Chapter Two
Mallory
Melissa and I get pushed aside by a cocky teenager with an attitude. “Don’t you know anything? His name is Thad,” the girl says. “Go get a life, loser.”
I turn to my friend, ready to complain about today’s youth to get my mind off what just happened. When I see Melissa’s face, however, her mouth agape and her eyes glazed over as she stares at me, I realize I might have a bit of explaining to do.
“That’s Chad?” she asks, pointing at the now empty sidewalk in front of the club.
I nod and look to the ground.
She grabs my hand, pulling me away from the bustling crowd to a quieter location. She nods back to the commotion we walked away from. “That’s the Chad you grew up with? As in the boy who lived next door? As in your childhood best friend? As in the guy you never got over?”
My eyes snap to hers. “Who said I never got over him?”
“You might not have ever admitted it, but the way you talk about him—it’s obvious you had a huge thing for him. And, geez, now I know why.” Her head tilts to the side and her eyebrows shoot up. “You knew him before he was famous, Mal. How cool is that? Oh, my God, did you play doctor? Did you see his wee-wee? Oh, shit, was he your first? Please tell me he was your first. Ahhhhhh!” she screams. “I need details!” Then she swats my arm. “How is it I’ve known you for five years and you didn’t tell me about this? I mean, Thad Stone? The star of Malibu 310? The guy who is most likely People Magazine’s next hottest man of the year?”
I shake my head, not wanting to acknowledge how some of what she just said is true. I don’t even admit to myself that I had a thing for him. “That is not the boy I grew up with,” I say, nodding in the direction of the club. “Far from it. The boy I grew up with didn’t do drugs. Or . . .” I cringe. “Or use women. The boy I grew up with is nothing like that man.” I stare at my friend who is majorly fangirling at the moment. “See this,” —I motion to her face— “this is why I don’t tell people.”
She sighs. Her expression immediately changes from obsessed fan to supportive friend. She grabs my elbow and walks us down the street, pulling me into a small neighborhood bar. We slip into a booth in the back and Melissa orders us each a glass of white wine.
“For the duration of our drink, I promise not to fangirl,” she says. “You obviously need to talk to someone about this, so talk.”
Even just thinking about it, it’s hard to keep the tears from falling. I grab a napkin from the dispenser and wipe my eyes. Melissa is right, I need to talk about it. But I’m afraid it will just stir up feelings I’ve repressed for nine years.
What are the odds of this even happening? Of Mel and I walking back to her place after dinner and coming upon a swarm of people outside a club? It’s not an unusual thing for New York City. We’ve seen some pretty big stars on occasion. So we figured, what the hell, we’d stick around to see what all the fuss was about. Never in a million years did I think it would result in a face-to-face meeting with Chad. Well, eye-to-eye anyway.
“Do you want me to call Julian?” Melissa asks, knowing how close we are. “Wait. Julian grew up with you. Oh, my God, he knew him, too? How is it that neither of you has ever said anything?”
Chad is a closely guarded secret I’ve kept locked up inside. Only my dad and Julian know the real story of my childhood. Julian was there. He lived it with me. We were inseparable, the three of us. That is until Julian went to Brazil the summer before his junior year. And then of course when Chad left me. Left us.
Julian and I have never talked about it. I think he was as hurt by Chad’s departure as I was. Well, not so much by his departure, but by his blatant and total removal of his presence from our lives when he became a star.
“Call him,” I say.
After explaining to Julian what happened and where we are, she puts down the phone. “He will be here as soon as he can. Do you want to wait for him?”
The waitress brings our wine and I take a sip. I shake my head. “There isn’t anything I could tell you about Chad that Julian doesn’t already know.” Well, except that one little thing about me being in love with him back then.
“You guys were really close,” she says. It’s a statement more than a question.
“We were,” I say, remembering fondly some of the good times we had together. “I was six when Chad moved in next door. Wait, have I told you this story before?”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I want to hear it again. Somehow, it’s different now.”
“Well, he moved in the day before school started. I was going into first grade and he was going into second.” I run my tongue over my teeth. “I hadn’t grown into my very large front teeth yet and some older boys at our bus stop were teasing me. Chad stood up to them even though he was younger than them. Even though he was the new kid.”
“He was a hero even then,” she says with an audible sigh.
I shoot her a scolding look.
“Sorry,” she says. She presses her lips together, forming a thin line before she twists her fingers over them and mimes throwing away a key.
“From that day on, we were practically joined at the hip. And when Julian moved into a house down the street a few months later and was bullied by the same fourth-grade jerks at the bus stop, we became the three musketeers. Julian was a year older than me as well. They both became my protectors; the older brothers I never had. Other kids were jealous of what we had. Of the indescribable bond we shared. We didn’t even have to talk to each other to communicate. It’s like we were connected in some other-worldly way. Of course, that’s why the teasing continued. When we reached adolescence, our classmates were downright mean. They accused us of being a threesome. They accused Julian and Chad of being gay and me of being a slut. It furthered our separation from other kids and solidified our bond with each other. It was us against the world.”
“Wow,” Melissa says. “So what happened? How could you be that close and then let geography destroy your friendship?”
