HDU #2: Dirt

by India Lee

  Or sex.

  Don’t, Amanda warned herself as the driver opened her car door. Now was not the time to recall the last incident during which she’d blue-balled Liam. The memory always made her cringe and right now she had a responsibility to smile for photographers before the white backdrop splattered with the logos of all the party sponsors — Wendy’s handiwork, as were all the solid B-list stars in attendance, whom Amanda had never met in her life. She assumed that Wendy had rounded up enough press for them to find her birthday worthy of attendance.

  “Just pretend you know everyone, ‘kay? Like you all go way back,” Wendy giggled as they emerged from the car.

  “So… lie?”

  “Yes. Lie. Lying is good,” Wendy nodded. When Amanda snorted, she gave her a playful jab with her elbow. “I’m in PR, Amanda, I’d know. Dishonesty is the only way to get ahead in Hollywood.”

  I guess I have a good start then, Amanda mused to herself as she approached the red carpet milling with TV actors and talent show winners whom she had only ever seen before on television and HDU. And yet, they all uttered variations of, “So happy to be here with Amanda on her special night!” The phony phrases were certainly good for making her genuinely smile — or rather, laugh — for the cameras. It ended up taking a solid ten minutes before she spotted someone whom she actually knew.

  “Ian. Where the heck do you think you’re going?”

  Jogging awkwardly in the four-inch heels that Wendy had gifted her, Amanda chased a navy blue suited Ian down the carpet and to the arched stone entrance of the restaurant. On his arm was the wild socialite-turned-health guru-turned restaurateur, Harper Gunn, daughter of the famous Hudson Gunn, who owned Lilac, Amanda and Liam’s go-to date spot in the West Village.

  Ian grinned at Amanda’s hobble, brushing the dark mop of hair from his eyes. They were bright again, in every sense of the word — slightly nervous, probably from being out at night for the first time since rehab, but still more green and awake than they’d ever looked since Amanda had known him. Healthy, apparently, was a better look on Ian than anyone could’ve imagined. Harper Gunn and rehab diaries aside, Amanda couldn’t help but wonder if Hollywood was taking it slightly easier on him post-rehab because he now looked movie star handsome.

  “Help me, he’s doing the night time anxiety thing,” Harper heaved a sigh. “And he’s already talking about leaving.”

  Ian laughed. “I just don’t want to bring down the stock of your party by blatantly showing my face. It’s nice enough that you invited me at all.”

  Amanda groaned. “Ian! Shut up.” It felt as if she had to say these words constantly lately, the way she used to when Megan would call herself fat. The difference now, however, was that Ian wasn’t just fishing for compliments. The industry was mercifully leaving him alone for the most part but that certainly didn’t mean that they’d accepted him. He was still a leper. The tabloids still itched to vilify him and often, they tried. But it was simply too hard with Ian now so mild-mannered and well-behaved. He hung out strictly during daytime. When spotted out and about, he was usually practicing Pilates or meditation with Harper, who served almost as his shield to bad press, having become a media princess since her stellar foray into the New York restaurant scene. As much as they wanted to, gossip rags couldn’t find good enough material on Ian for a juicy story, so they ignored him — so long as he didn’t do anything to pique their interest like go out at night, and to his first star-studded party since the last one that he’d infamously crashed.

  “Seriously.” Ian’s nervous laugh wound down. “I know this sounds dramatic but you’re sacrificing the quality of your crowd by having me here,” he said, wrinkling his forehead and prompting Harper to press between his furrowed brows till he stopped frowning.

  “But Harper’s here. And we’re at Agno. This is your favorite restaurant.”

  “Yeah, and you totally bummed Wendy out enough by choosing this place for your party.”

  Harper smacked his shoulder with her studded McQueen clutch. “Hey.”

