by R. K. Lilley
"I don't even think they're dating," Farrah added helpfully from the front seat. "They're just friends. She likes to hang out with him. Kind of like you two."
That seemed to improve Anton's mood dramatically, but again, I still didn't catch the significance.
"And us," Mitch added.
Farrah gave him one of those looks you can only give to a lover who has just said something that offended you. "Not like us. We have sex. Sometimes."
I saw Mitch's baffled expression in the rearview and it almost made me laugh.
"You guys aren't sleeping together?" he asked either Anton or me or I guess both of us.
At that I did laugh. Maybe I should have been offended at such a personal question, but I knew he wasn't trying to be rude. He was genuinely shocked.
Anton was smiling and shaking his head as he answered, "Not at all."
"Like ever?" Mitch seemed unconvinced.
"Never," I added. "We're literally just friends. So un-L.A. it hurts."
"Dude," Mitch said, and it was definitely directed at Anton.
"Dude, I know," Anton shot back, still grinning.
Farrah and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. "Relax, bruhs," I said, mocking them. "You don't need to feel sorry for Anton. He gets around plenty. Just not with me."
"Dude," Mitch commiserated again.
Whatever. I gave up. Men were from Mars, and Mars was stupid.
The reason for our beach day wasn't just to get my depressed ass out of the house on our time off. It was also an ongoing PR project for Anton, whose publicist insisted that he be seen more at all of the 'spots.' His show was building a steady and loyal following, and every time he showed the world how hot he was off the set, it invariably got them a boost of viewers. And on a beach day, where he could show off the killer body he worked his ass off to perfect, the rewards would undoubtedly be tenfold.
We were only too happy to help him. It was, after all, exposure for each one of us. We'd all gotten roles, albeit small ones, from opportune TMZ moments.
These little outings used to be fun for me. The attention. The potential exposure. The hope of being discovered.
Not anymore. I played the game, acted the part, but the crushing weight of reality was too oppressive for me now. Growing up, when fame had been my dream and I'd envisioned a future in Hollywood, it'd been all about doors opening and directors fawning over my incomparable talent and beauty.
The reality was nothing like that, and it felt as though the magic was gone. I was broke, nowhere near famous, and I sure as hell wasn't having a good time.
Still, for whatever reason, I hadn't yet given up. Likely because I was too cursed stubborn.
I spotted a few paparazzi camped out at the entrance to the beach as we were still parking. "Did your publicist call them, or is this a coincidence?" I asked Anton.
He looked annoyed even with his sponsored shades covering his eyes. "I told her what I was doing, so I'm sure she called."
He seemed salty about it. "It's all part of the job," I reminded him. Small price to pay for the world to know your name, as far as I was concerned.
"I know, I know," he said, already shrugging out of his shirt. "You mind playing it up with me? The photographers always love it when we're affectionate."
I grinned wickedly, all too ready to play that role for anyone that cared to watch, in particular my oldest stalker. "It will be my pleasure." I was glad I'd worn makeup, dressed scantily, and had brought a spare pair of killer heels for the short walk from the car to the sand. I was decked out in metallic hues, head to toe, and it brought out the new gold ombré color in my hair.
I was ready for my close-up.
I waited for Anton to come around and open my door because it made for better pictures. I let him pull me from the car and up into a brief press of our bodies.
I giggled gamely when he kissed me on the neck, my hands stroking intimately over his hair, playing with his little man-bun like it was foreplay, then let him lead me with a familiar arm wrapped cozily around my waist, his big hand on my stomach.
I gave the paparazzi my warmest smile when they called out for Anton. Hell, they even called my name. That's how long and how much we hung out together.
"When will you finally make an honest woman of her?" one of them called, all good humor. We'd been encouraging on again off again rumors for years.
We laughed on cue. "Who says she'll have me?" Anton called back, flashing his perfect white teeth.
"Who says he's up to the challenge?" I said.
They got a kick out of the banter, laughing with us as one of them got it all on video, another snapping pictures of us and our entire entourage.
We walked past them leisurely (for better pictures), but we didn't linger. The idea was that we were in a bit of a hurry, like the photographers weren't half the reason we were there. It would never do to seem too desperate, even if desperation was half of our profession.
At least half.
We'd chosen a particularly nice day to visit Carbon Beach. Only a dozen or so other people were lounging about, giving us plenty of room to play.
"Did they follow?" Farrah murmured as we laid out our towels.
I glanced around surreptitiously. "Yes. At ten o'clock."
"Looks like the show must go on," Demi added, her tone flat.
I glanced at her, studying her face. She didn't seem like herself. Not at all.
I moved under the shade of the umbrella that Anton was propping up for me and closer to Demi. "Is everything okay?" I asked her.
She sent me a sheepish smile. "Yes. Of course!" she rallied, shrugging off her purple cover-up. Underneath was a lavender string bikini that was tinier than anything I'd ever seen her wear.
I checked her out. "You look fucking hot, Demi," I pointed out. It was not her usual style, but she was knocking it out of the park.
She blushed, and it was as adorable as it sounds. "Thank you."
"I second that," Harry said with a grin.
