by Evie Claire
Work to do, my ass.
I respond to Maria, and am so enamored with my back-page fame I almost forget to text Devon. Mainly because my brain has the capabilities of a rock right now. But once I’m dried off, I wrap the towel around me and grab my phone. How do I respond? I type and erase several options before deciding honesty is the best policy. I don’t want to play games anymore.
I meant every word I said. Half of you simply won’t do.
I haven’t the first clue where this budding maturity comes from. Normally his texts have me salivating and scheming up our next rendezvous. And there’s a huge part of me that wants nothing more than to fall into his arms. The larger part of me knows that’s only a temporary fix. I’ve got to play big-girl games to win this round. As much as ignoring him sucks, it’s the only way I’ve ever gotten his attention.
I pull on a brand-new Lululemon yoga outfit and run a comb through my hair. Am I going to work out? Hell no. But ridiculously expensive yoga pants are accepted as fashion these days. Who’s stupid enough to argue with that?
My phone bings again. I stare at the text, expecting some kind of groveling response. Instead, it’s a link to an article. Devon Hayes doesn’t pander to anyone. Even me. I click on the link and gasp when the headline pops up.
Carly Klein & THE MIGHTY FALL: The Awards Season Game Changers
It is the most ludicrously seductive thing I’ve ever read in my life. I’m not that good. I mean, I’m pretty fucking fabulous in a lot of ways. But as an actress, I’m nothing special. Am I? I skim the story, reading all about my unbelievably convincing portrayal of a medieval teenage concubine and admiring my blond-bombshell photos from last night.
I’m practically floating down the hallway, compliments of my big, overinflated ego, when I turn the corner and find Spence and Maria sitting together on the couch talking low over cups of coffee.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wrinkling my brow at Spence.
“I brought you girls coffee.” He nods at the cardboard gallon of Starbucks sitting on the counter. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“The award talk?” I give him a bigger-than-life smile.
“Yeah, way to go. You’ve officially become the toast of the town.” He raises his coffee mug in a salute.
I bow graciously and take a cup from the cabinet.
“You were all over the entertainment news shows last night. They loved you,” Maria adds. Guilt punches me square in the gut for not inviting my best wing-woman last night, but the studio would’ve totally lost it. I’ll find a way to make it up to her.
“Um...I don’t really remember leaving Bootsy’s.” I grimace when I sit down. Usually when I can’t remember things, it’s not a good sign. Spence cocks his head to the side.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Not really, but I think I should.”
“Well, you puked in my SUV and immediately passed out.” Spence says this matter-of-factly, like it’s all another day in the life.
“Sorry.” I wince. “Did I fuck up my outfit?”
“No. Thankfully, you insisted on stripping out of it right before you puked. The assistant came by earlier and got everything.”
“Good. What time is it?”
“Noon,” Maria answers with a bored expression.
My phone rings and I pull it from my sports bra. “Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “Hello, Jerrie. Sorry you couldn’t make it last night,” I say sarcastically. Why in the hell my agent didn’t come to the biggest screening of my life is beyond me. So what if she’s in New York? They make planes for that. I point at my phone and excuse myself to my bedroom for some privacy.
“Congratulations, Carly. Have you heard your award buzz?”
“In fact, I have. Devon just sent me an article from the Hollywood Reporter. Seems I’m America’s darling again.” I wince at using Devon’s name so casually, but Jerrie doesn’t seem to notice.
“That was nice. Did he mention they’ve moved up production on the second film?”
“No,” I answer, my voice ticking up in surprise.
“They want to capitalize on the buzz. You’re expected back on set next week.”
“Next week?” I repeat. Why didn’t he mention this last night? I mean, we didn’t do much talking, but I feel like something should have been said.
“Well, yeah. Sure. Has my advance cleared?” I ask nonchalantly as if money is my only concern.
“Yes. You should start getting regular checks by week’s end.”
“Good. And Maria’s is set up, too?”
