by ANDREA SMITH
“That’s easy for you to say. I’m nothing in this community and you have me hob-knobbing with the rich and famous. Of course I’m going to be anxious, Seth.”
“Well there’s no need. And don’t ever say you’re nothing because that’s just not true. You’re everything to me. Those people can’t hold a candle to you.”
I was brushing my hair up into a messy bun, but my eyes caught his in the mirror and I totally melted. He was so fucking beautiful and the thing was, Seth didn’t even see it that way.
He loved acting—but not because he counted on his looks to make up for any lack of talent. The truth was that whatever part he played, he assumed that persona. He wasn’t about just reading the lines or following the director’s notes. Seth lived the part and, in doing so, he portrayed the character flawlessly. That was the thing that totally blew me away.
“There,” I said as I sprayed my finished hair. “This is as good as it gets, babe. Let’s do this.”
He pulled me up against him, and I loved the fact that he looked just as sexy and awesome in a suit and tie as he did in faded jeans and a tee.
His lips crashed against mine. “I love you,” he whispered huskily against my lips. “I promise, we’ll make this an early night because I want more of what we had last night.”
My lips smiled against his. “You are greedy aren’t you, Mr. Drake?” I teased. “But I’m down with your suggestion one hundred percent.”
The number of people attending this “small party” dwarfed the glitzy mansion in Beverly Hills. Okay, well that wasn’t fair because Seth had never really referred to it as a small party, but it was the impression I got, so it still stuck in my mind.
There was wait staff all over the place carrying trays of drinks, flutes of imported champagne, and designer hors d’oeuvres.
Seth never left me alone, for which I was extremely grateful. He introduced me to one person after another, mostly men, some of which had a wife or girlfriend by their side, but I’d never remember their names anyway, so I wasn’t really keeping score.
I had downed a couple of glasses of champagne, and Seth and I were making our selections at the buffet table, when a male voice rang out behind us.
“Seth Drake, I thought that was you,” I heard from behind us. “What the hell, I guess congratulations are in order, you son-of-a-bitch! Nice going on landing the part. I knew you’d find your place on the big screen.”
Seth turned around as I continued putting baby carrots onto my plate. “Hey Rich, you old dog! Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
“Mostly at my lawyer’s office trying to hold onto my assets. Divorce is a greedy bitch.”
“Yeah, I heard,” Seth replied. “Hey, I want you to meet my girlfriend,” Seth continued, his hand now resting on my shoulder.
I turned around to face the guy Seth wanted me to meet and everything inside of me froze instantly.
“Neely, I want you to meet Richard Blumfield, one of the best directors in the business. Richard, this is my girlfriend, Neely Evans.”
Richard Blumfield. The guy with the mistress in the Valley. Pizza delivered every Wednesday. A little boy named Luis, and a daughter—well, his daughter would be here by now.
I smiled and extended my hand to him. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blumfield,” I said, hoping like hell the panic I was feeling inside didn’t show.
His eyes were boring through me. I saw a flicker of confusion cross his face. He hadn’t placed me yet.
“Call me Rich, and the pleasure is mine, Neely,” he said, shaking my hand. He held onto it though and his brow furrowed. “You look familiar. Are you in the business?” he asked.
“No,” I replied quickly.
“Neely’s a professional photographer,” Seth piped up, “And a very talented artist on the side,” he continued, his voice full of pride.
Oh shit.
“Ah, I see,” Blumfield replied, nodding his head and releasing my hand.
Yep. I was pretty sure he’d made the connection.
“Seth, I can take your plate to our table if you have business to discuss,” I said. I needed to get away from Richard Blumfield before he exposed me to Seth.
“No need to hold you two up,” Blumfield said. “We’ll talk later, Seth. Enjoy your dinner.”
Once we were seated at one of the tables, Seth made more introductions. There were a couple of actresses I hadn’t heard of; a set designer, and a film producer. I tried my best to be cordial and pleasant, but I couldn’t get Richard Blumfield out of my mind.
Had he figured out who I was? It had been nearly a year ago. I tried to recall what color my hair had been at the time and couldn’t.
Of course, it had been tucked up under that ball cap I’d worn, and it wasn’t as if the pictures had hit the tabloids. No, those pictures had gone straight to his wife’s attorney. Still, he had to have known when they were taken and by whom when they’d been presented to him what with his pregnant mistress standing right there next to him.
“Isn’t that great, Neely?” Seth’s voice sounded next to me.
I had totally zoned out of the conversation. From across the table, one of the actresses—Carey or Kaylee—I couldn’t remember her name, was looking over at me, probably waiting for an answer.
“Uh…oh, I apologize,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush, “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Seth placed his hand on my arm and cleared his throat, “Kaylee was just saying how her series has been renewed for another season.”
“Oh, well, that’s great news,” I replied totally clueless as to what series she appeared in, “Congratulations, Kaylee.”
“Thank you,” she said, a cordial smile graced her lips. She did seem nice. “Do you watch the show?”
Oh. shit.
