by J. A. Huss
Well, that’s the question of the day. “Better stick with Kinsella for now.”
“I’d love for you to visit when you’re ready, but there’s no rush.” The baby starts to cry for real now, and there’s some voices—Johnny and someone else who might be a nurse—telling Kristi she has to hang up. “I gotta go, Grace. But I wanted you to be the first person I called.”
“Wait.” I stop her from hanging up. “What’s her name?”
“Oh, I’m so silly! Of course. Her name is Hope. Hope Blazen.”
“Beautiful,” I sigh.
And then she quickly says goodbye again and ends the call.
Hope.
I think Hope is a very good reason for me to pull myself together and go shopping. So I clean up my mess and go get ready to hand over the credit card.
And an hour later I’m on Rodeo Drive just as I planned, but this time, I’m not shopping out of spite. I’m shopping for Hope.
There are a ton of shops here. And honestly, I’m sure Target would be just as good as these fancy boutiques, but they’ve got a Tiffany’s down here and I want to look around.
I give the car to the valet and that’s where I start my afternoon. I head straight to the rings. I know, I’m just punishing myself. He hasn’t mentioned a ring to me, and he just said last night we’re not getting remarried, so why bother?
But I’m a princess and I have a dream. And maybe a wedding was not a part of that dream originally, but it is now. And weddings come with rings.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Asher. Can I help you find something specific today?”
Jesus Christ. They know me. I just stare at her. I’m shocked. I’m not sure why, I know my face has been on the news a lot this year, but holy fucking shit. A clerk in a Tiffany’s should not recognize me when I’m in shorts and flip flops.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, as I back away and slide my sunglasses down to cover my eyes. “You have the wrong person.”
The clerk’s smile never falters. “I’m so sorry, miss. My mistake. How can I help you?”
But I’m already out of there.
Fuck this.
I walk straight back to the valet and they greet me as Mrs. Asher as well. “I just need my car, thank you.”
A few minutes later they bring it around and the inside is still cool from the air-conditioning, that’s how short my Rodeo Drive shopping trip was.
I plug in a request for the nearest Target and start following the GPS voice and once I get there and find my way into the familiar store with the red carts, everything goes back to normal.
Maybe I’m not cut out for this life? I mean, Vaughn is so public. Everything about us in this town is news. I don’t understand that. I’ve been hiding from the media—from everybody—for so many years, it might not be possible to change that part of me. I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want people to know me. I want to be… invisible.
I love our home. I do feel like I belong there. But when I step outside without Vaughn, I’m overwhelmed with the attention.
I stop pushing my cart and look behind me, at the large glass doors that open and close as people come and go.
That city out there. It scares me.
I turn back to the store, because that’s not scary, and make my way to the baby stuff. I’m sure they have all these basic supplies, so I skip right to the clothes. I bet she’s got a ton of clothes too. So I choose an outfit that will take some time to grow into. It’s leftover from summer, so it’s like five dollars. I smile so hard at that, since Kristi and I are so rich we could afford anything. But cute is cute. Besides, it has a matching sun hat. I’ll send an invitation to come visit us after football season is over. Then Hope can wear it to the pool.
I grab more stuff—not all from the sale rack—and fill up my cart. It’s too much, but I don’t care. I’ll send some of it for Christmas.
I look down the aisle and spot the Christmas stuff and my heart pounds with excitement. I do love me some Christmas. So I wheel my cart out of the baby section and head towards holidays. They still have Halloween candy on sale and I’m wondering when the last time was that I had a Snickers when I see it.
My cart comes to a halt, and then before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got it in my hand.
A mask. A black mask. The kind people wear to masquerade parties.
Or Black Bashes.
I put it in the cart on top of the baby stuff and hit the cashier.
One way or another I’m going to figure out what’s going on there tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
#ThatCalmWasReallyTheStorm
“HEY,” Valencia calls out as she enters my trailer.
“Hey,” I say back absently as I stare at the article in the Hollywood tabloid. “Did you see this shit?”
She sits down in the booth across the table from me in the area that serves as a dining room. “I saw. What are you gonna do?”
I look up at her. She’s still the same girl I knew all those years ago. Being on set with her again has been fun. We’re like puzzle pieces that were missing and finally someone put them back together again. She’s even prettier now than she was at sixteen, if you can believe it. I guess wealth and the ability to take extended vacations between projects have that benefit. She only does one movie a year, if that. But every single one of them has been a major blockbuster. “I’ve got to take care of it. I need to stop this.”
“Vaughn, you can’t stop her story. It is what it is. There’s records of her everywhere. These images are just one more reason to let it go. Don’t get involved. They will tear you apart.”
“She’s my wife, Valencia. I can’t just let them threaten this kind of exposure and let it pass.”
“So what’s your answer? You’ve already done what you could.” She points to the tabloid that has a sensitive picture of my wife taken off Twitter. “And they still found a way to get it.”
“Yeah, because that Amy bitch from Buzz sold them.”
“This tabloid says specifically that’s not where they came from. You can’t blame her. I mean, honestly, Vaughn. Your wife took those photos and sent them over Twitter. She knew what she was doing.”