“It wasn’t geography that destroyed it. It was Chad’s sudden rise to fame,” I tell her.
She gets a sour face. “He just dropped you like a hot potato when he became famous? That bastard.” She shakes her head in disgust. “He has definitely just lost his godlike status with me, the jerk. Who does that?”
“It wasn’t quite that sudden. We still talked a lot the first year he was on Malibu 310. He even came back here over the holidays to visit us and his older brother, Ethan. But after that, he changed.”
“Changed?” she asks.
“When we would talk on the phone, our conversations seemed forced. He wasn’t as much at ease with me, and for the first time in our friendship, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Julian would say similar things about his phone calls with Chad. He thought maybe he was on drugs or something. I didn’t believe it. Chad was the poster child for the ‘Just say no’ campaign at our high school. He would fight kids who offered us drugs.”
“But then Hollywood happened,” Melissa says, supportively touching my hand.
I nod. “Yeah. It became more evident each time we talked. Even his emails became disjointed. Sometimes I questioned whether he realized who he was writing to. Then one day, into the second season of his show, I got an email that was obviously not meant for me. It was meant for Julian. It was disgusting. It gave explicit details about his latest sexual conquest. And in that moment, I realized Chad was gone and all that was left was Thad. He even signed his name to the email that way. I was more than a little hurt. Not just because I secretly had a crush on him since I was six and was jealous of him being with other girls, but I truly grieved for the friendship that was dying. I replied back to ‘Thad’ telling him I never wanted to hear from him again. And I didn’t. I never wanted to hear from Thad. I wanted Chad back.”
“Oh, Mal, I’m so sorry,” Melissa says, tears of sympathy balancing on her lashes.
“He tried to call me once
after that, but I let it roll to voicemail. It was a drug-induced attempt to smooth things over. He was incoherent. He was pathetic. It broke my heart. I deleted the voicemail. Then I deleted his contact. Then I blocked him on social media. I cut all ties, never seeing or hearing from him again until tonight.”
“And Julian?”
“Julian was a little more tolerant of him. Their friendship went on a while longer. That is until my mom died.”
“What happened when your mom died?” she asks.
“Julian never gave me the details about it, but I’m pretty sure he called Chad to let him know she had died. I think Chad blew him off or gave him excuses or something. Julian told me Chad couldn’t get away mid-season, making it impossible for him to attend the funeral. But I could sense he wasn’t telling me everything. And I never heard from Chad again. Never got a condolence card. Never got a call from the boy who once loved my mother almost as much as his own. I think it was the last straw for Julian. After that, he cut Chad out of his life like I had.”
Melissa downs the rest of her wine, all but smashing the glass back down on the table. “That little shit. If he weren’t protected by that Goliath without a neck, I’d kill the insensitive prick with my bare hands.” She shakes her head in confusion. “But it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?” I ask.
“The way he looked at you tonight.”
“What do you mean? I’m not even sure he recognized me.”
“Recognized you? Mallory, he looked like he wanted to eat you alive. He said your name for Christ’s sake. Of course, I was just reading his lips, for all we know he could have been saying ‘Mel’ and not ‘Mal’,” she jokes. “Do you think Steve would mind if I had a one-nighter with a mega-star?”
I stare her down, unamused.
“Right,” she says. “Too soon for sarcasm.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “Maybe you should get in touch with him. Clearly, he was affected by seeing you. The guy’s world seemed to stop as soon as he made eye contact with you.”
“Contact him? God, no.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Why not?” she asks. “People change. I read he went to rehab a while back. Maybe he’s better now.”
“He hasn’t changed, Mel. It seems every other week he’s got a different girl on his arm. Anyway, I think he’s with the co-star of the movie.”
“Courtney Benson? That girl doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
I raise my brow at her. “You’re a little biased, don’t you think?”
“Just saying it like it is, sister. What could it hurt, calling him? You know, just to get closure if that’s what you need.”
I shake my head again. “No. It just hurts too much. The drugs. The women. The promises he broke.”
“What promises did he break?” she asks.
I trace the circular base of my wine glass. “All of them.”
At that moment, Julian comes through the pub door, saving me from further explanation. I watch him walk towards us, pain evident on his otherwise swoon-worthy face. Besides Melissa, he is my best friend. He has been since I was six, with the exception of those three years after he broke my heart, too.
Julian could give Chad a run for his money in the looks department. Both are devilishly handsome but almost completely opposite. While Chad has light-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a permanently sun-kissed complexion, Julian’s hair is dark, his eyes matching my green ones and his skin fair. We’ve often been accused of being brother and sister.
He slips into the booth beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder. I lean into him. Much like when we were kids, words aren’t always necessary. He kisses the top of my head.
“Let’s go get our girl drunk,” he says to Melissa. “She can crash at my place again.”
“Steve and I really don’t mind when she sleeps on our couch,” Melissa says.
“Of course you don’t,” he says. “But you know how she gets when she’s drunk. She might want to talk shit out later.”
I raise my head off his shoulder. “She is sitting right here, guys. Don’t I have a say in this?”
“No,” they both say together.