“Yes, Carly, but I don’t like the idea of you funding her life.”
“Too bad. Maria is the only family I’ve got. She can have whatever she wants.”
Jerrie pauses for a moment, certainly trying to think of how she can drive the point home. I swear, if she tells me one more time about how she thinks Mike Tyson and MC Hammer lost all their money trying to help family I’m going to poke my eyeball out. I’m not them. They’re not me. Maria is family. That’s the end of the discussion.
“I’m sorry, Carly.” Jerrie’s voice, for the first time maybe ever, sounds truly sympathetic. Is this the best morning ever? Everyone is apologizing to me when I’m the one fucking things up. I knew how powerful an amazing film performance could be, but this is just crazy. I’m momentarily shocked, but I don’t miss a beat.
“You should be. It’s my money,” I say emphatically. Hell yeah, she should be sorry, telling me how to live my life. That’s not what I pay her for.
“No. I mean I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Dad? What about him?” Did I tell her about him showing up? No way. I forgot that as soon as I could. So what the hell is she talking about?
“You haven’t heard.” From the sound of her voice, I can see the blood draining from Jerrie’s face. She gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth, hitting the phone receiver in the process. “I thought you knew. I never would have...” Her fingers muffle her words.
“What, Jerrie?” My voice sounds all high and weird, so weird Maria comes running down the hallway to my room, Spence right on her heels.
“He’s gone. He was hit by a truck in front of the district attorney’s office this morning.”
My heartbeat pounds silent seconds off the clock. I’m stunned, eyes clicking all around, trying to find something to make what she is saying make sense. Because it doesn’t. I forget how to breathe, sucking in gasps of air and spitting them back out. He told me he was dying. Honestly, I thought he was lying. This is my dad, after all. And even though he hasn’t been part of my life for years, the realization that he will never be part of my life ever again is something that won’t stick inside my brain.
He’s dead. Dad’s dead. I can’t process it. All I can see are his eyes. His yellow, drugged-out, hooded, sad eyes that always remind me of me. He’s gone? No way.
“Dad’s...dead?” Every ounce of energy I have goes to balance the mess swirling in my brain. I sink to my knees, stunned by the realization.
“I’m so sorry,” Jerrie says. I don’t hear anything else. The phone slides from my hand to the floor. Maria picks it up and ends the call. Numbness takes over and I sit, staring straight ahead at white walls.
“Carly...” she says, not knowing what to say. Instead, she wraps her arms around me. We rock back and forth like little kids, our cheeks pressed together. It’s ridiculous that my father’s death has any kind of effect on me, but I don’t pull away. I just stare straight ahead. Spence is sitting on the bed. He’s pulled up the story on his phone and is now reading it aloud. “Jack Klein...district attorney’s office...hit by a truck...killed instantly.” I only hear the important words.
I push away from Maria, sitting back on my heels and hugging my knees to my chest, searching for any kind of emotion. Where�
�s the rage that used to boil through me at the mention of his name? The hate-filled rants that spewed from my mouth whenever anyone would listen? The anger. The hurt. The disgust. I want to feel something...anything. But I don’t. I’m not sad. I’m not angry. I’m not anything. I’m just numb.
I don’t care about my father. Not anymore. There was a time when his love was all I wanted. But that time is long gone. There was a time when him rotting in hell was all I wanted. But that time is gone, too. The only thing I share with him is DNA. But it’s not like I want to celebrate this either. He’s dead and that sucks...especially getting hit by a bus. But he’s dead and it’s not going to affect my life in the least. Until the other morning I hadn’t seen him in years. So much for making things right for me. Or whatever the hell he vowed he was going to do.
“Are you okay?” Maria asks, brushing my hair back and placing the coffee cup back in my hand.
“You know better than anybody how I feel about my dad,” I say, and she nods her head. “I just...I feel like I should care. But I don’t.” I shrug and look from her to Spence.
