by Dahlia Adler
Cut.
Everyone seems pretty pleased with the scene, but of course, we have to film it again. We get back into place, and as we do, I catch a glimpse of Brianna standing next to an empty chair, thumbs tucked into the belt loops of her denim miniskirt, jaw clenched tight until she notices me noticing her.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say she wasn’t all that thrilled with that scene.
And for some reason, that gets me excited to do it all over again.
“You and Josh have some pretty crazy chemistry,” Carly observes as the two of us walk back to the trailer we share once filming is done for the day. “Is this one of those things where you guys pretend to hate each other when you’re actually totally in love?”
I snort. “Trust me when I say there are no positive feelings between me and Josh, unless you count that he throws good parties. That, I’ll give him.”
As if just talking about him summoned the devil, I feel a hand clap me on the shoulder, and turn to see another one land on Carly’s. “Ladies,” Josh says genially.
“Lord Douchington,” I reply with a nod of my head. “Don’t you think you’ve touched me enough today?” I pry his fingers from my shoulder. “What do you want?”
He grins, not remotely affected by any of my insults, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. “Actually, I have a question for you.” He nods toward my half of the trailer. “May I?”
“If the question is whether I’ll sleep with you, the answer is going to be vomit on your shoes. I’m warning you now.”
Carly laughs and flutterwaves goodbye as she disappears into her half, and I reluctantly let Josh in to mine. “What is it?” I sit down at the mirror and douse some cotton balls in makeup remover, anxious to get this crap off my face.
He coughs. “I…I need your help with something.”
“If you think I’m gonna run lines with you right now, after all the ad-libbing you did in there, you’re crazy.”
“Oh, please—like my lines weren’t a thousand times better than the cheesy shit they write for us. But no, this has nothing to do with the show. This is more assistance of the…parental-pleasing variety. As in, I have no idea how to, and I kind of need to. At dinner. Tonight.”
He looks so convinced that this is something I actually have vast experience in that I almost feel bad laughing at his face in the mirror. Almost. “Oh, you’re serious,” I say after a minute, wiping my eyes. “Josh, if I was capable of pleasing parents, trust me, I’d be doing it. My parents think I’m just as much of a waste of space as yours probably do.”
“You?” He snorts. “What’s your parents’ issue? Were you five minutes late to church on Sunday?”
I whirl around in my seat. “Has anyone ever told you that when you ask a favor, you’re supposed to be nice to the person you’re asking?”
“Yeah, but you know I never listen to Ally.”
“God, you’re the worst.” I shake my head at his stupid grin, but curiosity at why Josh suddenly wants to be a parent-pleaser wins out. “So, what do you need and why?”
He hesitates, and I think it might be the first time I’ve seen Josh Chester look…embarrassed.
“Um, did you think you were gonna be able to ask my help without telling me what it was for?”
“No, I’m just bracing myself for how big of a bitch you’re gonna be about it.”
“A pretty huge one, now,” I say sweetly.
“I knew this was a mistake.” He turns to go, and I let him; I know he’ll be back in two seconds. Who else is he gonna ask?
Unsurprisingly, he turns around and walks back in before he can even close my trailer door behind him. “Okay, fine. Just…keep it to yourself, will you?” He shuts the door and makes himself comfortable on my couch while I return to tending to my face in the mirror. “My mother’s pressuring me to do this reality show thing in order to keep my house, and I need to please her until I can get her to sign over the deed. But every single thing I do seems to piss her off, starting with how I dress. So can you please come over and help me find something that screams ‘let’s mutually cooperate’?”
Again, this seems ironic, since my mother’s response to me upon leaving the house this morning was, “Shouldn’t you wear a real shirt over that shirt?” But I’m pretty sure that Josh’s mom at least lives in this century, so this should be easy enough.
The question is, what do I want in return?
“I have plans with Zander tonight.” I say it to inform him that I’m busy, but as I do, I realize that maybe he can help me after all. Not that I would ever admit to Josh that our relationship is every bit as lame as he thinks it is. Or that we’ve barely done more than make out. But while meaningful relationships aren’t exactly Josh’s thing, getting them to move faster certainly is. If anyone can tell me how to kick this whole thing with Zander up a notch, sadly, it’s Josh Chester.
Of course, Josh rolls his eyes at the mere mention of Zander’s name. “Not to worry. I’ll get you to your date at a proper hour. What time are the kids eating the early bird special these days? Wouldn’t want him to miss out on any of his beauty sleep. How would his hair stand up that way otherwise?”
“Your jealousy is so cute. Sorry my boyfriend has a fan club of a zillion while you can barely get your agent to remember your name.” I examine my skin in the mirror, and, satisfied it looks makeup free, I rub on some moisturizing sunscreen. “But, yes, if you get me back on time—and do something for me—I’ll help you.”
“And what would you like me to do for you, K-drama? Lie down in the lot while you reverse your car over my face?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I admit. “But I’m reserving a favor. Right now. You are in my debt. Say it.”
He narrows his eyes.
I shrug and put my focus back on rimming my eyes with black liner.
“Fine. Ronen’s already here. Finish putting on your face, and you can follow us up.”
