by Amy Finnegan
“I like her all right,” Brett replies. “But I can like her just as easily tomorrow night.”
I nudge him toward the edge of the booth. “Excuse me, please. I’m gonna go throw up.”
Brett laughs and wraps an arm around me. “Darn it, Taylor. Am I being naughty again?”
Kimmi and Payton finally slide into the booth. “Hey, you lovebirds,” Kimmi says. “Everyone’s begging us to dish on the hot new couple.”
Brett and I both sit straight up. “We’re just talking,” I say.
Kimmi’s glossy pink lips curve into a smile. “That’s not how it looks. And someone wants a minute with you, Emma.” She motions in the direction of the food. “He asked if I’d pass along the message to meet him by the back door.”
My entire body stiffens before I even dare to look. Troy’s eyes lock on mine as he pops a chocolate-covered strawberry into his mouth.
On the outside, I only glance away. Inside, all power shuts off …
Total blackout.
“This should be interesting,” Brett says.
I fumble for my phone but can’t get a grip on it. “I need a taxi,” I whisper.
Brett lifts one of my hands. “Whoa. You’re shaking.”
I can barely speak with my heart blocking my throat. The thumping is in my neck, my chest, my ears. “It’s nothing. I just … I need to leave.”
Brett reaches across the table. “Payton, keys. Now!”
I hear Kimmi and Payton whispering, sense some movement. “Please, I just want a taxi,” I repeat. “If Troy asks, I’m staying at the Four Seasons.”
I don’t want him to find me. Anywhere. Ever again.
“Okay, okay.” Brett says. “We’ll get you out of here.”
But Troy is at our table before we can stand. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”
I squeeze my hands together and force myself to raise my eyes. I hate being this scared of him, but all I can see right now is his fist hitting my car window.
And blood on shattered glass.
Kimmi’s voice pierces through the high-pitched static in my ears. “I passed along the message, Troy,” she says. “But Emma is with someone else tonight. Obviously.”
Brett speaks next. “We’ll have to catch up later. Our food will be here any minute.”
“I just need to talk to her for a sec,” Troy says. “C’mon, Emma.”
Brett laughs. “That’s just wrong, dude. Like Kimmi said, Emma is with me tonight.”
“Do I look like I care?”
My skin flickers between fire and ice.
Payton stands. “Get lost, Troy. Seriously. You had your chance with Emma.”
“And now Brett gets a turn?” The tendons in Troy’s neck are flexed, ready to snap, as he faces Payton. My mind shouts at me to do something, stop this, but my body won’t move. “Maybe you oughta tell your buddy here that Emma’s traditional values won’t exactly fit into his brand of lifestyle, you know what I mean? He’d have a much better time with one of the other ten girls he has here on tap, than with this coldhearted bit—”
Brett shoots from the booth, I scream, and Troy falls to the floor—all at once.
Cameras flash like lightning, and the entire area clears. I’m under the table before I know it, my hands over my face. The yelling and scuffling goes on and on, sounds of fist against flesh. Then the worst of it seems to be over, and someone is suddenly under the table with me. “Your face is a mess. Put this over you.” I peek between my fingers to see Kimmi holding out a black dinner jacket. “Follow me.”
I can’t believe I’m desperate enough to trust her, but I take the jacket anyway and crawl out. Bouncers have finally pulled Troy and Brett apart, but there’s still plenty of noise and commotion. With my head partially shrouded, Kimmi leads me through the buzzing crowd and stops outside the women’s bathroom.
She takes the jacket back. “Go in here. I’ll keep everyone out.”
“What are you doing?” I ask. How does Kimmi benefit from this? “I mean, thank you, but …”
“You looked pathetic under that table.” She holds up the jacket. “And I ripped this off the manager, who was also being pathetic.”
Kimmi shoves open the bathroom door, and I step inside.
Mascara and eyeliner are smeared all over my face. I really am pathetic. How could I have let things with Troy get so out of control? And now that Brett is involved in this, he’ll also have to worry about running into my explosive ex wherever he goes.
