The Hollywood Tales: Brandon Books 1-4

by Audra Cole

  Once we are both situated, the therapists start to work on us. I instantly start to relax and before long, I feel like I’m melting into the table. I’ve never had a professional massage before, and suddenly wonder why in the world not! It’s amazing.

  After an hour and a half of pure bliss, I somehow find the strength to get up from the table.

  “Well, we have about three hours until part two of your surprise gets here. What would you say to a bath?” he asks playfully.

  “Oh, a bath! Well I’m not sure,” I say, giggling. “I didn’t think I was allowed to use the bathtub, since I made fun of you for taking baths in the first place.”

  “If I remember correctly, you had a way to convince me otherwise,” he says with a laugh. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.

  As promised, the second part of the surprise arrives a few hours later. Brandon hired a professional hair and makeup team to come and help me get ready for the awards show.

  Brandon makes sure I’m all set up in the master bathroom with the hair and makeup people, and then sneaks off. I settle in and before too long I’m laughing and having a really good time with Trina, the hair stylist, and Gina, the makeup artist. They are probably my age or younger, and make it really easy for me. It actually feels like an old-school sleepover with all the hair accessories and makeup stuff scattered across the counter, as we try different looks and flip through fashion magazines.

  Gina tries a few different things, and I end up with a dusty, smoky eye with different brown and gold tones. Trina messes with a few up-do looks but then we decide to do something totally different and we go with a stick-straight look. On a whim, she actually gets out her scissors and gives me side-swept bangs.

  I say good-bye to the girls, and then get changed into my dress. I turn to face the mirror and do a double take, hardly recognizing myself. I stare at my reflection for a long moment and run my hands along the front of the dress, smoothing away invisible wrinkles.

  “Wow.”

  I turn at Brandon’s voice and see him standing in the doorway of the closet, his eyes wide.

  “Aww, you ruined my big entrance,” I protest. “I’m supposed to come down the stairs and do the whole big dramatic moment.”

  “Sorry baby, but I gotta get dressed too. I don’t think you want me going to the party like this,” he says, looking down at his workout clothes.

  I do my best to pretend to pout at him.

  “Do you wanna do a twirl?” he asks with a smile.

  “Yes,” I say, returning his smile. I do a slow spin and give him a seductive look over my shoulder before turning to face him again.

  He comes closer and holds out a box. It looks suspiciously like a jewelry box.

  I gasp. “Another surprise?”

  “Oh I have a few more tricks up my sleeve,” he says. He opens the lid to show a beautiful diamond necklace. It sparkles like something straight out of a jewelry store commercial.

  “Oh my—Brandon, you can’t be serious!”

  “Oh, I’m serious,” he says. “Come here. Let me put it on for you.”

  I spin around again and hold up my hair as he puts the necklace on. His fingers linger and slide down my back. His hands settle on my waist as he pulls me against him and he leans down to graze my exposed neck with his lips, sending a shiver down my spine.

  I look up and catch a reflection of us in the mirror. The moment feels so surreal and the image staring back at me only makes it stand out more.

  I feel something get pressed into my hand. I look down and see a smaller jewelry box. It’s ring sized and for a moment my heart seems to jump out of my chest. I open the box slowly to reveal two diamond studs that are the same cut as the necklace, just on a smaller scale.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you,” I whisper.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he says.

  I reach up and kiss him softly.

  Neither one of us makes a move to pull away for a long time, but the awareness that we only have a little bit of time left to finish getting ready seems to hit and we separate. Brandon gives me one final kiss before he walks to the other side of the closet and starts to grab the things he needs to get ready.

  I put my new earrings in and give myself one final look over, still not used to the new ’glammed up’ version of myself. For the most part, I normally feel pretty comfortable in my own skin and with my sense of style. This whole day has been outside of my normal comfort zone, but I have to admit, I feel pretty amazing right now. I glance over at Brandon as he starts to pull off his shirt and think of how lucky I am.

  I don’t know why, but suddenly the memory of the blog articles comes back to haunt me, and I can hear the echo of their harsh words in my mind. In that moment, Brandon looks over at me and smiles, and the words fade again.

  Chapter Eight

  The event is being held at a swanky, downtown hotel, and Brandon gives me a rundown on what to expect as we enjoy a glass of champagne in the back of a fancy limo. Part three…or maybe we’re up to four…of the surprises for the day.

  We arrive at the hotel, and before the driver comes around to open the door, Brandon takes my hands. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, it’s going to be great,” I answer with a smile. “I am so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, baby. That means a lot.” He gives me a quick kiss as the door opens. “Here we go.”

  As soon as Brandon exits the car, the photographers go crazy. The flashes are blinding from where I sit. A heartbeat later, Brandon reaches back and helps me from the car. I swing my legs out and steady myself in my sky high heels as I stand.

  The absolute last thing I need is to face plant in front of the media.

  “You okay?” Brandon whispers into my ear.

  “Mmhmm,” I say, nodding and smiling. I can tell I’m going to be doing a lot of that to make it through this night.