“Are you serious, Kaylee?” Seth chimed in, rescuing me, “Neither one of us misses an episode. We loved the holiday story with the runaway orphan.”
Thank God for Seth, I thought to myself as I felt his hand brush against my thigh.
I lowered my hand beneath the table while Kaylee went on about the episodes planned for March sweeps and found his. I squeezed it, the corners of my mouth giving way to a smile as I pretended to listen.
I loved this man.
When Kaylee finally stopped talking, I took my cue to excuse myself from the table to visit the Ladies Room. Of all the times for my period to come early, this would have to be one of them.
Once in the stall, I dug through my purse to find the spare tampon I always carried in the zippered pouch. While I was taking care of the situation, I heard the door to the Ladies Room open, and a couple of female voices were giggling.
I couldn’t make out what they were saying since they definitely sounded like they were fairly lit, and their convo consisted of a lot of shushing and giggling.
My curiosity got the better of me. I leaned forward on the toilet and positioned my face so that I could peek through the sliver of space between the door of the stall and the frame.
Holy shit.
I immediately recognized one of the women as being Wendi Wasserman, the lead actress in the hit television series, “Seven from Heaven.” She played the family matriarch with seven kids and a wholesome life as a minister’s wife.
Apparently Wendi was feeling out of character this evening. I squinted and felt my jaw drop as I watched her empty a small glass vile of white powder out onto the stainless steel changing table affixed to the opposite wall.
I quickly rummaged back through my purse and found my camera. I hit the record button and held it exactly where my eye had just been, hoping it caught the action.
“Here, use this to make a couple lines,” the other woman said. “Looks like Henry fixed us up with some good shit.”
They were still giggling, and finally Wendi’s voice rang out. “Roll that twenty up tight and hand it over. I get the first line this time, bitch.”
I could hear her s
norting up the line, and then a pause before the other woman followed suit.
“Damn,” Wendi said, sniffing several times, “This is some good shit.”
“No shit,” the other woman said. “Come on, let’s get back to the party before we’re missed.”
Once they were gone, I put my camera back in its cloth case, finished up my business and washed up. I checked my reflection in the mirror before going back out.
“There you are,” Seth said as I took my seat next to him. “I was about to send out a search party.”
I leaned in to him. “Got my period,” I whispered.
“Bummer,” he replied.
Chapter 10
January 20, 2000
Seth
Neely and I’ve been back together for nearly three months. And to be honest, they’ve been the happiest three months of my entire twenty-three years on this planet.
Tomorrow is her twenty-second birthday, and I’ve just now phoned my contact at the dealership to make sure the car I picked out for her is ready for pickup in the morning. But I can’t help but worry my grandiose gesture may not be well received.
The thing about Neely is that she has her pride, and she’s also be known for her stubbornness about certain things. This just may be one of them.
I know giving her a car for her birthday comes off as a bit extravagant, but I have the means to do it and I want to do it. You see, it’s important to me.
The thing is, Jazzy clued me in a couple of weeks ago on why Neely sold her car. She made me promise not to let her know she told me. But once I knew she sold her car so that she could pay for the baby’s burial, there was no fucking way I was not going to buy her a new one. It was the least I could do.
I’ll just have to deal with whatever objections she has the best way I can. Fucking her senseless usually works well.
Just kidding! (Well, maybe, but maybe not.)
Anyway, there’s another thing you should know about me. I’m not some pussy-whipped guy with his head buried in the sand.
Nope.
Not at all.
I know exactly what Neely does for a living. Oh, that doesn’t mean I’ve always known, because no, that would not be accurate. I figured it out almost three weeks ago.
Remember that New Year’s Day party? Well, I had a call the following day from the director I’d been talking to at the party, Richard Blumfield.
Rich called me and asked me the most ridiculous question about Neely. He asked me if she used to deliver pizzas in the Valley.
I told him I was sure she hadn’t, but he went on to explain to me the reason for his off-the-wall question. So, that was my first clue. But I did assure Rich it was a case of mistaken identity all the same.
Then the following day, a picture appeared on the front page of several of the major rags of a well-known actress, who happens to star on a very popular, and very wholesome television series, snorting coke. Said actress just happened to be in attendance at the same party where Neely and I had been.
Now the picture had been cropped, so it was impossible to tell where it had been taken, but by the looks of the dress she was wearing, it’s safe to say it was taken at the party. And once again, I saw the tagline: Grace Evangelista.
Not rocket science, folks.
Neilah Grace Evans.
Grace Evangelista.
BOOM.
So, am I shocked?
No. Surprised is probably a more accurate word. Let’s face it, there was never any love lost between Neely and the local paparazzi for obvious reasons, so for her to go over to the other side? Yeah, it kind of surprises me.
Having said that, Grace Evangelista for the short time that she’s been around, has certainly made a name for herself in the business. That part doesn’t surprise me one little bit. Neely is so talented and passionate about everything she undertakes, it comes as no surprise to me that she would excel as a photographer known for her chameleon calling card.
So, what do I plan to do with this nugget of information?