At least twenty minutes pass while I attempt to calm down. Then Kimmi returns to the bathroom and says, “The police want to talk to you.”
The police? Crap. Crap. Crap. This can’t be happening.
Kimmi hands me her makeup bag, and adds, “I told them Troy is a disgusting, cheating, prick of an ex-boyfriend who obviously has anger-management issues.” My mouth parts in disbelief, and she rolls her eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t say it, so someone had to.”
I half whimper, half laugh. “Can I hug you?”
“Not a chance.” She disappears again.
I fix up my face the best I can, and then an officer leads me out to the parking lot. When I see the siren lights and camera flashes cutting through the darkness, I want to push an emergency eject button—fly away, run and hide, pay someone else to be Emma Taylor. At least for tonight.
I’ll never forgive myself if Brett gets arrested. McGregor might even fire him.
I scan the group and see several people being interviewed by officers. When I finally spot Brett, I release the breath I’ve been holding—he isn’t in handcuffs. But neither is Troy.
I’ve witnessed plenty of fistfights at clubs, and the police are rarely called. So why are there six squad cars here? I realize the answer as soon as I see the grinning faces of the reporters and photographers. One of them, at least, must’ve called the cops as soon as the fight broke out and made it sound like a much bigger deal than it was, so they’d have a bigger story to tell.
From the looks of it, the police were expecting a full-blown riot.
I answer the officer’s questions—he doesn’t ask me to reveal anything more than what was said to provoke the fight—and when I’m finished, Brett walks toward me. I’m so relieved to see a smile on his face that I throw my arms around him. “Are you okay? You must hate me!”
“No way!” he says. “I’ll get nothing but respect for this.”
“But you said that McGregor warned you about bad press.” I take a closer look at his left eye. It’s swelling fast. “I’ll call him right now and explain what happened, so he doesn’t have a heart attack when the news hits.”
Brett motions to all the cameras and squad cars. “Relax. I don’t see a story here.”
I sense Troy watching us and dart a glance his way. His icy-blue eyes shoot shivers through me, and as usual, I cave under the weight of his stare and look away.
Pathetic is right. Am I really going to let him keep scaring me like this?
I ask Brett to wait where he is and go over to the officer who interviewed me. I tell him I want to talk to Troy, but emphasize that he may try to get me to leave with him and I don’t want to be out of the officer’s sight.
“No problem,” he replies. “Just glance my way if you need me.”
When Troy sees me approaching, he ditches his arm candy and comes within inches of my face. But before he can draw a breath, I tell him, “What could you possibly have to say to me that was worth making yourself look like such a jealous, desperate freak?”
Troy is used to me taking whatever crap he dishes out, so my sudden aggression throws him off. “I … uh,” he begins, then his face darkens again. “I want to make sure we’re clear on something: you better keep your mouth shut about what happened to your window.” He holds up a hand. “I have scars all over my knuckles, thanks to you.”
I’ve got to hit him where it hurts, and he’s just provided all the ammunition I need.
“Then let me be clear about something,” I say, abo
ut to lie through my teeth. “I know a reporter who’s dying for a career-making story, and I’d love to help him out. I’ve already given him a copy of the security tapes from a house that had a perfect view of my aunt’s driveway—betcha didn’t consider cameras that day, did you? And he thinks the public will be really interested in seeing one of Hollywood’s ‘it’ boys try to punch his fist through my car window. And I’ve also passed along your messages. You know which ones—talk of you following me wherever I go, watching my every move. Sort of creepy, don’t ya think? And yeah, if you’re wondering, my reporter friend is only waiting for my go-ahead, or for something else to make him trigger happy. In fact, he thinks this story could skip the tabloids and go straight to primetime news. Then you’ll definitely be a household name, won’t you?”
Troy blinks a few times. “That’s blackmail, Emma. And it’s illegal.”
“No, this is called self-defense, which is actually encouraged. So if you ever threaten me again, in any way, the next time you see your pretty face on a magazine cover, it will have the headline STALKER printed above it.”