“I asked her to.”
“So what? You used to ask me to do plenty of stupid things if I remember correctly. A lot worse than taking naked selfies.”
“We didn’t have selfies back then.” I grin.
“My point is, I never said yes.”
She’s been saying this all day, but I can’t take the coward’s way out and blame Grace for what’s happening. For what’s about to happen.
“There’s more to this story than you know, Val. A lot more.”
“So tell me. Maybe I can help.”
I consider it. I really do. Valencia has always been on my side and I have no doubt she’d be on my side now. But the knock comes on the door, telling us to be on set in five minutes. Five minutes just isn’t enough time. “Later, maybe. After the party.”
“So you’re going?”
“I said I was. I am. And you don’t have to come because it’s gonna be a mess.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Normally I’d be up for anything, Vaughn. I’d stand by you for anything. And I still will. But not at that party.” She shakes her head. “They tore apart my best friend a few years ago and we made the mistake of going. I know what’s going to happen and I can’t watch you go through that.”
I squeeze her hand back, thankful that she’s so loyal, that she’s one of the only people in Hollywood who really does have my back. “I get it, Val. I don’t expect you to be there. And thanks for the tickets. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a good friend.”
She smiles coyly. “Well, the next scene says we’ll be more than friends soon. And I can’t wait. So let’s go.”
Chapter Eighteen
#SometimesGettingLostHelpsYouBeFound
I TURN out of the Target parking lot and see the sign for Beverly Boulevar
d. Yes! I know where that is, so I don’t need the GPS.
I turn and lose myself in thought. I feel like there’s so much going on behind the scenes that I don’t know about, it’s starting to make me nervous. Like Vaughn leaving for work today. He just said a few days ago he was looking forward to the long weekend. Well, working on Black Friday sorta interrupts the long weekend. So what he said was either a lie then, or this is a lie now.
What could they possibly have to do today? Maybe I should stop by the studio and see what he’s up to? I chuckle a little at my ridiculousness… but then I figure why not? I’m allowed to go onto the set. Well, maybe not. But I’m pretty sure no one will tell me no if I show up there.
I look up at the street signs to find one that might take me over near Studio City, but none of them look familiar. In fact, I’m heading towards downtown. Which is not the direction I thought I was going.
I stop at a red light and try to figure out where I am and how to get back to where I need to be. The GPS is on, so I hit the new destination button and I’m about to program it in when the car behind me honks.
The light is green. I move forward and get into the right lane so I can pull over and turn around, and as soon as I make that turn, I know I’m in the wrong neighborhood. There’s a lot of people hanging out in front of apartment buildings and they are mostly young men.
I want to just turn into the first parking lot and go back the way I came, but there’s a crowd hanging out there that does not look very friendly. I continue up the street, make another right, and hope I can just go around the block to get back on Beverly Boulevard. There are fewer people out on this street, mostly because it’s warehouses, but there are no more streets to turn onto.
A girl who is very pregnant drags a suitcase to an empty bus stop and I wonder if she’s escaping or coming home.
Maybe my life does suck. Maybe I did have some bad breaks. And maybe my old neighborhood in Denver wasn’t the safest in the city. But it was a far cry from the living conditions I imagine lurk behind these crumbling buildings.
I would be scared to death to walk anywhere here, let alone be pregnant and dragging a suitcase.
My heart is beating fast even though I realize this is irrational. “Don’t be stupid, Grace,” I tell myself. “You’re not lost. You’re one block away from Beverly and you have a help button on your rear-view mirror if you need it. Just make the next right turn and it will dump you back where you were.”
I finally come to another street where I can turn right, but as soon as I make that turn, I realize it dead-ends at a large apartment building.
There’s a few groups of people hanging out in front of it, talking and laughing. So I just pretend like I belong and pull into the first driveway so I can turn around.
“Nice car,” a young teenage boy calls out. He says it loud enough that I can hear it through my closed window. Loud enough to make every head turn to see what he’s talking about.
I ignore them all, but internally I’m wondering how frightened I have to be to push that little panic button.
I would be mortified if I had to use that.
Instead I just put it in reverse, do a two-point turn, and pull back out onto the road so I can backtrack my route. I really don’t want to turn back onto that street where all the crowds of people were. It looked like a neighborhood you see in movies where drug dealers hang out on the corner.
I see that girl again. The pregnant one with the suitcase, only now there’s a boy with her and they are fighting. She screams obscenities at him, and just my luck I get stuck at a red light in front of their bus stop.
“What the fuck you looking at, bitch?” the boy yells at me when he notices my stare.
I turn my head away quickly. Please, please, please turn green.
And the next thing I know the girl is screaming. She’s on the ground and there’s blood coming out of her mouth.
I honk my horn. The boy flips me off. I open my door. “Stop that or I’ll call the police! Stop that!” He’s still hitting her and she’s curled up on the ground protecting her belly.
“You want some too, bitch?” the boy says, turning to me. “Get back in your car before I knock your teeth out.”