“Hey, you want my help, then you can drive me up and back to my car. If I’m sitting in the traffic up to Malibu, I’m not doing it behind the wheel.” The truth is, I hate driving long distances by myself, but that’s yet another factoid to file under “Things I Will Never Tell Josh Chester.”
“Fine,” he says with a huffy sigh. “Two minutes. And take it easy on the eyeliner—we’re going to my house, not your second job at the strip club.”
“You’re leaving now.”
He rolls his eyes but lets himself out, calling out “One minute!” behind him.
Chapter Nine
Josh
You can’t wear that,” K-drama declares the second I step out of my walk-in closet. “Oh, come on.”
“Josh, you asked me here to help you pick an outfit. I’m telling you it’s not gonna be that one.”
“It’s just dinner with my parents,” I remind her, even though she’s right that this is exactly the reason I asked her over. Which was obviously a huge mistake, much like I can already tell this entire night is gonna be. “Who gives a shit what I wear?”
“Your mother does, from what you’ve told me, and if you wear a T-shirt and jeans to dinner—again—you’re not gonna get what you want.”
“What I want is for her to get off my back.”
“Well, your passive-aggressive clothing decisions aren’t going to make that happen.” She crosses her arms and nods toward my closet. “Pick something that actually requires a hanger. And make it designer. In a calming shade of blue. It’ll go a long way.”
I know she’s right, but I don’t need her knowing she’s right. “What I’m wearing is fine. I look good, don’t I?”
I do, but she just rolls her eyes and does her best “Vanessa Park is not impressed.” It’s pretty much her default reaction pose to anything I do. Ally would be proud. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she says, and then she turns and walks out.
Goddammit. I wait until she’s gone and then I change into decent pants and a blue button-down. If I could avoid her seeing I
’ve taken her advice, I’d do it in a second. She’s such a pain in my ass. But I know wearing this crap will make my mom feel like I’m actually listening to her and is my best shot at getting her to listen to me in return.
I take a shot of Patrón from the minibar in my bedroom, then brush my teeth until the smell of tequila is gone. There’s no way I’m making it through this night on no alcohol, and the fact that I don’t do my own driving means I never have to think twice about it. If I still did any of the harder stuff, now would be the perfect time to whip it out. But my dad can tell that shit from a mile away—it’s one of his only interpersonal skills—so alas, all I can do tonight is get good and liquored up.
“Ronen’s here!” Vanessa calls up, and I debate taking another shot, but I don’t have time to mask the smell a second time. I head out into the car with her on my heels—I’d avoid her completely if I hadn’t promised her a ride home in time for her to get ready for some bullshit date with her bullshit boyfriend—and make the mistake of glancing at her just long enough to catch her annoying smirk.
My nerves are jacked up the whole ride. Sending dirty texts to a bunch of different standbys doesn’t help, even though I’ve got plenty of offers I know will help alleviate the awfulness for a few hours after dinner. Everything else is more of the same—Paz trying to get me on a double-date in the hopes he’ll get some ass; Royce lauding some club we gotta go to; Jeremy sending me pervy pics of some chick he got with last night; no word from Liam.
By the time I reach the mansion, I’m in an even shittier mood, and I head straight for the bar as soon as I let myself in. I’m about to help myself to the Snow Queen—my dad’s favorite vodka—when I hear steps behind me and remember that I’m being fucking filmed.
“Hey, Josh!” By now, Chuck and I are apparently old friends. “We actually missed your entrance, but were hoping you could do it again and ring the doorbell this time, let your mom answer. Get a whole ‘prodigal son returns’ kind of shot.”
I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about, but I need this night over with and I need not to be filmed drinking, so I do what he says and force myself not to throw up all over my mother’s Manolos.
“Josh, honey, it’s so nice to have you home.” She’s careful not to leave lip prints on my cheek, though her face is so heavily made up I’m sure she’s left some trace of it somewhere on me anyway. “I made your favorite. How was filming today?”
I assume I’m supposed to pretend I’m the busiest fucking worker bee in Hollywood, so I make some shit up, let them make us reshoot it a hundred times, and then we’re sitting at the table, a team of strangers watching us eat and filming asinine dinner conversation.
“This is so nice,” my mom says at some point. “I’m so glad we’ve decided to have these weekly family dinners.”
Weekly? There is no fucking way I’m putting myself through this pain weekly. “Me too.”
“Maybe next week you’ll bring a girl with you,” Mom teases playfully, as if that’s a natural tone for her. And as if I’ve ever brought a girl to meet them, ever.
“Doubt it.” I stuff a dinner roll into my mouth, hoping it’ll keep her from trying to get me to talk for a few minutes. It works, and she switches to gushing about her busy day to my father instead.
All of this only reinforces Ally’s point—there is no way in hell people will watch this shit. We’re boring as balls as a family, and even having me here doesn’t change that. If they were hoping I’d start some shit at the table, they’re gonna be sorely disappointed. Being docile and boring is even worse than not participating at all, I realize. I think my mom might even have been disappointed about the fact that I showed up in an outfit she couldn’t trash in front of the cameras.
Just then, the doorbell rings, and when my mother says, “My, who could that be?” I know there’s some sort of setup ahead that’s going to piss me off.