I don’t need to wait for Troy’s reply. I’ve just delivered the performance of my life, and his stunned look says enough.
Jake
Emma leaves a message Sunday afternoon. She says, “Don’t believe anything you see or hear about this weekend until I tell you about it myself. Tomorrow, at work.”
She must not have checked the schedule, because I have Monday off. When I don’t hear from her by nine that night, I give in and call her. She doesn’t pick up, but sends me a text right away: On the phone with my mom and publicist. For 50 more hours. Ugh. Sorry.
Tuesday morning, when Emma is on location somewhere else, I walk into the sound studio to find Brett in the foam-padded booth. The whole left side of his face is black and blue. “Ouch,” I tell the sound guy.
He shrugs. “Never a boring day with this dude.”
“Hey! I can hear you!” Brett says.
“No, you can’t,” the sound guy replies with a laugh, just then turning on his mic. He tweaks a few more controls on the massive mixing board. “Okay, let’s go again with that last line … we’re rolling.”
Brett looks back to the jumbo TV on the wall and watches himself walk across a football field with Kimmi. I remember it being really windy the day they shot this scene, so the mics probably didn’t get a good take.
If there’s just a word or two missing, we can usually do “wild lines” right on set, where a few retakes are done using a boom mic. Then everything is patched together during editing. But when full lines are missing like this, we come into the actual sound studio for automated dialogue replacement. The tricky thing with ADR is to match the pacing of your words to the exact movement of your mouth, and the tone of your voice to the emotion your character is supposed to be feeling. It takes some getting used to, but I kinda like the process.
This sound studio is also used by the Foley artists—actors who re-create the crunching of gravel under boots, the dropping of books, slamming of doors, just about every background noise imaginable. Watching them work could entertain me for hours—each footstep, creak, and thud is performed with choreographed precision. And they do it take after take until they get it perfect, just like the actors on set.
Sound editing is way more complicated than I ever could’ve guessed.
There are three beeps and Brett goes back to his mic. “Just drop it, Kassidy,” he says. “It isn’t worth investigating.”
The sound guy checks and double-checks the recording. “Got it,” he tells Brett. “You’re almost as good as one-take Jake here.”
I was hoping he wouldn’t remember the nickname he gave me last time.
“I hate you, man,” Brett says when he comes out of the booth. “Everywhere I go: Rah, rah! Jake is great! If I had pom-poms of my own, I’d shove them down your throat.”
“I think I saw some in a prop box a few days ago,” I reply. “But if we’re gonna fight, I like my chances. You look like a pretty good punching bag.”
“Oh, this.” Brett rubs a hand over his face. “You know what happened, right?”
“Kimmi?” I ask.
“That was my first guess too,” the sound guy says. “I’ll be back in five.”
He leaves the sound studio, and Brett tells me, “You obviously don’t watch the entertainment news or go online—it’s been all over the last couple of days. And the tabloids are out today.” I just shrug, so he goes on. “Emma and I went to a party at Club 99 Saturday night, and Troy Dawson spotted us getting cozy in a booth. Emma refused to talk to him, but he wouldn’t leave her alone, so I … had to take care of things.”
I have no idea how long I stand there, mulling over the words getting cozy, before I process the rest of what he said. “Whoa. Seriously?”
Does Emma’s no-dating policy only apply to me?
“Yeah, man. Totally nuts,” Brett says. “But I’ve never seen anyone so freaked out. Emma started shaking like an earthquake when she saw Troy, and I had to wonder why, you know?” The possibilities make me sick enough to stop thinking about my wounded pride. “So when Troy wouldn’t back down, I snapped. Even McGregor told me I did the right thing.”
He probably did. I clap him on the shoulder. “I guess that makes you a hero. A butt-ugly one right now, but still.”
Brett and Emma? I don’t get it. But Troy making Emma so nervous … that bugs me even more. What did he do to her?
Studying a script for at least an hour every night doesn’t fit well with my regular workout schedule, so now I do my core work while memorizing lines—which is why I’m in the middle of crunches, and only wearing gym shorts, when Emma shows up on my porch Tuesday night.