“That’s okay.” Maria nods encouragingly. “He doesn’t deserve anything from you that you don’t want to give him. If this is how you feel, that’s fine. What was he doing at the DA’s office?”
I smirk at her like she should know. “When has my father not been in trouble with the law?”
“True.” She nods and smacks her lips in agreement.
“I should go.” Spence stands and jerks a thumb toward the door. He looks uncomfortable as hell. I laugh and shake my head.
“Deserting me at a time like this?” I give him a bewildered look and he bites at an uneasy smile. “You can’t go.”
“Oh yeah?”
I shake my head again. “Nope. We have to send dear ole Dad off in style.”
“Okay, how do we do that?”
“We get fucked up.” I shrug lazily.
Chapter Eleven
“Safe and sound?” Maria asks from an ocean away.
“Yeah, just touched down in the unfabulous frozen north.” I exhale a steady stream of smoke and steam and crush my cigarette butt under the heel of my boot. “Did your check come in?”
“It did. I really don’t like taking your money, though.” Maria sighs again. She put up the biggest fight about me giving her money. So big I thought Jerrie had gotten to her. But I know it comes down to pride with Maria. Always has. I told her to use it as her backup fund when Ryan got too annoying and she needed to disappear.
“Good,” I answer, and light up another cigarette. These damn nicotine patches cannot even begin to touch the cravings I have after flying fifteen hours without a smoke. My life is pretty much in shambles right now. I slapped three medicated stickers on my arm, knocked back five airplane vodkas and ate a Unisom to pass out and ignore the need. Now I am standing outside in the snow burning an entire pack. Where the fuck is my ride? “Have you gotten in touch with any Realtors?”
“Doing that today. Just rentals, right?”
“Yep. WeHo, Los Feliz or Bel Air. Something nice with a yard and a pool. I’m sick of beige walls.”
“You got it. Oh, don’t forget to check the mail I tucked into your carry-on. Something in there looked official. See ya.” Maria kisses into the phone and hangs up.
Official? I rummage through my carry-on and find the letters right as a familiar black town car pulls to a stop in front of me. My heart stops. Is he in there? The front window rolls down.
“Miss Klein?” an accented man asks. I nod and he steps from the car to take my bags. Relief washes over me. Not that I don’t want to see him. I do. But he still hasn’t given me an answer. The few days between the party and today were a whirlwind, leaving little time to do anything but pack. Aside from late-night cryptic messages, I haven’t spoken to him. Other than texts like We can’t be over, or I’ll make this right, it’s been radio silence. Don’t get me wrong. I love getting messages like that. But I’ve held my ground. I refuse to be the other woman.
I was excited to get back to set. To get back to him. Until I stepped on the plane this morning. Our liaison is dangerous for my career and my heart. That much I know. And when he’s not with me I can be a rational human being about the whole thing. But all that rationale and sensibility will mean nothing the instant our flesh meets. We both know that.
“If you please.” The driver opens the door and waves me forward. I crash into the backseat, thankful for the warmth.
“Whoa!” a startled voice says. I nearly jump from my skin. What the hell? A similarly blonde girl about my age with a big toothy smile carefully protects her lapful of stuff when I slide in beside her and nearly take her out.
“Who the hell are you?” I bark, releasing a drag of smoke inside the car. She stifles a cough and waves the cloud away. I flick the cigarette, shut the door and run an appraising eye over the new girl.
“Jane Whitney.” She offers her hand and another smile. “I’m your new assistant.” She beams at me like we’re already lifelong besties.
“I didn’t hire you.” I shake my head.
“No, the studio did. How was your flight?” she asks, rummaging through her bag. She produces a packet of something and a bottle of smartwater. She empties the powder into the water and swirls it around until it dissolves. Then offers it to me. “It’s a vitamin C and B-complex boost. Should help with jet lag and any bugs you might’ve picked up on the plane.” I side-eye the cup. “Oh, and it’s lime flavored.” She smiles even wider, obviously knowing.