Sure enough, when my mother returns to the dining room, Shannah fucking Barrett is walking in behind her.
“Joshua, look who’s here!” Marsha gushes. “You could’ve told me you invited your girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend?” I glare at Shannah. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve missed you.” My ex-fuckbuddy strolls over and drops a kiss on my cheek before taking a seat in the chair next to me, where I realize, like an idiot, there’s been an extra place setting all along I hadn’t noticed. “I was so happy when you called to invite me.”
“Like there’s a flaming chance in hell I would’ve done that. I prefer my pork chops without a side of crabs via Garrett Morgan, thanks very much.” I look straight at one of the cameramen and narrow my eyes. “Are you seriously filming this shit?”
“Don’t worry,” Chuck assures us. “The final version will be very different.”
“As in, you’ll edit it so it looks like I’ve actually spoken to this skank in the last six months,” I clarify.
“Joshua!”
“Christ, Marsha. You really scraped the bottom of the barrel looking for additional on-air ‘talent.’ What the hell were you thinking?”
“Wow, Josh. Rude much?”
I turn to glare at Shannah. “This is seriously pathetic, even for you.”
She just smiles sunnily at me, and I know she’s getting paid more than I am to be here.
“Oh, look, the main course is here.” One of my mother’s many house minions—I can’t even keep track of them by name—comes in with a huge platter of steaks, and finally, this night is looking up. I can’t even imagine Shannah touching one, and she doesn’t disappoint—just ignores the woman and points at the salad instead.
“So, Josh,” Shannah says when we’ve all got food on our plates, a quiet process I’m sure they’ll be cutting out, especially so the minion doesn’t get any airtime, “I’m really excited about your party next weekend.”
“You’re not invited to the party,” I inform her, cutting a huge piece of steak and shoving it into my mouth as I eye the wine bottle near my mom with envy.
“What party, honey?”
As if my mother gives a shit. I can already tell there’s a reason she’s asking I’m not gonna like. “I’m having a party at my—at the Malibu house for the Daylight Falls cast and crew. As a wrap-up for the show. A show you’re not on,” I add pointedly to Shannah.
“Zoe invited me,” she says sweetly, as if I like Zoe any better. She’s not even as hot.
“What a lovely idea.” Marsha looks pleased, and I can practically feel her winking at the cameras, as if there’s a chance in hell I’d let them near the party.
“You know not a single person there would sign a waiver letting them be on a reality show, right?”
“Oh, I’m sure a few would be okay with it,” Shannah says airily, and I wonder if I could get away with kicking her under the table.
“Well, it’s something to talk about.” Marsha’s voice is the sweet-with-an-edge she’s perfected over years of soap work, and normally it rolls off my back, but today it reminds me I’ve actually got something at stake. She’s got my back against a wall—again—and it needs to end. She needs to stop having any semblance of control over my life. And apparently, the only way to make that happen is to give up control over the one thing she’s got.
Which means it’s time for me to find a real job and a new home.
Chapter Ten
Vanessa
How’s your salad?” Zander asks me for the second time. He has a bit of cilantro on his cheek, but I’ve already told him about it a couple of times, and I’ve gotten bored of watching him try to get it. His fault for not realizing cilantro is terrible.
“Still good,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. We’ve been at Giunio’s for twenty minutes, having exactly this kind of boring back-and-forth, both of us just kind of poking at our food. How is it possible that I can have lengthy conversations with Brianna and even Josh, but I can’t talk to my own boyfriend? “This place
is cute.”
“Jamie and Robin came here last week and said it was swarming with paparazzi.” He frowns, but only for a second, because Zander Wilson never frowns for longer than that. “Doesn’t seem to be the night for them, but at least the food’s good.”
“It’s kind of nice to have some privacy for once,” I offer, because that sounds like how I should feel. I wish it was. Not that I love posing for the paparazzi all the time, but at least when Zander and I are in a conversational dead zone, they kick us into action, get us holding hands and flirting. And it’s fun. I like those parts of being in a relationship.
I just think it’d be nice to have the feelings behind it, too.
Not that I’m trying very hard. I hide a sigh in my mineral water. I suck at this. And if I want things to be better, I have to make more of an effort.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath that would make Raoul proud, I reach across the table and rub the piece of cilantro from Zander’s lip, letting my finger linger there for a second too long. His lips really are nice and soft; if only I didn’t know it’s because he has an intense lip-care regimen.
He smiles, and I know I’ve made the right move.
“Yeah, I’m glad your plans changed tonight and you were able to come out.” He takes my hand and squeezes it, then places it gently back on the table. “I feel like we haven’t spent much time together lately.”
“It’s true.” I spear a piece of calamari and take a bite. “It’s been hard for me with Ally leaving, so…” I’m about to tell him I’ve been hanging out with Brianna more, but for some reason, I don’t want to bring her up with him. Not like he cares who I’m shopping or working out with these days, anyway. “Um, yeah. You still wanna go to Beyoncé’s concert next week, right?”
“Of course. And the Wonder Ball is coming up next month. Did I mention Jamie’s having a party beforehand?”