“Um … hello,” she says, her wide blue eyes finally darting from my bare chest to my face. “I saw a sign today that sort of worries me. That river behind us is called Rattlesnake Creek, so does that mean …?”
“Didn’t we already have this talk about Arizona?” I ask.
“Yes, but I didn’t expect snakes to be … you know, waiting outside my kitchen door. Like stray cats.”
“Well, if you’re worried about them going hungry, you could always toss them a few raw eggs,” I say, not sure if I should invite her in or not. After thinking about her and Brett all day, I’m leaning toward not. But I also can’t stop thinking about the way Troy must’ve treated her. “Other than that, you just have to be careful. Stay on the path, watch where you step.”
Emma shivers. “Holy. Freaking. Crap.”
I shrug. “I guess, if it would make you feel better, I could try to … I don’t know, herd them back into the mountains? I might’ve done a merit badge for that in Scouts.”
Emma laughs and she has me, right there. I can’t stay away from her.
“Actually, could you just go running with me?” Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, and she has on a tight gray tank and navy running shorts. She’s looking way too pretty for actual exercise. “I want to explain all this crazy L.A. stuff.”
“Sure,” I say, even though I’d rather die a slow death than hear any more about it. “But we agreed that Friday night wasn’t a date, so there’s really nothing you need to explain.”
“I get that. It’s just that I wasn’t on a date with Brett either.” Emma reveals a rolled-up tabloid she’s been holding behind her back. “And I at least want my friends to know the truth.”
I scoop my shirt off the floor and pull it on. “The press made a big deal out of nothing—guys fight over girls all the time. They’ll be buddies again by next weekend.”
“But they weren’t really fighting over me,” Emma says, opening the tabloid to expose two full pages of pictures that suggest otherwise. “And this ‘hot new romance’ crap is silly.”
I point out a photo of Brett and Emma nestling like turtledoves in a booth. Brett was right about getting cozy. “I wonder where they got that idea.”
This earns me a stabbing glare, so I hurry to add,
“Sorry, but—”
“Jake, it was wrong for me to believe someone else’s interpretation of you and the waitress, wasn’t it?” Emma backs me up through the doorway of my condo and shuts the door behind her. I gulp. “So, please, just let me separate fact from fiction so you don’t make the same mistake. Believe it or not, even pictures can lie.”
I kinda like this alpha-Emma thing she has going on. “Whatever, that’s cool.”
“Good. Then read this first.” Emma hands me the article:
Brett Crawford was seen cuddling with his new flame, Emma Taylor, in several hot spots this past weekend. According to sources, the couple met just over two weeks ago on the set of the upcoming television drama, Coyote Hills.
A source close to the young stars revealed, “They were totally in their own world, oblivious to anyone else.” Others agree that this is the real thing, not another one of Crawford’s weekend flings.
After an exciting day at the motocross, where the pair was anything but ashamed to show affection, they attended the birthday party of a common friend, Sara Roberts, held at Club 99. This was where trouble broke out.
According to eyewitnesses, Taylor’s ex, Troy Dawson, saw her kissing Crawford in a private corner booth, and approached the couple. When Taylor refused to speak with him, Dawson began slinging insults, berating her traditional values and telling Crawford that he would have a better time with one of his “other ten girls.”
Crawford leaped from the booth in a flash, sources say, taking Dawson to the ground. A short fistfight later, with a frightened Taylor crouching under the table, all were released without any charges.
Taylor was later seen crying on Crawford’s chest in the club parking lot. A friend of the couple confirmed that Taylor later spoke with Dawson to ask that he give her some room in her new relationship. “He looked seriously ticked off,” said the insider. Taylor was reported to have then walked calmly back to Crawford’s waiting arms.
With this hot new romance, we see a refreshing change in Crawford’s choice of women. Perhaps a girl with “traditional values” can turn this once golden boy back into the star we all used to adore. Here’s to love, and to the beginning of a new celebrity couple—Brett and Emma. Or, as we’ll now refer to them: Bremma.