  Opened by Harper, Agno was a raw vegan and booze-free restaurant that had miraculously been awarded two stars by the New York Times. To Wendy’s chagrin, Amanda had chosen the spot to accommodate Ian. To Wendy’s delight, however, the media interpreted the move as Amanda’s decided choice between him and Casey. Because of the rivalry between Leadoff and Casey’s show, Legacy, the girls had had a big falling out. The entertainment news programs had assumed this much, anyway, and Wendy and Tom Vogel took no issue with that. Casey’s diabolical publicity stunt with Ian had skyrocketed her show to enormous popularity well before its premiere. Meanwhile, Leadoff was being regarded as the “old, slow-paced” one between the two and the production was in desperate need of publicity — even if it had to come in the same breath as Casey’s show.

  “Also, in case you forgot,” Ian started, stepping into a shadow as Harper volunteered herself to pose for the cameras, distracting them from his anxiety. “Everyone’s waiting for me to get punched in the face tonight like I deserve.”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t seen Liam since the… thing at the Critic’s Choice after party.”

  “Oh. Right.” Amanda twisted her pursed lips. “Well, if there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that Liam isn’t punching anyone at my birthday party.”

  Ian shifted nervously, offering a weak, polite smile to a guest who passed them and stared at him before offering Amanda a look that asked, Are you okay? Once the guest had gone, Ian groaned. “See? People are looking for me to ruin this party, Amanda, I can see it in their eyes and I don’t want to be that kind of distraction at the first event that’s all yours. This is like your coming out party to Hollywood.”

  “We’re in New York.”

  “Shut up. You know what I mean. The industry. The culture. The people. You’re an official part of it now and you need to play by their rules sometimes.”

  “Ian.” Amanda heaved a sigh, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “I may be letting Wendy throw me this huge, insane party where I know maybe five people but I draw the line at not inviting my closest friend because it might rile up the industry. I’m not that Hollywood. I’m not Hollywood at all,” she laughed. “Besides, if it’s Liam you’re worried about, you shouldn’t be. He told me that he’s looking forward to seeing the new you tonight and he’s proud of the progress you’ve made.” She smiled as Ian blinked with surprise. “I mean I wasn’t supposed to tell you that he said that, but he did.”

  Ian paused, his eyes fluttering to the ground for a moment before returning to Amanda with a hope that made him seem about five years old. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Amanda exhaled. “Now please.” She lifted her heeled foot as much as she could and pretended to kick his ass toward the door. “Go into my party and have some fun.”

  “Alright, alright.” Ian dusted off the back of his pants and laughed, finally looking at ease. Playing with the borrowed diamond cuff on her wrist, Amanda watched him go.

  Maybe Wendy was right. Lying was a good thing.

  At least in this instance. She didn’t care about the industry’s stupid rules. Ian was her friend and she wanted him at her party. The fact that she had to be an actress and lie to keep him there was ironic, but whatever. She couldn’t very well tell Ian that Liam was among those who preferred that he be kept off the guest list just in case.

  Taking a deep breath, Amanda returned with a smile to the middle of the carpet and a beckoning Wendy, who positioned her for photos with yet another set of beautiful, smiling stars whom she didn’t even slightly know.

  Just landed at Teterboro. See you in 20.

  Amanda let out a whooshing sigh of relief upon receiving Liam’s text. She could hardly wait another minute for him to arrive. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected it, but her birthday party had thus far been a big night of posing for pictures and speaking to magazines to promote Leadoff. It was miraculous that she’d been able to sneak off to the bar and privat
ely sip on her gin-free basil and cucumber tonic for even a moment.

  “Care if we join you?”

  A very short moment.

  Amanda turned to see Ian joined by Harper, who wore a friendly smile on her peach-tinted lips. It completely contradicted her voice. Even in her wild days, it had always been something of a bored, unfazed monotone. Maybe the voice was the reason why Amanda had yet to fully trust her. She kind of always sounded as if she wanted to leave the conversation. But the main reason was probably that Casey had ruined her trust of most people. Harper, after all, was yet another big name blonde who had inexplicably befriended Ian. But this time around, Amanda suspected that things were different. Harper had been in rehab once herself and had better advice for Ian than Amanda would ever know how to give. Plus, her famous days as a mean girl were over. After all, it was her meditation that had inspired Ian to suggest Amanda forget revenge on Casey and focus on “positive energy only.”

