by JA Huss
I would be scared to death to walk anywhere here, let alone be pregnant and dragging a suitcase.
My heart is beating fast even though I realize this is irrational. “Don’t be stupid, Grace,” I tell myself. “You’re not lost. You’re one block away from Beverly and you have a help button on your rear-view mirror if you need it. Just make the next right turn and it will dump you back where you were.”
I finally come to another street where I can turn right, but as soon as I make that turn, I realize it dead-ends at a large apartment building.
There’s a few groups of people hanging out in front of it, talking and laughing. So I just pretend like I belong and pull into the first driveway so I can turn around.
“Nice car,” a young teenage boy calls out. He says it loud enough that I can hear it through my closed window. Loud enough to make every head turn to see what he’s talking about.
I ignore them all, but internally I’m wondering how frightened I have to be to push that little panic button.
I would be mortified if I had to use that.
Instead I just put it in reverse, do a two-point turn, and pull back out onto the road so I can backtrack my route. I really don’t want to turn back onto that street where all the crowds of people were. It looked like a neighborhood you see in movies where drug dealers hang out on the corner.
I see that girl again. The pregnant one with the suitcase, only now there’s a boy with her and they are fighting. She screams obscenities at him, and just my luck I get stuck at a red light in front of their bus stop.
“What the fuck you looking at, bitch?” the boy yells at me when he notices my stare.
I turn my head away quickly. Please, please, please turn green.
And the next thing I know the girl is screaming. She’s on the ground and there’s blood coming out of her mouth.
I honk my horn. The boy flips me off. I open my door. “Stop that or I’ll call the police! Stop that!” He’s still hitting her and she’s curled up on the ground protecting her belly.
“You want some too, bitch?” the boy says, turning to me. “Get back in your car before I knock your teeth out.”
I get out and close my door. “Knock my teeth out?”
“Oh, you want some, huh, bitch?”
I squint my eyes at him. He’s about five foot ten. Not too tall. Skinny. Maybe one sixty. And his eyes are blazing with anger.
I look at the girl on the ground. She’s still crying and bleeding, but she’s trying to get up. A few people have appeared from nowhere. They stand close by, but do not try to help her. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” I ask the girl. “I can take you so you don’t have to wait for the bus.”
“She ain’t goin’ nowhere, bitch.”
I look at that boy and wish I could knock his teeth out. “I didn’t ask you. I asked her.”
“I speak for her. Now get, before me and my boys take your pretty blonde ass around the building and keep you for ourselves.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I take a step forward. “Oh really? You think you’re gonna take me somewhere against my will? Because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been there, done that, my friend. And I’d like to see you fucking try.”
He just stares at me, then looks over to some other boys who might be his buddies. They don’t say shit. He’s on his own. “She ain’t going. Tell this bitch you staying here, Rosa.”
“You know what, Rosa?” I never take my eyes off this little punk who thinks hitting girls and threatening to kidnap them is just another day in his life. “I don’t know who this guy is, but I do know he’s an asshole. So if you’d like to get the hell out of this place right now, all you gotta do is say so and I’ll take you.”
The punk looks over his shoulder at Rosa, then back at me. “She’s stayin’.”
“I’m not staying,” Rosa finally says. “I’m not staying.” She grabs her suitcase and starts pulling it towards my car. There’s a whole line of cars behind me, watching this whole scene go down. I’m surprised they aren’t honking. I suppose the YouTube possibilities trump getting where they are going on time.
Rosa approaches the punk, clearly scared to walk past him, so I take a few steps forward with my hand out to encourage her. “Come on.” She tries to hurry past him, but just before she gets clear, his hand darts out and cracks her in the face one more time.
I flip out. I lunge forward, covering the few paces that separate us, and hurl myself at that asshole’s back. He flies forward from the momentum and crashes to the ground. And that hammerfist to the neck that was next to useless against a raging, adrenaline-pumped Derek Hauser back in Nebraska does the trick for this stupid kid who thinks the world is his to hurt.
I pound his neck three times, enough to stun him and make him stay down, and then I jump up and grab Rosa’s hand and pull her towards my car.
People clap as I shove her suitcase into the backseat and she climbs into the passenger side. The light is red again, but I don’t care. Everyone in all directions is stopped to watch the scene unfold, so I look both ways and take off.
“Oh my God,” the girl says. “I’m shaking so bad.”
I look over at her as she holds her hands out in front of her ample belly. They are indeed shaking very badly.
“Just relax, OK? Do you know how to get out of this neighborhood? Because I’m lost.”
She just stares at me.
“What?”
“Lady, I’m so lucky you got lost. He said he was gonna kill me for trying to leave.”
I look over at her and study her face, streaked with blood and tears.
Do people really mean that? I mean, when a teenager says he’ll kill you if you leave, does he mean that? Or is it just posturing? Is she just supposed to cower and give in to him? Or is she supposed to take his threat seriously and fight back with all her might?
It’s confusing. Too confusing to think about right now. “Where should I take you? Do you have a place?”