I shot a glance at Anton, who had the balls to be eyeing her bountiful chest, the lech. Some devil got ahold of my tongue. "Do you third it, Anton?" I asked him archly.
"She's basically naked, but yeah, the view is fantastic," he said succinctly, sounding downright bitter about it.
I glanced down at myself, then at Farrah and Leona, who were already laying out. It was skimpy for Demi, but she wasn't showing more skin than anyone else was.
My eyes narrowed on Anton as my preoccupied brain finally caught up to what was going on.
He was jealous. Over Demi. Uh uh. Nope. He was a shameless man-whore, and he was not allowed to go there. Not with my too innocent, too sweet friend.
"Hey, beardo," I called to him, already moving away and toward the water. "A word."
He joined me in the surf. We were up to mid-calf in the water, and, mindful of the photographer that still had us in his sights, I threw my arms around Anton's neck, leaning into him.
He gripped my waist lightly with his big hands, very familiar with the routine.
I wondered if he could tell that I was glaring at him through my dark shades. "You know Demi is off-limits, right?"
His mouth twisted like he'd just tasted something sour. "What are you talking about?"
"My friend. Demi," I emphasized.
"She's my friend, too. What about her?"
"She's too innocent for you. She's not a casual girl. You'd break her heart. You know that, right?"
He lowered his shades enough to shoot me a belligerent glance. "I'm well fucking aware."
"I'm not sure you are. You're acting possessive about her. And I saw the way you were looking at her in that bikini."
"I was looking at all of you like that. You just didn't see it. I like bikinis. And skin."
I wasn't buying it. "So we're clear? No messing with Demi?"
"Message received. I get it; you're a mama bear with your friends. How about you give this speech to Mr. Hella Bruh that's pawing her over the
re?"
I glanced over at Demi and Harry. Anton was exaggerating. Mostly. Harry was just helping her apply sunblock.
"You're only proving my point right now," I pointed out.
"Fine. I'll drop it. I'll try my best to stay away from our sweet Demi from here on out."
I studied him. The way he said it made me wonder if something had already happened between them.
I glanced at Demi, who was indeed getting more and more cozy with Mr. Hella Bruh and decided against it. There was no way she'd be so nonchalant around Anton if that were the case.
That settled, we put on a great show for the cameras, frolicking in the surf, canoodling in the sand.
I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point the day went from faking fun for the cameras to actively enjoying myself.
It was possibly around the time that we broke out the bottles of pre-maid cocktails we'd packed in lieu of a picnic lunch. Who needs food when you can have liquor?
We chatted about nothing and everything as we pretended to lay out to tan, when in actuality we were all sun-blocked into oblivion and reapplying every quarter hour. Because wrinkles.
"I was sure that Lacy was going to get killed off in the season finale," Farrah was saying, referring to her recurring role as a biker groupie in Anton's show. She was such a hit that they kept bringing her back. "But I just got the script back, and they're keeping her! They're giving her a bigger role than ever in a story arc that goes into the next season!"
"That's amazing!"
"Congrats!"
"They know their audience!"
"Awesome!"
We all congratulated her and meant it. I personally thought she was brilliant in the role. She was a valley girl and an ex-cheerleader, so it was a testament to her talent that she could pull off the role of a hardened biker chick so perfectly.
"Eventually we'll all be on your show, Anton," Leona joked, though who knew if it was a joke. I myself had made a few appearances, though nothing with a speaking role, mostly I'd been an extra with a lot of close-up body shots. Leona had been cast in a similar way, if less times.
That left only Demi, but even as I had the thought, she said, "I'm actually going to be in it too. My agent called me earlier. That role I was up for, the rival club's daughter. I got it."
I blinked at her. How had I missed this?
We all rushed to congratulate her, and I felt like a dick for having no clue about such huge news.
"That sounds like a big role," Harry said, hugging her. "Wow. That could really turn into something, right?"
"She's already scheduled to have sex with me," Anton said, his tone flat and more than a touch riled.
We all looked at him. Okay, I glared, and Demi blushed and looked everywhere but at him.
"What?" Harry asked him, wide-eyed.
"Our characters have a star-crossed affair. She's going to be on the show quite a bit, from the sound of it. They have lots of story planned for her character."
"You don't sound thrilled about that," Demi almost mumbled the words, not looking at him.
"I just don't think the show is a good fit for you," he said brutally.
For that, we were all glaring at him. "What the hell?" I asked him.
"You can get typecast, doing a show like this," he tried to explain. "I just don't think it fits your image. You should be trying for more family friendly stuff. Like one of those princess live-action flicks. Something like that."
"That's why it's called acting," Demi said to her feet, her face red. "I should be able to do both."
Anton was not letting up. He was in a hell of a mood. "This is a cable show. Did you know they're already talking about having you do a topless scene? With me. A topless sex scene in front of the world. That what you were going for?"
Demi, looking more miserable by the second, responded with a forlorn, "Topless? Oh no. My parents are going to kill me."
"I told you not to audition," he continued relentlessly. "This is not a good fit for you. Mark my words."