Assistant. I could get used to this. I accept the drink with a nod and take a tentative sip. Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.
“Jane, was it?” I ask. She nods. “Tell me what exactly it is you do for me.”
“Anything that will make your life easier. Whatever helps you focus on your role. I can do laundry, grocery shop, whatever.”
In my hand, I still hold the stack of letters Maria put in my bag. “Read these. Let me know what’s important.” I toss the stack into the space between us and lean back against the seat, still studying her. She seems nice enough. In a pinch she could be my stand-in on set, which might be why they hired her. Two for the price of one. Cheap bastards. She gets busy, opening the letters and reading through them one by one. I take the airplane vodka roadie I stashed in my jacket pocket and rip the top off. Her head snaps up at the sound and she watches wide-eyed while I down the entire thing in one chug. “Yes, I’m drinking again,” I answer defensively. “But I can handle it.”
“Of course you can.” Jane’s answer shocks me. I’m so used to everyone telling me why I can’t do things. Jane and I may be buds after all. She studies a letter for several minutes, then leans over and shares it with me.
“What’s that?” My eyes refuse to focus on the small print.
“It’s a summons from the L.A. County DA’s office requesting a statement.” Her voice drifts off as she continues reading. “Something to do with a Jack Klein?”
“Ugh,” I moan, and drag a hand down my face. “That asshole!” Only my dad would be irritating enough to leave me with shit to do after he’s gone. He couldn’t just die and be dead like normal people. He has to find a way to continue fucking up my life from the grave. “Send a copy of that to my attorney. Do you have his number?” Jane shakes her head. “Do you have Jerrie’s?” She nods. “Good. Jerrie can tell you where to send it. Just whatever. I don’t want to be bothered by it. Let the attorneys deal with it.” I wave my hand dismissively and slouch further down in the seat. “Wait, isn’t that our turn?”
“For what?” Jane asks.
“For the hotel.”
“Oh, right. You have a house this time.”
“A house?” This is unexpected but ridiculously welcome news.
“Security reasons,” she explains. “The
hotel is swarming with photographers.”
“Bastards.” I turn up the vodka and patiently wait for the last drop to drip onto my tongue.
“Your new housing is at an undisclosed location. It isn’t printed on any set material. This is Eddie.” She leans forward and pats the driver’s shoulder. “He’s your personal driver and the only one who knows your home base.”
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Klein,” Eddie says, nodding at me in the rearview mirror. His accent is unrecognizable. A holstered Glock rests on the passenger seat. What? This is crazy, but I do love it when a fuss is made over me. I return the solemn nod and then busy myself looking for some Chapstick. We slow and turn up a gated drive.
“Oh, this is cute!” I thought everything in the town was barren and bleak and just ugh. But this is nice—cozy and quaint, homey even. The sprawling compound includes several additional buildings with vast yards. A tall stone security fence surrounds everything. This is a life I could get used to. Eddie opens the door and ushers me in like I’m the Queen Mum before returning to get my bags. It’s totally overkill, but I’m enjoying every minute.
Inside there’s a relatively modern kitchen, for Siberian standards. A fridge full of smartwater. The thick fur parka I always wear to set hangs on a nail. There’s even a bowl of limes on the counter. Eddie unloads my bags by the front door. I crash onto a couch, smiling dumbly and running my hands back and forth over the smooth fabric. I can certainly get used to this!
“Where do you stay?” I ask Jane, hoping I don’t have a roommate.
“I’m at the hotel. But don’t worry, I’ll be here early every morning and stay as late as you need me to in the evenings. Whatever you need. Just ask.”
“Right now, I need to pass out,” I say with a yawn. “What’s my call time?”
Jane consults her phone. “Tomorrow is 6 a.m.” She frowns over the screen and sticks out her tongue in a fake gag. Yeah, I like her. “Would you like for me to send dinner over this evening?”