Melissa slips out of the booth and motions to the door. “Come on, let’s go find a club, dance our asses off, and remind you who your real friends are.”
Chapter Three
Chad
“Anything?” I ask Kendra.
“Nope,” she replies through the speaker of my cell phone.
Both of us are busy on our laptops trying to figure out if Mallory was photographed last night. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I page through the tabloid and news magazine sites. There are plenty of pictures of me and the cast at the premiere. Several cell phone photos from the after party. Loads of pictures pairing Courtney and me together through blatantly doctored-up photos. We’ll deal with that shit later; anything else has become a minor annoyance compared to what could happen if my royal fuck-up ends up costing Mal her privacy.
“Look up for a second please, Mr. Stone,” the makeup artist asks, obviously annoyed that I’m trying to work while she is.
“I’ll be there in five,” Kendra says. “Interviews start at one-thirty, that’ll give me enough time to vet the questions.”
I check the last few sites before putting away my laptop, making my makeup artist happy. A few minutes later, she hands me off to the stylist who puts crap in my hair to make it look like I just got out of bed. Why does it take a paid professional to create that look? I swear she spends ten minutes on one chunk of hair, making sure it is positioned just so over my forehead.
“Perfect,” Kendra says, walking through the door. “But then again, you’d look great having actually just rolled out of bed.”
“Ha! Exactly what I was thinking,” I say. Then I shrug at my seemingly conceited words. “I mean the rolling out of bed part, not the looking great part.”
She winks at me, patting my shoulder. “I know what you meant, Thad. If there is one thing I’ve learned about you these past months, it’s that you are the least vain person in show business.”
“You should have seen him five years ago,” Ethan pipes up from the corner of the room.
Kendra walks over to greet him. “Hi, Ethan. Nice to see you again. We didn’t scare you off last night with all of the craziness?”
“Not a chance,” he says. “I just took my little brother out to lunch. He asked me to keep him company for a bit before I have to head back to work.”
“You’re a private investigator, right?” she asks.
“That’s right.”
“That must be a very exciting job.”
“It can be at times, but mostly it’s boring as hell. Sitting around waiting for people. Blending into the background. Asking questions. Averting crises.”
Kendra laughs. “Sounds a lot like what I do.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Your job is boring as hell?”
“Uh . . . no.” She looks embarrassed. “God, no. I love my job, Thad. And you are anything but boring.”
“I was only kidding, Kendra.” I turn to Ethan. “Don’t let her fool you, she hardly sits around. She must be one of the hardest-working publicists in the business.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ethan says to her. “And you’re doing a great job. My brother’s image is almost squeaky clean as of late.”
I wad up my disposable makeup bib and throw it at him. “That’s because I am squeaky clean, you pain in the ass.”
“Well, thank God for that, brother. It was a long road, but we’re all proud of you.”
I brush off his compliment. I don’t deserve it. If it weren’t for all the trouble I caused, there wouldn’t have been a long road to travel. I brought shitloads of shame and embarrassment down on my family. Some days I still don’t understand why they didn’t disown me.
“Kendra, my brother tells me you are enamored with my son,” Ethan says.
“Oh my gosh, yes,” she says, her eyes brig
htening. “What’s not to love? He is absolutely adorable.”
“Well then you must come meet him in the flesh,” he says. “How about dinner tonight? My wife, Charlie has become a fabulous cook and we’d love to have you.”
“I’d be honored, Ethan. Thank you,” Kendra says, looking particularly pleased. She glances at her watch and turns to me. “Thad, we’d better get started on prepping you for the interviews.”
“I hate media junkets,” I mumble under my breath.
“That may be so,” she says. “But it’s media junkets that sell tickets.”
I roll my eyes at her. I know it’s necessary. But it’s always the same dance, different city. We get ushered from room to room in some hotel, spending fifteen minutes at each location before getting whisked off to the next only to answer the exact same questions for a different interviewer.
She shoves a piece of paper at me. “Here are the list of questions you may be asked. They are pretty much the standard fare. Although I’m sure some will ask about the latest picture of you and Courtney, so be prepared for that.”
“You mean, don’t confirm or deny it,” I say with a long face.
“Thad, you know I don’t always agree with Paul and the studio. But you have to admit, Defcon One does get a lot more hype when fans think you and Courtney are together.”
“Fine,” I say, getting up out of the hairdresser’s chair. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
~ ~ ~
Kendra and I arrive at Ethan’s penthouse, exhausted from hours of interviews. Against my better judgment, my manager, Paul, talked me into doing an impromptu photo shoot with Courtney at the hotel. Well, talked me into is an understatement. More like threatened me with life and limb. I suspect he had it planned all along but made it look like it was the brain child of the very popular magazine photographer who just happened to be at the hotel when we were.
Needless to say, Paul didn’t get an invitation to tonight’s dinner. The less time I have to spend with him, the better. He’s been great for my career, but he has the personality of a pet fucking rock and the heart of a serial killer. And the funny part is, he’s an upgrade from the previous manager I had. I’ve come to understand talent managers are all assholes and part of being in the business is putting up with them.
Stone Promises (A Stone Brothers Novel) Page 2