“Turn left here, then just go straight. I’m going to a place in Silver Lake. A home for abused women. They said they’d help me.”
I let out a long breath and remind myself.
#IAmNotTheGirlWithTheWorldsBiggestProblems
Chapter One-Hundred-Six - Grace
#HowDoYouKissTheInvisibleMan
I DROP Rosa off at the home for abused women in Silver Lake, and in repayment, she explains how not to end up in Westlake again.
I’m very grateful for that. What I did was stupid. But it’s hard to feel bad about it when it feels so good to help this girl.
I give her the cash I have in my wallet, which is not much. Seventy-two dollars. But her face lights up like I just handed her a million bucks.
And then I make my way to the studio. Not to ambush Vaughn, but to hug him and say I’m sorry for being so difficult. I am not the girl with the world’s biggest problems. Maybe I was that girl once. (Or twice.) But I’m not her now. I’m lucky. I’m married to a great guy. I have a large home, lots of money, a car that doesn’t break down, friends, family, and good health.
I’m so, so lucky.
When I get to the gate, the security guard nods at some hanging thing on my rear-view that Vaughn must’ve placed in here the other day and waves me through with a, “Good evening, Mrs. Asher.”
That’s it. That’s all it takes to get on the lot. I expected a little more resistance, but I guess being Mrs. Asher has a lot of perks. I barely remember how to get back to Vaughn’s movie set, but I manage to find the parking lot and locate his trailer from a distance.
I try there first, but it’s locked.
“You looking for Mr. Asher?” an attendant asks me.
“Yes, please. Do you know where he is?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s on set right now. They are almost done. Do you want to wait here or have me take you in to watch from the observation room?”
I hesitate. I’m not sure.
“No one’s in there,” he explains. “It’s a sensiti
ve scene today. Only required personnel allowed on set. So you’d have the place to yourself if you want to watch.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not sure I can handle much more public scrutiny.
We enter the building and I’m led down a long hallway. There’s no stage in sight. No people in sight, either. He points to a door and then opens it for me. “It’s down the hall and to the left. They can’t hear you from this far away and you won’t be interfering if you just stay back.”
I nod and walk through the door alone and find myself in a dimly lit hallway. I can hear a few voices further down so I follow that until I reach a black curtain. Peeking through, I can see the set. It’s incredible. It looks like an actual city street alley with a side of a building, complete with a fire escape as the backdrop.
There’s lots of talking at the moment. People are laughing and joking. Vaughn is not in view. I lean against the wall and consider if I’m being overly dramatic about my recent experience.
I mean, I’m fine. Yeah, it got a little dicey for a few minutes, but I’m fine. My heart is not beating fast anymore. I’ve calmed down from the scare, and now I’m feeling more ridiculous than anything.
I’m just about to turn around and say forget it when I hear his voice. It’s booming and boisterous and a smile immediately forms on my face. God, I love him.
He walks out onto the set dressed in a suit, like he was at a party. His face, which is usually invisible in post-production, is clearly visible now. In fact, he looks a lot like the man I met on the beach the night of Samantha’s wedding.
I have not thought about that night in months, but now it hits me how far we have come from those first arguments on the island.
God, I was such a bitch to him. I smile as I watch that same man on set in front of me. He was more patient than he should’ve been. Especially that weekend. And I was so scared of what he represented to me. The control was frightening.
And now he’s more aloof than I’m comfortable with.
It’s probably my fault, but that doesn’t make me wish for a do-over any less. I wish I was back on that beach right now, experiencing him for the first time again.
His co-star, Valencia Cruz, joins him in the scene. She’s his ex-girlfriend from his teen years.
She’s very beautiful. She’s wearing a gold gown. They must’ve just come out of some kind of a ball in this part of the script. She’s very exotic, like Bebe. Long, dark hair. Striking amber eyes. Olive skin. And a body most eighteen-year-old girls would be jealous of, even though she’s about the same age as Vaughn.
They talk briefly on set, and then there’s a call for quiet and the stage people do their thing.
I strain to hear what’s happening, I’m not really that close, but my whole world goes silent when I witness what happens next.
They are kissing.
Vaughn leans in, cupping her face, his mouth covering hers in a kiss so passionate I almost want to faint from the steam. I move a little closer to get a better look. As he kisses her, it feels familiar. It feels like he’s kissing her the way he kisses me.
Then his hands are all over her body, grasping at her tits, her ass, and then he roughly grabs one of her gown straps and pulls until it breaks. He yanks her dress down, exposing her breasts, all the while his mouth never stops its assault on her lips.
I’m stunned. I’m picturing our rough sex the other night and I swear to God, I think he uses some of these moves on me!
I’ve watched him kiss countless women on screen, but he wasn’t my husband. I turn and walk away, following the dimly lit hallway back to where I entered, then make my way outside.
It’s dark now. I click the keychain and my car beeps, so I head in that direction, still trying to process what I saw and how I feel about it.
I sit in the car for a few moments trying to wrap my head around things.