"Knock it the hell off," I told him. "She's an actress and the path she takes is her business." We had a pretty aggressive stare down, but eventually he broke the gaze. "Now quit being an ass and congratulate her."
"Congratulations," Anton looked very pointedly at Demi, who still wouldn't look at him. "In a few weeks, I'm going to be playing with your naked tits in front of an audience. Hope you're okay with that." He got up and stormed away.
"What the ever-loving fuck?" I asked anyone that might know what Anton's problem was.
"Asshole," Leona breathed, shrugging off her quiet but clingy pilot boyfriend to go put her arm around Demi. "You okay, sweetie?"
Demi nodded, but she was chewing on her lip. "I think he thinks I'm intruding on his territory. It's his show, he's the lead in it, and I don't think he wants me being a part of it."
That was it. I got up and went after him.
His long stride had covered a lot of distance fast, but he'd stopped as soon as he hit the nearest bar, which was about a foot away once you hit the street, so it wasn't hard to catch or find him.
I took the barstool next to him, glancing around. We were getting some stares. It was a quick walk from the beach, but no one else in the place was wearing swimsuits. Also, they may have recognized Anton.
Whatever.
"That was so out of line," I told him quietly after the bartender left our earshot. "Were you trying to make her feel like shit?"
He sighed heavily. "No, but I think she'll feel like worse shit if her perfect family sees her topless in her first big role. And topless is just the edge of it. They've got a scene written of her . . . servicing me in a bathroom. It's not what I want for her. Is that what you want for her? Her biggest role to date and the world gets to see her topless and on her knees?"
Jesus. It did make me feel overprotective, but . . . "That's beside the point. Regardless of how you feel about that particular subject, do you think you're handling this in a good way? She's out there looking like she might cry because she thinks you don't want to work with her. You need to go apologize, and you need to make it stick."
He cursed, long and fluid. He finished his beer with one long swig, standing up. "Fine. Fine. You're right. I'm an asshole. I'll go apologize."
He settled his tab and we left.
When we got back to the group, he quietly asked Demi to take a walk with him.
Farrah and Mitch went swimming, and Leona's pilot and Harry went to grab a beer together.
It was just me and Leona sitting side by side, watching the water when she said, "It's so peaceful, isn't it? The ocean, I mean."
Peaceful? I did not find the ocean peaceful. I found it troubling. I didn't see the calm waves or the beautiful water, I only saw the chaos underneath, the dangers lurking in the depths. Riptides, strong currents, high tides. Sharks. Other things that bite and/or sting you.
Today on Scarlett looking at the world with fear and pessimism: Oceans.
It also didn't help that it reminded me of a certain bastard's eyes.
But all I said was, "It certainly gives the world perspective."
Which was true, and yet another thing about the ocean that I hated. If you stared at it for too long, it made you think. Reflect on your life. Your choices. Your state of well-being.
My current state was clearly not well.
My foul mood, uneven temper, and damn near steady drunk. Is that who I was becoming? Fucking Glenda? Was I really letting myself turn into someone I despised? Pitied? And for him?
Not fucking likely.
"Did you know about Demi getting that part?" I asked Leona.
"Yeah. It's so awesome, isn't it?"
"It is, but I had no clue she even auditioned. I'm such a shit friend."
"Stop that right now," she said sternly. "You are a good friend. The best kind of friend. You found out a few hours later, so what? Who was the first one to get on Anton about being an ass to her? Who was the one that got him to come back
and apologize?"
"That's just because I'm good at being the bitch."
"No. No." She was shaking her head. "I don't agree with that. You're a lioness, not a lamb, and you don't need to apologize for it. You're overprotective and fiercely loyal. None of those are bad qualities. They're your strengths and I've always admired you for embracing them.
The best kind of friend is one that makes you feel like a better version of yourself, and Leona was an absolute pro at that. "Thank you," I said quietly. I hadn't been fishing for a pep talk, but I realized just then that I'd sure as hell needed one.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Familiarity breeds contempt."
~Aesop
PAST
DANTE
I was packing for a dreaded overnight stay with my dad in Seattle when I heard my mother yelling.
With a long-suffering sigh, I dropped what I was doing and went to investigate.
Sure enough, there she was, laying into Glenda, Scarlett's grandma, with particular viciousness. My mother was never nice to the staff, but sometimes she got truly out of control. This was a case in point. From what I'd gleaned as I made my way to the yelling pair, Glenda hadn't polished the silver properly, and now Adelaide was rapping her on the forehead, over and over, with a small spoon, each contact punctuated with an insult.
"Useless woman. Why do I keep you around? No one else will hire you, but is that my problem? Some people deserve to be out on the streets."
The older woman was cowering away, looking pathetic.
I used to like the way my mother treated her. It was petty, I know, but it seemed fair with the way she treated Scarlett that she'd get a bit of it back.
But as I grew older, and began to understand a bit more of how humans worked, I became more and more troubled by it. Not because I had much pity for the woman.
It was that every slight she received seemed to only go one place. She never gave it back to my mother.
Instead, she passed it on. To my girl.
"Mother," I said loudly, my tone curt. "Enough. Get away from her."
"Stay out of this," she snarled at me, looking deranged.