Nothing.
That’s right. Nothing.
Neely has the right to pursue whatever career path she chooses. I’ve no right to judge her for that, or to influence her one way or the other. Obviously, she’s not comfortable telling me what she does for a living, and that’s fine. Because one thing I do know about Neely is the fact she’s not comfortable sharing that information with me is a sure sign she’s not in it for the long haul.
So, I will simply remain quiet and wait for her to either tell me, or perhaps orchestrate a career change for herself. Either way, I am here for the long haul. It doesn’t matter what Neely does for a living, because I love her no matter what.
And now I need to contemplate how I will address her objections to the 2000 Audi TT she will have parked in her driveway with a huge red bow on it tomorrow morning.
Wish me luck.
Chapter 11
January 21, 2000
I turned twenty-two years old today. There was nothing special about turning twenty-two I’d already decided. It wasn’t one of those milestone birthdays that warranted special cards from the local Hallmark store.
In fact, my next milestone birthday wouldn’t be until I hit thirty. Plenty of time to get my life in order I thought to myself as I pulled a sweater and pair of jeans from my closet.
And then I stopped for a moment and wondered why I had thought of it that way. Wasn’t my life in order right now?
I had a career so to speak. I had a decent income. I had a best friend, and my boyfriend was back in my life, hopefully for good this time. My mother was out of rehab and from all indications, happily married. My dad—well he was going through a divorce, but he seemed to be doing okay. We talked weekly now.
So, what was missing? Why did I feel the need to take emotional inventory at twenty-two?
I knew why.
I pulled the sweater on over my head, shaking my hair out as I adjusted the neckline.
I wasn’t exactly where I’d hoped to be at twenty-two.
Not career-wise at least. There was no denying the fact that I wasn’t enjoying putting people’s dirty laundry out there. At least not anymore.
If I were to be honest, I’d have to admit that at first it gave me some satisfaction. I knew how fucked up that sounded, but like I said, it was how I felt. Maybe it was because I had a chip on my shoulder for how I perceived my life had been screwed over by people and circumstances outside of my control. Maybe I had some sort of an emotional axe to grind. But the truth was, I no longer felt that way and I hadn’t for a while now.
When had that changed?
I pulled my jeans on and buttoned them up. I would have to say it changed with the picture of Tiffany. It was the first time I had been overwhelmed by guilt. Not because I gave a rat’s ass about the bitch, because I sure as hell did not.
No, it was because I knew before I’d even sold the pic, there was a good chance it was going to wound my father. And now I knew for sure that he’d rather have been kept in the dark, and that made it even worse.
Since then, none of the pics I’d taken had given me any sort of satisfaction or the usual feeling of pride I had gotten before then, even though I’d taken some great ones. I had put all my front pagers away, and it wasn’t because of the possibility that Seth would see them. I just no longer felt proud of my work, and that had become a problem.
But the thing was, I had to do something to earn a living. It wasn’t even about my going back and working with Malcolm because really, it was sort of the same thing, only less money. The pictures weren’t published in the tabloids, but they were still taken and developed for the purpose of emotional blackmail or extortion. I just couldn’t be a part of that anymore.
I’d banked a bundle so far. Maybe I’d look into returning to school for my degree and get a job teaching. I’d make it somehow. Going on location with Seth had provided the perfect out for me with Jerry. Anyway,
the bottom line was that my mind had been made up. And today I had a meeting with Jerry to let him know I was no longer freelancing for anyone.
He probably wouldn’t understand. He’d probably tell me that going on location would be the perfect opportunity to snap some stills. It would keep my identity unknown what with the filming crews and locals being around, but I would stand my ground, because it wasn’t Jerry’s Karma on the line. It was mine.
I brushed my hair up into a ponytail, grabbed my jacket and headed out of my room. Jazzy wasn’t up yet which was kind of unusual because she typically left for work around now. I figured she’d gone in early like she occasionally had done in the past.
As I opened our front door and stepped out onto the porch, I immediately knew something was up. I saw Jazzy standing in the driveway, her mouth hanging open as she was gazing at something. I couldn’t see what that something was until I walked around the walk to where I could get full view of our driveway.
I stopped dead in my tracks “What the hell?”
Jazzy looked up at me. “Girl, I think this is yours. Got a big bow on it, see?”
“I can see that, Jazz. You really shouldn’t have,” I deadpanned, my voice a bit louder than I meant it to be.
And just then Seth rounded the corner on our street and pulled up behind the whatever-it-was-foreign car parked in our driveway. I was honestly clueless. The only thing I knew for sure was it looked like an import and it looked expensive.
He got out of his vehicle, his lopsided grin going full throttle. “Happy Birthday, babe!”
Chapter 12
So today I saw a stubborn side of Seth I’d never seen before, and hopefully, it wouldn’t surface often, or the longevity of our relationship could be at serious risk.
We’d stood in my driveway, once Seth had moved my new birthday gift so that Jazzy could back hers out, and argued for a good forty-five minutes about the over-the-top present he’d given me.