I get out and close my door. “Knock my teeth out?”
“Oh, you want some, huh, bitch?”
I squint my eyes at him. He’s about five foot ten. Not too tall. Skinny. Maybe one sixty. And his eyes are blazing with anger.
I look at the girl on the ground. She’s still crying and bleeding, but she’s trying to get up. A few people have appeared from nowhere. They stand close by, but do not try to help her. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” I ask the girl. “I can take you so you don’t have to wait for the bus.”
“She ain’t goin’ nowhere, bitch.”
I look at that boy and wish I could knock his teeth out. “I didn’t ask you. I asked her.”
“I speak for her. Now get, before me and my boys take your pretty blonde ass around the building and keep you for ourselves.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I take a step forward. “Oh really? You think you’re gonna take me somewhere against my will? Because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been there, done that, my friend. And I’d like to see you fucking try.”
He just stares at me, then looks over to some other boys who might be his buddies. They don’t say shit. He’s on his own. “She ain’t going. Tell this bitch you staying here, Rosa.”
“You know what, Rosa?” I never take my eyes off this little punk who thinks hitting girls and threatening to kidnap them is just another day in his life. “I don’t know who this guy is, but I do know he’s an asshole. So if you’d like to get the hell out of this place right now, all you gotta do is say so and I’ll take you.”
The punk looks over his shoulder at Rosa, then back at me. “She’s stayin’.”
“I’m not staying,” Rosa finally says. “I’m not staying.” She grabs her suitcase and starts pulling it towards my car. There’s a whole line of cars behind me, watching this whole scene go down. I’m surprised they aren’t honking. I suppose the YouTube possibilities trump getting where they are going on time.
Rosa approaches the punk, clearly scared to walk past him, so I take a few steps forward with my hand out to encourage her. “Come on.” She tries to hurry past him, but just before she gets clear, his hand darts out and cracks her in the face one more time.
I flip out. I lunge forward, covering the few paces that separate us, and hurl myself at that asshole’s back. He flies forward from the momentum and crashes to the ground. And that hammerfist to the neck that was next to useless against a raging, adrenaline-pumped Derek Hauser back in Nebraska does the trick for this stupid kid who thinks the world is his to hurt.
I pound his neck three times, enough to stun him and make him stay down, and then I jump up and grab Rosa’s hand and pull her towards my car.
People clap as I shove her suitcase into the backseat and she climbs into the passenger side. The light is red again, but I don’t care. Everyone in all directions is stopped to watch the scene unfold, so I look both ways and take off.
“Oh my God,” the girl says. “I’m shaking so bad.”
I look over at her as she holds her hands out in front of her ample belly. They are indeed shaking very badly.
“Just relax, OK? Do you know how to get out of this neighborhood? Because I’m lost.”
She just stares at me.
“What?”
“Lady, I’m so lucky you got lost. He said he was gonna kill me for trying to leave.”
I look over at her and study her face, streaked with blood and tears.
Do people really mean that? I mean, when a teenager says he’ll kill you if you leave, does he mean that? Or is it just posturing? Is she just supposed to cower and give in to him? Or is she supposed to take his threat seriously and fight back with all her might?
It’s confusing. Too confusing to think about right now. “Where should I tak
e you? Do you have a place?”
“Turn left here, then just go straight. I’m going to a place in Silver Lake. A home for abused women. They said they’d help me.”
I let out a long breath and remind myself.
#IAmNotTheGirlWithTheWorldsBiggestProblems
Chapter Nineteen
#HowDoYouKissTheInvisibleMan
I DROP Rosa off at the home for abused women in Silver Lake, and in repayment, she explains how not to end up in Westlake again.
I’m very grateful for that. What I did was stupid. But it’s hard to feel bad about it when it feels so good to help this girl.
I give her the cash I have in my wallet, which is not much. Seventy-two dollars. But her face lights up like I just handed her a million bucks.
And then I make my way to the studio. Not to ambush Vaughn, but to hug him and say I’m sorry for being so difficult. I am not the girl with the world’s biggest problems. Maybe I was that girl once. (Or twice.) But I’m not her now. I’m lucky. I’m married to a great guy. I have a large home, lots of money, a car that doesn’t break down, friends, family, and good health.
I’m so, so lucky.
When I get to the gate, the security guard nods at some hanging thing on my rear-view that Vaughn must’ve placed in here the other day and waves me through with a, “Good evening, Mrs. Asher.”
That’s it. That’s all it takes to get on the lot. I expected a little more resistance, but I guess being Mrs. Asher has a lot of perks. I barely remember how to get back to Vaughn’s movie set, but I manage to find the parking lot and locate his trailer from a distance.
I try there first, but it’s locked.
“You looking for Mr. Asher?” an attendant asks me.
“Yes, please. Do you know where he is?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s on set right now. They are almost done. Do you want to wait here or have me take you in to watch from the observation room?”
I hesitate. I’m not sure.
“No one’s in there,” he explains. “It’s a sensitive scene today. Only required personnel allowed on set. So you’d have the place to yourself if you want to watch.”
