by Dahlia Adler
“Me too,” I mumble.
Just like that, the sugary smile jumps back onto her face. “I’m so glad to hear that the two of you are in my corner, just like I knew you would be. I think you’re going to love the idea I have for my next move, now that I’ll have some free time.”
Some free time? I snort. As if my mother does anything other than the show and get trashed on wine coolers at her favorite spa.
She ignores me and plows onward. “And really, wouldn’t it be nice to have some more time together as a family? I think this is really something that will bring us all together.”
And just like that, I know exactly what she’s going to say. “I am not doing a fucking reality show, Marsha.”
“Oh, Yvette…” Harold sighs. “Come on.”
“What happened to your support?” she demands. “I need you both on board with this. It’s important for me to maintain an onscreen presence.”
“Why can’t you just jump to another soap?” I ask.
“Because that sneaky bitch Laura is screwing Tom and he told her the show was tanking weeks before anyone else found out. She already snatched up the role on Myrtle’s Beach I would’ve been perfect for.”
“What about that other one?” asks Harold. “The one with the redhead.”
“I’ve had creative differences with one of the producers.” Which probably means she’s fucked him. Fantastic. “Anyway, I’ve been on Time Goes By for twenty years, and I think it’s time to do something different, get my name and face out there to a new audience. We could all use that, couldn’t we?”
“I’m not exactly hurting for clients,” Harold says wryly.
“I’m doing fine, too, thanks for asking.”
She glares daggers at me, then turns to my father. “You’re absolutely correct, Harold. I didn’t mean to suggest you needed any assistance. But I’d love to have you on every now and again.”
Funny how she didn’t offer me the same option. And I blame the fact that I seem to have drunk the entire bottle of wine in front of me for why it took me so long to realize why. “You need me, don’t you? I’m a condition of you getting this show.”
She clutches the stem of her wineglass until her bony knuckles turn white. “The studio did mention that they would be interested in featuring my son alongside me, yes.”
I shake my head. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Harold sighs, but when I glance over at him, he’s typing furiously on the ancient BlackBerry he insists on using. He’s clearly checked out of this conversation; it’s just me and Marsha now.
“Is this really so much to ask?” she all but spits.
“A reality show? Yes, it’s a lot to ask.”
Her jaw clenches, and then it relaxes and she takes a sip of wine. “Well, then, given that obviously we’ll have to be tightening some purse strings around here, I must say, I look forward to having you back here, Joshua.”
I roll my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, now that we’re losing my income we’ll obviously have to give up some things. And the beach house really is one of our most expensive assets. Considering neither your father nor I ever use it…”
“I’ll buy the damn thing from you, if that’s what you want.”
But of course it isn’t. She smiles evilly. “Well, as it happens, I’ve been approached about the house a number of times. I’d have to consider all offers.”
She knows I can’t outbid anyone. Hell, I probably can’t even pay market value. Modeling and doing appearances pays, but it doesn’t pay Malibu-beach-house money. “You’re seriously blackmailing me with my fucking house to get me to do your stupid show?”
She takes another sip of wine, then turns to my father. “How are your pork chops, dear?”
He mumbles something under his breath as he continues to send e-mails.
“Well, this has been lovely,” I declare, wiping off my mouth and dropping my napkin on the table. “I’ll be in touch.” Pushing back my chair, I enjoy the way the screech against the hardwood makes my mother wince, and then I pull out my phone and head back up to my old room. Much as I hate to admit it, I need a job that actually pays. I brace myself for a patented Ally “I told you so” and dial.
“What’s up, Josh?” She’s just out of breath enough for me to know I’ve interrupted something good. It gives me twisted joy to know Liam probably wants to punch me in the nuts right now.
“A script. Pick one. Whichever one you think will have the highest price tag attached. Fuck, pick all of ’em. Just talk to Holly and set up the auditions.”
She’s trying not to laugh, but she’s a lousy actress. “For real? Will you actually show up?”
“Yeah. Whenever. You know my schedule.”