This is his job. I realize that, but I can’t come to terms with the idea that my husband gets to have a rough makeout session with his ex-girlfriend and call it work.
I program the GPS for home, just in case I get lost again, and then drive off the lot. Security waves to me as I leave, but I can’t even pretend to be normal and wave back.
The drive home brings me no clarity. In fact I’m more confused than ever. I don’t feel like going to that Black Bash, but I feel… duped for some reason. I feel like there’s a whole other world that exists outside my little bubble of isolation. Like the Twitter stuff. It’s a world where people are talking about me. Like the Tiffany’s stuff. A world where people recognize me in a city where I know like four people with any amount of intimacy.
And what else are they saying? How much of what they are saying are things I don’t know about?
I pull into the garage just as my phone dings. A text from Vaughn.
Still working late. Don’t wait up.
Yeah, don’t wait up, my ass. I grab my shopping bags and take them inside, passing by Vaughn’s office to get to our bedroom. The phone rings in there just as I pass.
Figures. More things to make me uneasy.
I drop the bags off on the bed and head back to the office just as the message starts to play.
“Vaughn?” a woman asks on the other line—Valencia? “We’re still on for tonight, right? I wasn’t sure if you were still into it. So I’m gonna assume you are. Meet you at the Bash. You’re still Bogart, I’m still Bacall.” The message ends.
Wow. Just wow. My husband is going to this big party after denying it in front of everyone yesterday at Thanksgiving dinner, and not only that, he’s going dressed up as one half of an iconic Hollywood movie couple. And I’m not the other half.
I take a deep breath.
I’m going to that party. I need to know why my husband is acting so strange. I need to know what this Black Bash is all about. And I feel like Vaughn is trying to hide it from me. Maybe it’s something personal with him. Or maybe he’s trying to protect me. But either way, I don’t want to be left out of his life because he thinks I can’t handle things.
He’s been there for me, so if this is about him, then I want to return that gesture.
And if it’s about me… then I want to fight my own battles.
I like the prince, but I’m not helpless and that’s how I feel right now.
I rummage through my closet until I find the Halloween outfit Vaughn bought me. We went to Larry’s house for a party, but ended up going home after a few hours since I was not really up for parties back then.
I pull it out. It’s Cleopatra. He was dressed as Mark Antony. This is the only costume I have, so it will have to do.
I squeeze into it, crushing my girls into the bustier, and turn to look at myself in the mirror. That makes me smile. Because I look damn good in this costume. I grab the accessories—an elaborate headdress, some costume jewelry, a black wig with pretty beaded braids. And then I do the heavy eye makeup à la Elizabeth Taylor.
If Vaughn is going as one half of an iconic Hollywood couple, I’m going as Cleopatra.
I grab my phone, pull up the invitation via email, and then head to the car.
I have no idea what is happening at this party tonight, but I’m definitely going to find out.
I get in the car and program the address into the GPS and then head out. The place is in downtown, and it’s actually not far from where I got lost this afternoon. But I’m not gonna let fear prevent me from going.
I need to figure out what’s going on.
Chapter One-Hundred-Seven - Vaughn
#StarOfShameThatsMe
“HOW do I look?” I ask Valencia.
“Perfect, as always, Vaughn.” she coos. “But”—she’s frowning now—“I think it’s a bad idea. I mean, what if Grace finds out?”
“Grace is at home. Where she’s been for the last three months. I told her not to wait up for me.”
Val nods and hits send on the email. “OK, then here it is. Two access codes to the Black Bash. But don’t say I didn’t warn you
tomorrow when this shit hits the fan.”
“Thank you so much.” I check my email and when it comes in, I download both attachments and forward one directly to my date and then turn to go.
“Hey,” Val calls after me.
“What?” I say, still walking towards the studio door. I’m already late since filming went on longer than expected and I just want to get to the party.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I don’t even turn back. “I do, Val. I do.”
I say that with a confidence I don’t feel though. Because while I know what goes on at a Black Bash, I’ve never been the guest of honor before. And tonight, I am.
The drive downtown is stop and go, as is typical on Friday nights, and by the time I get there, it’s nearly ten o’clock.
I pull into the old building’s garage entrance and flash my access code via phone at the man with the scanner. This place is about to be torn down to make room for some trendy new lofts, so I’m sure the Bash organizers figured it was the perfect place for a party.
The location is never the same from year to year. It’s all very hush-hush until after Halloween and then that’s all anyone in Hollywood is talking about—the stars afraid they will be the ones on display that year, and the media excited to get even with celebrities who may have treated them badly.
One person each year is the guest of honor. The epitome of bad behavior. The one person who deserves to be shamed above all others.
And this year it’s me.
That Buzz bitch has had it in for me for more than a decade. She blames me for what happened. And no matter how many times I tried to explain myself back then, she never accepted my apology.
Threatening that editor a few months back was probably a big mistake, but it felt good to use my status and power to fuck up her plan of getting an interview out of me.
I drive up to the top level of the parking garage and park the car. Another set of headlights flashes at me from down the row, and I get out and adjust my suit.