  Amanda smiled, patting the brown leather barstool next to her. “Sit here. The curtain’ll hide you guys that way, too.”

  Ian laughed, anxiously loosening his tie as he plopped himself down. “Good thinking. You gonna wait here till Liam comes to save you?”

  “If I can get away with it, yeah. I just want to see him already.”

  Harper’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “Been like, three months right?”

  “Ugh, yes.”

  “Yeah. We’ll leave you alone at that point.” She grimaced and shook her head, her platinum hair catching the light. “God, I feel bad for your neighbors tonight.”

  Amanda blinked, taking a second to realize what she was alluding to. “Oh. Ha. Right.” She blinked again, harder this time, trying to suppress the flashback of kissing Liam in the bed of her East Village sublet on that day that he’d come back to get her. Amanda shuddered at herself and the memory of that day. God. He had been on top of her in her bed, down to boxer briefs and pretty much hard as a rock by the time she’d abruptly sat up and realized that she couldn’t go through with it. Not yet. It was technically the first official day of their relationship. She wanted a fresh beginning, to leave the mess of the past few months behind and start anew. She wanted to feel as if they’d truly been dating before sharing that kind of moment.

  That was what she told him, anyway.

  And it was half true. She did want to feel as if she’d actually been in a relationship before having sex. But there was the other half of her reason and it was basically that, plain and simple, she was in bed with Liam Brody. He was a different Liam now but it wasn’t as if their past few months together had erased his extensive sexual and romantic experience. Or her general lack of either. While she’d been thrown just about every challenge possible since January, a real relationship hadn’t been one of them and her paltry experience with Brandt could hardly be considered preparation. So despite the confidence she’d gathered of late, Amanda had yet to muster up the courage to strip bare and give Liam the ride of his life.

  She hadn’t made the full transformation into that girl yet. The typical Hollywood girl who was self-assured to the point of cockiness. Someone who knew when to take risks and exactly how to be with a guy like Liam Brody because she had experience and sexual prowess — things that Amanda was certain she lacked thanks to the utter tragedy that had been her sex life with Brandt.

  “Did you just vibrate?” Harper asked, stirring Amanda from her thoughts.

  “What?”

  Already jittery, Ian jumped in his seat at her surprise. Harper flashed Amanda an odd look. “Your phone? I think it just vibrated.”

  “Oh!” Amanda’s eyes fluttered and she hoped her cheeks weren’t blushing as they often did for next to no reason. Clearing her throat, she glanced down at her iPhone — the one she had purchased for herself after receiving her first paycheck from ZINC, finally inducting herself “into the age of modern technology,” as Ian had phrased it.

  Ian forced a smile. “Liam?”

  “I don’t think so.” The buzz had come from a new email and Liam hadn’t emailed her since they’d first been acquainted. Tapping on the envelope icon, Amanda blinked. And then frowned.

  Sitting in her inbox was a lone message timestamped from two minutes ago — and sent from her own email address.

  “Wrinkles,” Harper clucked, gently pressing between Amanda’s furrowed brows with her bejeweled finger.

  “Sorry, I just…” Amanda trailed off as she read the words in the message.

  i don’t see this douche’s career lasting long. all he ever does is play some variation of a cocky asshole in movies and from the looks of it that doesn’t involve a ton of acting. fingers crossed that his career ends embarrassingly so girls stop sleeping with him. there’s really no need for him to procreate. ever.