“Better than I know my own,” she says cheerfully. “Anything else?”
There’s a fumbling, and then I hear, “Yes.” Liam’s grabbed her phone. “Don’t worry, Chester. I’ll pass along your very important message requiring Ally to keep making out with me now. I assure you she’s doing a fantastic job.” Then he hangs up on me.
I sigh and text Ronen to come back and pick me up. I need to get out of this house and into a bottle of Patrón.
Chapter Two
Vanessa
Tell me again why you’re even bothering to try to dig Josh Chester out of his apathetic little hole when you have about a billion better things to do right now?” I slide back into the passenger seat of Ally’s car, skinny iced hazelnut latté in hand, and check my reflection in the side mirror. Oof. I need to log some tanning hours, stat.
She gets in the driver’s seat and puts her own vanilla latté in the cup holder between us. “Trust me—he needs this. And he will step up. Eventually. I know Josh.”
“Which is still just so weird.” I take my first sip while she starts the car. “I can’t believe you’ve survived working for him for over a year. I don’t think anyone other than his driver’s done that, and he’s Israeli army.”
“Josh isn’t so bad once you get past the absurd requests, constant slutting it up, putdowns of my wardrobe, the fact that he’s impossible when he doesn’t wanna do something, and the late-night phone calls I’m pretty sure he times perfectly for maximum piss-Liam-off potential.” She makes a face. “Okay, yeah, he sort of sucks.”
I laugh as I reach over to turn on the radio and find something fun. “Should I be offended that it’s far longer than I lasted as your boss?”
“Considering you’ve lasted fifteen years as my best friend? I think not.”
Taylor Swift. Perfect. I sit back and take another sip of my drink as she pulls out of the spot. “Yeah, but now you’re gonna go find a new best friend at Columbia,” I say sourly, giving the final word extra fancy-voice oomph. “Just watch—in two seconds, you and your new roomie will be total besties.”
I’m not sure if it sounds like I’m kidding. I’m not sure I am. I’m not sure I care.
She grins. “Van, no one is taking your place. You think Adrienne Hughes from Montclair, New Jersey, would ever act out scenes from my favorite movies to keep me company after I had a root canal? Or hire me as her assistant and tutor to help me pay for college when I was in dire need? Please.”
Hmph, I suppose that makes me feel a little better. “Adrienne Hughes from Montclair, New Jersey, huh? You already know her name and everything?”
“Just got my assignment yesterday. That’s all I know, though. I haven’t e-mailed her or anything.”
“Good. Don’t,” I say with a smile, and she laughs.
“I don’t know who’s more possessive—you or Josh.”
“Me or Josh?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Hello, how about your totally smitten boyfriend?”
She shrugs. “Actually, Liam’s been pretty cool with…everything.”
If I hadn’t been best friends with Alexandra Duncan for pretty much my entire life, I would’ve bought her “isn’t that nice?” tone. But I have been and I’m not believing it for a second. “
And you wish he were a little less cool with it, huh?”
“It’d be nice to feel like he’s gonna miss me a little,” she admits sheepishly.
I can’t help it—I crack up so hard I actually snort.
“What the hell, Van? You don’t get to pry into my brain and then laugh at me.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that—you’re kidding, right? You don’t think Liam’s gonna miss you like crazy? Are we talking about the same boy? The one who actually attempted to make you dinner last night? The one who talked to you about buying a place in Manhattan—”
“He hasn’t mentioned that in months.”
“Oh, whatever. That boy’s as in love with you as Josh Chester is with himself.” I take another sip as I people-watch out the window. I love Ally and Liam and I’m happy for them, but it’s hard not to be jealous of what they have. The fact that she still has any insecurity about it boggles my freaking mind. Especially when I compare them to my current dead-end relationship with Zander Wilson, one of the five guys who make up Wonder Boys, a band so cheesy even I don’t listen to them.
She mumbles something I can’t hear, and then we drop it, listening to the radio instead. Of course, after a minute, we both join in, and by the time we pull up to Fred Segal, we’re both hoarse from singing along to the radio at the top of our lungs.