  We step away, and the driver shuts the door of the limo. Part of me wishes I could back up and slide back into the safety of its dark interior. I grip Brandon’s hand tighter as we start down the impromptu red carpet leading into the hotel banquet hall.

  It’s not a very far walk, but it seems to take forever as Brandon has to stop every few steps to pose for the camera. There are people everywhere and the camera flashes are relentless. I feel like I have vertigo as I scan the scene all around me. It seems dizzying.

  A reporter latches onto Brandon, and I take a few steps back to let him answer the questions. With all the background noise and chatter, I only hear snippets of their conversation, but it all seems to be revolving around his next film project. Brandon starts talking with his hands and drops mine in the process.

  “Ms. McAdams?”

  I turn at my name and come face to face with a woman I have never seen before. She is dressed in a black pantsuit and I immediately assume she is some sort of publicist or manager.

  “Yes?” I reply.

  “My name is Lindsey Perkins. I’m with Mr. Hart’s publicity firm. Please come with me,” she directs and grabs for my arm.

  I turn to look back at Brandon, a moment of panic overtaking me at the thought of leaving him. “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “I’m just going to take you inside. Brandon will be along shortly. He has a few interviews lined up to take care of first.”

  I start to protest, but she holds my arm firmly, not letting me twist away. Alarm bells are still going off in my head, but I nod slightly and let her lead me towards the front entrance. I follow her to the reception hall where the event is being hosted. I am surprised at how big the room is, as I survey the sea of tables. There are quite a few people already seated and others are scattered in little pockets around the room.

  Lindsey conveniently excuses herself as soon as she gets me inside and leaves me standing alone in the entryway of the hall. I shuffle off to the side to keep out of the way of the other people who are coming in behind me.

  I look around and start deba
ting whether or not I should just try to find my seat and wait for Brandon to get here. As I consider the options, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I expect to see Lindsey back from her errand, but it’s not her. It’s a petite blonde in a formal dress.

  “Are you Charity McAdams?” she asks, her eyes wide and expectant.

  “Uh, yes,” I stutter.

  “Oh my God! You’re just the person I was looking for!”

  “Are you on Brandon’s publicity team too?” I ask.

  She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, no, no. I’m Jessica Patrice. I’m a journalist.”

  My eyebrow rises suspiciously. If there is one thing I’ve learned from my short time in Hollywood, it’s that I don’t like, or trust, these so called journalists.

  “Ever since I saw the pictures of you and Brandon, I’ve wanted to talk to you and get your perspective on what it’s like to date one of the hottest new guys in Hollywood!” She pulls out her phone and quickly taps the screen. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  I don’t know what to say. I just want to get away from her but I know there isn’t really anywhere to go.

  “So you and Brandon dated in high school?” she asks.

  “Umm, yes, and college,” I answer hesitantly.

  “Did he always want to be an actor?”

  I nod as I silently map out an escape route.

  Jessica is still rambling on and on, asking everything and I stop listening, nodding occasionally.

  “Is it true that he dumped you at the altar so he could date Vanessa Blair?” Jessica blurts out.

  “What?” Her question snaps me back to attention.

  She looks confused for a minute. “That’s why you had that fight with her, a couple of months back. She found out you two were sneaking around. Care to comment on that?”

  “Seriously? Is that how this works? You just throw out the most outrageous question you can think of and hope you’ll get some dirt? Or at the very least, I’ll throw a fit and you’ll get a sound bite out of the deal? That’s just pathetic.” I continue, not even trying to control my tone.

  A few people nearby start looking over at us, and I feel heat rising in my cheeks. Great, now this is going to make the news.

  “Brandon Hart’s Girlfriend Goes Berserk!”

  I don’t even bother to apologize for my outburst. I walk away and don’t look back. I cross the room and go down a hallway. I see a sign for the restrooms and head in that direction. I take a few deep breaths, trying to compose myself as I push through the door.

  “Charity? Is that you?”

  What now?

  I look and see Maggie, from the party, standing at the sinks. She dries her hands on a paper towel.

  “Hi!” I say, happy to see a familiar face.

  “How are you?” Maggie asks.

  Her face is warm and compassionate looking, and part of me wants to spill my guts to her about how awful the past week has been and about the reporter with the inappropriate questions. I stop myself, knowing that it will only lead to an eyeliner disaster of epic proportions, and I’m not entirely convinced that the glue holding my false lashes can handle a mess like that.

  “I’m okay, just a lot to take in,” I answer.

  “Yeah, it is a lot. Do you want to come and sit with me and my friends until Brandon gets done?” she asks.

  I get the feeling that she really wants to help me, so I nod and follow her out of the bathroom. We weave through the crowd and sit down at a table near the front of the room. Maggie introduces me to the three other women at the table and they all start chatting like old friends.

  I don’t really have anything to add to the conversation and find myself settling into the background. One of the women makes a comment about some new breakthrough plastic surgery procedure. Before I know it, that is all they want to talk about, and I feel even more out of place.

