” I seethe into his ear to avoid a scene. “I asked you specifically if you were—”

  “We’re not,” he says back, still keeping his voice low.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “But we’re considering it.”

  I drop my fork on my plate with a clang. “You are not. She’s your niece.”

  Conner snorts. “She’s not my niece, you perv. She’s not even related by marriage.”

  “Um,” Felicity says from across the table. “I’m right here.”

  “Well,” Tray says next to me, “I think they are perfect together.”

  “How the hell would you know?” I turn to ask him.

  “We double-date all the time.”

  “What? Since when? You’re not even part of this family.”

  “Vaughn.” Sam’s foot finds my shin under the table as well. “Knock it off, you ass. He’s still my husband. Felicity and Conner have been dating for weeks. We go out every weekend. You’re the only one who doesn’t know.”

  I look around and everyone is nodding. “I’m stunned. I’m at a loss for words. I’m—”

  “In denial,” Grace says with a smug smile.

  Everyone laughs and then they go back to eating.

  “I’m glad you all think this is acceptable.”

  “V, I’m almost twenty-one—”

  “And he’s twenty-seven, Felicity!” Dear God, I might have to strangle my brother at Thanksgiving dinner.

  “We’re just hanging out, anyway. No big deal.”

  “No big—”

  “Hey,” Samantha says loudly. “I’ve been hearing lots of rumors about the Black Bash this year. What’s going on there? Do you know?”

  Fucking hell. I can’t get a break. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” I look over at Grace and she’s way too attentive.

  “What’s the Black Bash?” she asks before I can think of some lifesaving interjection.

  “Oh, you don’t want to know,” Sam laughs. “It’s a horrible tradition. Every Black Friday the tabloids throw a masquerade party. Everyone dresses in the theme and wears a mask so no one knows who shows up for this repulsive invasion of privacy.”

  “What do they do?” my sweet princess asks with horror.

  “It’s nothing, Grace.” I shoot Sam a glare that says shut the fuck up. But the
n Conner is talking on the other side of me.

  “I hear they’ve got Sam’s video in one room.”

  “I don’t care,” Sam says bravely. “Tray and I have talked about it. We’re making another video this Christmas Eve. To finish what we started last year. Let them show it to whoever they want. My secret is out and I’ve come to accept my condition for what it is. A challenge to be overcome, not a disability to be afraid of. They have no power over me now.”

  I love my sister.

  “Were you invited, Vaughn?” Felicity asks.

  I shake my head no. “I would never go see that filth. Even in disguise.”

  I look over at Grace, but her gaze is difficult to read. I take that as disinterest and quickly move the conversation into neutral territory so everyone will drop the talk of the Black Bash. But my mind is not at ease. That party is tomorrow night. And I’ve already been warned several times that there’s something big brewing.

  I swallow down the guilt for my actions all those years ago and put on my stage smile.

  I’m an actor. It’s what I do.

  So I act happy.

  We finish dinner and take dessert outside in the children’s tent so we can watch the annual family talent show. Grace sits in my lap, her head on my chest as countless nieces and nephews play instruments, sing songs, act out parts of their favorite TV shows, and generally act silly.

  The servers come around with more coffee and I lean into Grace’s ear to ask if she’d like more, but her breathing is deep and even. She fell asleep.

  I scoop her up in my arms, say goodbye to my mother and aunts as I pass, and then get her in the car before she ever wakes up.

  “What’s happening?” she asks as I pull the seatbelt across her lap.

  “Time for bed, princess.” I shut her door and walk around to my side and get in.

  “But I never said thank you.”