I swear, if my voice didn’t suck, I’d be the best pop star.
There are a couple of teens hanging out outside, and they giggle when they see me and Ally walking to the store. One boldly steps forward and asks for a picture. I smile for her phone, chat with them for a few seconds, and then follow Ally inside and upstairs.
A cute blond shop girl is admiring Josh almost as obviously as he’s admiring himself in the mirror, and immediately, I’m sorry I came. Josh doesn’t so much as turn around, even though he’d be able to see us easily if he weren’t so in love with his own reflection.
“Josh,” Ally barks, and he jumps.
“What the fuck, Duncan—oh.” Then his eyes flit over to me. “K-drama. What are you doing here?”
“I really missed being showered with racist nicknames,” I say sweetly, taking a seat. Obviously, there’ll be no mention of it in front of Ally, but we also have some party planning to do, stat.
He grunts, and we all turn to the shop girl, who’s just sort of watching us with interest. Immediately, I remind myself to play nice, because everyone in this town talks, and I’ve got a “nice girl” reputation I’m determined to keep; my publicist, Jade, would kill me if I ruined it.
Of course, Josh has no publicist, or filter, because Josh doesn’t do much of anything. But at least he’s mostly minimized his level of asshole-ness in front of Ally, because he knows he’ll get an earful if he doesn’t. My best friend does not take shit from anybody, even the spoiled actor keeping her in lattés.
“What do you think?” Josh asks her, straightening the cuffs of his jacket. “For that bullshit puppy charity thing.”
While they discuss his clothing choices—and what he should and shouldn’t say in front of strangers—I pull out my phone to text Liam, so he can distract Ally for long enough to let me and Josh get some planning done.
We’re here. Text Ally w/some sort of sexmergency so Josh and I can talk party, please!!
I scroll through my other texts while I wait for him to respond. Most of them are from Jade, who sends quick bursts of ideas and demands at all hours of the night. They’ve reduced some since she took on an intern, though. Now I get loads of e-mails from “Brianna,” who seems to think I’m an illiterate child.
A response pops up from Liam. I’m on it.
I grin at the screen, then glance over at Ally, who’s demonstrating something to the shop girl on Josh’s sleeve. After a few seconds, I hear her phone beep and then watch her pull it out of her pocket…and blush like a mofo.
“Excuse me,” she murmurs, stepping away while I hide a snort behind my hand.
I wait until she’s out of earshot, and then yank Josh off the pedestal in front of the mirror. “I don’t know how long Liam will keep her, so come on—let’s talk party.”
“Party?” the shop girl asks, and I’m not sure if she’s about to try to sell Josh another outfit or get herself an invite.
Of course, Josh wastes no time at all. “Party,” he confirms with a sleazy smile. “At my little place in Malibu. Right on the beach—”
“It’s a small, private party for a close friend,” I say with a trace of apology in my tone as I glare at Josh.
“Hey, if Prince Zander can come—”
“Zander’s my boyfriend,” I remind him impatiently. “Ally’s actually spent more than five minutes with him.”
“Zander Wilson, right?” the shop girl pipes up, sounding excited now. She’s starting to annoy me, though I obviously can’t show it. “You guys are so cute.”
Josh smothers his laughter with a cough, and I glare at him before smiling and nodding at the shop girl. Finally, he works his face into a normal expression and asks her to get him some cufflinks.
As soon as she’s gone, I whack him on the arm. “What the hell is wrong with you, Josh?”
“I’m sorry, but we both know your boyfriend is a total closet case, right? Why the hell are you dating a guy in a boy band again?”
“I like him!” I say defensively, even though it’s a sort of a lie. I mean, Zander’s fine, but it’s not like we attend parties and award shows together because we adore each other’s company. He’s just another one of Jade’s suggestions, and at this point, my romantic life is so pathetic that I’m happy to do what she says just because it’s easier than finding my own boyfriend. Not that I would ever in a billion years tell Josh that.