  The whole conversation takes a nosedive—or rather, belly flop—into TMI territory very quickly. Talk of Botox, boob jobs, and laser hair removal only make me feel more out of place.

  I scan the room again and still don’t see Brandon, but I do see Lindsey making a beeline back towards me.

  “Ms. McAdams let me show you where you are sitting,” she says when she reaches me.

  I thank Maggie for inviting me to sit with her, and say good-bye to the ladies I just met.

  I turn back to Lindsey and start following her to a table across the room. “Will Brandon be here soon?” I ask, desperately hoping the answer is yes.

  She looks confused. “No, Mr. Hart will be tied up all evening. He is speaking later and will be backstage most of the night. He won’t have much time for sitting and he won’t be here for the dinner portion. Then, after he speaks we have a few more interview and photo ops lined up.”

  A flash of anger courses through me as I start to wonder why Brandon even brought me here if he knew he wasn’t going to be able to be with me. He had to have known that he was essentially abandoning me to a room full of strangers. Actually, these people are worse than mere strangers. Most of them are associated with the media in some way, and even if they aren’t directly, they seem like the types of people who would sell your story if they think it will benefit them.

  Wasn’t Brandon the one to tell me you couldn’t really trust anyone in this business?

  If he really feels that way, why would he leave me here with all of them?

  Maybe that’s why he spent the whole day trying to butter me up with gifts and special surprises. I shake the thought away as soon as it enters my mind.

  “Thank you Lindsey. I will be right back and then you can take me to my seat,” I say, my voice even and my smile firmly in place.

  “All right,” she replies, glancing at her watch. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  I go back down the hallway with the restroom but I pass the restroom door and keep walking until I find an elevator. I go back up to the main lobby and snake around the crowd of people. I break free of everyone and glance back to see if I can spot Brandon. For a moment I debate whether I should go back and see if I can find him but decide against it.

  Turning back to the street I see a cab and I rush to flag it down.

  Chapter Nine

  I get back to the house in record time. I pay the cab driver and rush up the front walk. Once inside, I shut the heavy front door behind me and lean against it, not sure what to do next.

  My phone starts buzzing from inside my purse. I dig the phone out of my bag and see Brandon’s name on the screen. I’m sure his little assistant ratted me out as soon as she realized I wasn’t coming back from the bathroom.

  “Charity, where are you?” Brandon’s voice is frantic.

  “At the house,” I answer my voice shaking. “Brandon, I’m sorry but I can’t do this.”

  “Do what? What are you talking about?”

  “This! Any of this!”

  “I don’t understand, what happened?”

  “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I just need to get out of here,” I say as I start towards the stairs.

  “Oh, no no no, you’re not going anywhere!”

  Surprised by his demanding tone, I stop at the top of the stairs. “I need some space. I can’t think here. It’s too much right now.”

  “So where are you gonna go?” he asks, not even trying to hide the anger in his voice.

  “Home,” I say without thinking. “I’m going to go home.”

  The line goes quiet. I pull the phone away from my face to make sure he is still there.

  “Cherry, please wait for me,” he is saying as I put the phone back to my ear. “I’ll leave right now. I want to talk to you.”

  “You can’t leave. You have to speak and do all the interviews and everything,” I remind him.

  “Why are you doing this? Please just wait. I’ll get there as soon as I can break away.”

  I sigh. “All right, I’ll wait here.”

  We disconnect and I go into the bedroom. I s
lip out of my dress and change into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I pace around the room, debating whether or not to start packing a bag.

  I don’t want to leave Brandon, but I have to get out of here. I need the peace and quiet of home to clear my head and figure out what I want.

  My mind made up, I pull a duffel bag out of the closet and start packing.

  A few hours later I hear the front door open and shut.

  “Cherry?”

  I leave my perch on the edge of the bed and head out into the hallway. Brandon is coming up the stairs and stops short, leaving a few feet between us.

  “What happened tonight?” he asks, his face a mix of bewilderment and anger. “I feel like one minute you’re standing next to me and then I don’t see you again, and when I call you to find out where you are, you tell me you’re leaving me. I can’t even begin to wrap my brain around this!”

  “It was just too much, Brandon. Your publicist person hauled me off and you didn’t even notice! And then some reporter spotted me and wanted to ask me a thousand questions about when we were engaged before and how we got back together again. Apparently people think you dumped me at the altar because you were having an affair with Vanessa Blair!”

  His face twists in confusion. “What?”

  “And then I got away from that mess and got stuck in a cluster of women who only wanted to talk about crazy plastic surgery crap that I have no interest in ever understanding. I mean, really! Who talks about things like vaginal rejuvenation in public? I don’t even know what that means! I don’t even want to know what that means.

  “And somewhere between that and the obnoxious reporters and the gazillion pictures, something snapped, and all at once I realized that this is just not right for me. I don’t belong here.”

  I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to steady my voice.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to go home.” I finish before turning to go into the bedroom.