  Amanda squinted. It was a comment she had made about Liam on HDU last year, as PrettyKitty29. It was from early December – a good month before they had ever met in person. She had forgotten about it completely until now. Probably because she’d left so many comments of that nature. Dozens upon dozens. They all kind of blended together. Looking back on the time in her life, Amanda cringed. Then, the biggest highlight of her day consisted of spreading awful stories about someone whom she was really only making assumptions about since she didn’t actually know him. She felt nothing like that person anymore. Still staring at the screen, her stomach started to churn. But the memory of her bored, hateful self wasn’t actually the most disconcerting thing about reading the comment.

  It was figuring out how the hell it got there. For the life of her, she couldn’t and all she could hope was that it was some glitch in the system that synced her HDU inbox and email. It could just be a glitch, she reasoned with herself. She swallowed.

  Or it could be that someone hacked into your email, where you’ve very stupidly kept every last shred of evidence regarding Liam, Ian and HDU.

  After a couple seconds of staring with her breath held, Amanda let herself release a slow but hesitant breath, her fingers typing out a three-word reply — which felt strange and a little stupid considering it was addressed to her own inbox.

  Who is this?

  “You okay?” Ian’s voice sounded far away but she managed to nod at his question right after hitting send.

  Please be no one, please be no one, please be no one. Amanda stared at her phone, refreshing her inbox maniacally, all the while stretching her lips into a strained smile for Ian and Harper, who cocked their heads curiously at her.

  “Nothing,” Amanda said meekly, not that either of them had asked a question. Harper gave her a strange look.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked slowly.

  Amanda flashed her a smile that she was about certain made her look like some terrifying wax figure. “Totally fine.”

  Except not. Her grip tightened around her phone upon feeling it vibrate once again.

  With dread, she peered down slowly, her heart slamming against her ribcage upon confirming the brand new message in her inbox, once again from her very own email address.

  Take a guess, Pretty. ;)

  ~

  Amanda’s hair flew behind her as she ran down a corridor that looked like it might lead to a bathroom, though she couldn’t be sure. Agno was located on the ground floor of a marble building that had been a famous bank in the early 1900s. It had been preserved to continue looking as such, which meant no restroom signs or markings to mar its grand appearance. Amanda had no idea where she was going. Regardless, she kept running. She would’ve commended herself for her stilettoed speed were she not so completely racked with worry.

  Somebody knows.

  She raked her fingers through her auburn tresses, taking about three seconds to destroy the look that the stylist had dedicated forty minutes to during hair and makeup at Wendy’s Tribeca apartment.

  Somebody knows about me, about Ian, about Liam, about HDU, about the contract, about everything. We could all be screwed.

  “Oh no.”
>
  Amanda stopped suddenly in her tracks, her heart dropping like a brick into her stomach. Liam. She and Ian had barely anything to lose compared to what he had — especially in this particular year of his career. A movie that he had physically and mentally given everything for. A probable Oscar. A verbal deal to star in a $218 million production that would launch him into the most exclusive percentage of Hollywood’s top earners.

  And she was set to ruin it all by letting herself get hacked like a tech-challenged idiot. Fingers flying, Amanda sent a reply, feeling suddenly as much fury as she did terror.

  Tell me who you are and what you want.

  Heart racing, she waited for a response, each second feeling like a solid minute. By the time an actual minute passed with no reply, her fury transformed back into total panic. “Shit,” she breathed, frozen alone in the middle of the giant, empty marble hall, barely lit by the lone chandelier on the seventy-foot ceiling. Her heart begin to pound in her throat, she tried to take in a deep breath despite the feeling of her air passage tightening up. Okay, Amanda. You need to relax and not have a heart attack when you’re alone in some dark hallway where no one will find you. Calm down. Maybe it was just some weird, technical glitch. Those happen sometimes. Right? Right.

  Leaning back against the wall, she finally let out a long, heavy sigh. “God.” Eyes closed, it took her a good five seconds to realize that she was standing square in the middle of the corridor — that there was no wall behind her to lean against.

  Jumping half a foot in the air, Amanda spun around.

  “Jesus Christ!” she half-squealed, half-shrieked, her body rippling with shivery goosebumps.