“You sure Jade’s not the one who likes him?” Josh’s smile is so smug I want to punch it off his face.
“Oh, just shut up,” I mutter. “You haven’t done a damn thing but show off your ass in jeans since last summer. Who are you to even talk about anything?”
“Please, like I don’t know all about the dragon lady, especially after everything with Liam last year. How is she, anyway?”
“Ask the bitchy intern she has doing all her dirty work these days,” I mutter. “After we agree on a band for the party. And remember—this is for Ally, not you, so the answer isn’t ‘whoever has the hottest chick on sticks,’ got it?”
“Man, I can’t believe the boys don’t come a-runnin’ for you, K-drama. With all that natural charm and—”
“Here you go,” the shop girl says sunnily, and Josh jumps back into flirt mode as he holds out his wrists to allow her to thread in the cufflinks. A moment later, Ally returns, too, trying to hide the goofy smile on her face following her phone call with Liam.
“Ooh, those are nice,” she says, peering over Josh’s arm. “Yes, he’ll definitely take those.”
I sigh as I watch the three of them get chatty and check my phone again. There’s a new e-mail from Brianna with a list of interviews scheduled for me for this week; a text from Zander, not-so-subtly reminding me of how much the church youth group he volunteers at would love for me to make an appearance; a voicemail from my mother, asking me to pick up ginger; and then a new text from Liam: Get anything planned?
I shove my phone back into my pocket and excuse myself to go look at some cute dresses on my own. Suddenly, I find myself in great need of retail therapy.
I have Ally leave me there, telling her I want to shop more and Josh’s driver will take me home. She’s so focused on getting to Liam ASAP that she doesn’t argue, and I make Josh sit down with me so we can finally get things done. She’s heading to New York on August twentieth, so we schedule the party for the eighteenth, so her last night can be with her family. As usual, Josh’s focus is on how to top his previous parties, and after his third attempt to convince me that his backyard can totally accommodate sword-eating fire dancers, I tell him we’re done and I need a ride. Now I’m just hoping to beat my parents home.
No such luck.
“Vanessa, you’re finally back.” My mother looks up from the newspaper she’s reading in the den. “Is Ally with you?”
“Nope, just me.” Sorry to disappoint. I swear, if my parents could trade me for my overachieving, straight-A-getting, Ivy League-bound BFF, they’d do it in a hot second. “I’m going up to run some lines. I have a table-read tomorrow.”
“You don’t have time to sit with your mother for a few minutes first?” She folds up The Korea Times—her every-weekday read, without fail—and pats the seat next to her on the couch.
Be nice, I order myself and take a seat. Maybe she’s not calling me over just to talk colleges or what I plan on doing when I’m “done with this acting nonsense.” Maybe—
“I just saw Jinsung’s mother at the bank, and guess what she told me her son is doing when he graduates college.”
Maybe not. “Running for president?”
Mom tsks in annoyance, which is basically her default language with me. “He is going to be an apprentice to an architect. Doesn’t that sound interesting?”
“About a tenth as interesting as starring in a network’s top-rated TV show.” I frown at the slight chip I hadn’t noticed earlier in the mint-green polish on my index finger. “But if Jinsung would like to sit in on a taping so you can show me off, I’m sure I could help arrange it.”
Another tsking. “Yes, your show is doing very well, Vanessa, but do not be arrogant. You are already eighteen. How much longer will you be able to act as a sophomore in high school?”
I know I could drop stats about Bethany Joy Lenz on One Tree Hill—twenty-two when the show started—or Gabrielle Carteris on Beverly Hills, 90210—a whopping twenty-nine—but there’s no point. I’ve had every argument with her before, and nothing ever penetrates the sleek black helmet of hair covering her skull.
“Maybe you could let me actually start failing before you plan for it?” I suggest, trying to keep my voice gentle. “Sometimes, I don’t even understand why you let me audition at all when I was younger. I assumed the fact that you did meant you and Dad would get behind me someday, but you still haven’t. Why?”
