by Sam Cameron
“Crazy in love with acting,” Juliet responded.
Beside Robin, Lou said, “Oh well, it’s time for lunch anyway.”
“Can she do that?” Robin asked him. “Shut down the movie if they don’t rehire her?”
He shrugged. “Ask the lawyers.”
The assistant director told everyone to take a thirty-minute break. Michael Lake stormed off toward the production trailer. Karen followed him. Beneath a trellis of flowers and vines, Liam shook his head at Juliet.
“Now you’ve gone too far,” he said.
“Nonsense. I never go too far.” Juliet turned her attention away from him. “I need some coffee. And some Red Bull. And a chair.”
A flurry of assistants descended to help her. Cayleigh pulled Liam off to do an interview in the Hemingway House gardens. The extras in the scene vacated their chairs and headed for the food and drinks. One of them, a skinny guy in a purple spacesuit and helmet, nearly stepped on Robin’s foot.
“Sorry,” he said.
Even muffled, the voice was familiar.
Robin grabbed Mr. Purple Spacesuit and pulled him behind one of the garden sheds. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Sean pulled off the helmet. His face was flushed from heat, but he was grinning wildly. “Who says you should have all the fun?”
“Trust me, it’s not fun,” she said. “You’re supposed to be back in Fisher Key.”
“And you’re supposed to be my friend, but you’re hogging Liam Norcott all to yourself!” he retorted. He tucked the helmet under his arm. “Don’t blame me for your selfishness. Did you really think I was going to miss out on the last day I might ever get to meet him and make him fall in love with me?”
“Now you sound like a crazy stalker,” Robin said and tried not to think about the irony of that. “How’d you get in here?”
“I’ll never tell,” Sean said. Which probably meant Aaron Lipstein from school had smuggled him in.
“Where’s Steven?”
“He went back. I’m your responsibility now.”
And what a responsibility he was. Robin couldn’t very well toss him off the set and expect him to ever forgive her. She couldn’t aid and abet him, either. Not if she wanted to keep Liam’s and Austin’s trust.
“Wrong,” she said. “You’re on your own. Enjoy the food.”
Sean pulled his helmet back on and headed for the buffet.
The lunch break ended, but it was another half hour before Michael Lake returned to the set, looking as if he had severe indigestion. Karen did not return. Juliet triumphantly took her place in front of the camera with Liam.
“Ready for the big kiss?” she asked.
“I’ve had a dozen already,” he said coolly.
“Not like mine,” Juliet replied.
“Ready on the set,” the assistant director called out.
Everyone fell silent. Robin glanced upward. No biplanes, no dive-bombing birds—
“Hey, wait!” came Sean’s yelp. “That’s not yours.”
Michael Lake buried his head in his hands.
Bill the security guard was standing with Sean just beyond the cameras. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”
“He’s taking my friend’s backpack,” Sean said. His helmet was off, and he looked ridiculous in that purple spacesuit, but his expression was resolute. “He was rifling through it.”
“I found this unattended,” Bill said firmly.
Robin’s gut clenched. He was holding up her backpack, with her wallet and phone and Toni’s hangover remedy in it. She’d left it under the craft service table, hoping it wouldn’t be disturbed.
“That’s mine,” she said. “Give it back.”
Bill waved around Liam’s leather bound script with the gold embossed lettering. “And this was inside.”
Liam left the altar and took the script from Bill’s hands. “This was in my trailer,” he said.
He turned to Robin. “You took it? After I trusted you, you took it for a souvenir? Or maybe, what, to sell online?”
Robin could feel everyone staring at her.
“I didn’t,” she protested. “I wouldn’t.”
“She wouldn’t,” Sean agreed.
Liam turned away in disgust and ordered, “Get them off my set.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Robin walked toward her car flushed and sick with embarrassment. Behind her, Sean struggled to keep up and put his sandals on at the same time. They’d made him change out of the purple costume before leaving the set.
“I know you didn’t take that script,” he said. “Someone must have put it in there.”
She stopped at the corner of Olivia Street, trying to remember where she’d parked. Her hand was fisted so tightly around her car keys that her palm ached. It was mid-afternoon, stinking hot, and she kept seeing the accusation and betrayal in Liam’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you fight more?” Sean asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Robin said.
He managed to get his sandals on. “Of course it matters. It’s about honor and principle. Your integrity.”
Robin rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about why Liam’s lack of faith hurt so much. It wasn’t as if he was anything other than a pampered celebrity. She remembered the look on Juliet’s face as they were escorted away: bored. Uninterested. There’d been a flash of sympathy from Tierra and Charlie, but neither Karen nor Molly were anywhere to be seen.
“What happened to you, anyway?” Sean asked. “The old Robin would be all excited. She’d have taken that script and auctioned it off for an AIDs charity. You’re like Robo-Robin. You’ve gone all Hollywood.”
“I have not gone all Hollywood,” she said, just as she finally found her car. “Shut up and get in.”
The inside of the Civic was broiling hot. Even worse, when she turned the ignition the engine wouldn’t start. Not even a click from the starter. Robin banged her head against the steering wheel.
“When’s the last time you had the battery checked?” Sean asked.
She didn’t belong to the auto club, and she certainly didn’t keep a spare battery in the trunk, and the nearest gas station was several blocks away. Robin called Lina and Toni. Both calls went to voice mail. Robin resisted the urge to cry and headed on foot toward the Bar Nothing.
Sean asked, “What’s the plan?”
“Borrow Lina’s car, jump-start mine, hope we can get back to Fisher Key without it dying,” she said unhappily.
Bar Nothing was adjacent to the Clinton Square Market, where tourists shopped for seashells and fudge and expensive jewelry. The bar’s interior was air conditioned and dark, but the exterior had picnic tables and stools under a thatched roof and high wooden columns. Bamboo ceiling fans stirred up a breeze for the Pride banners and posters. For once, the music wasn’t Jimmy Buffet. Lina was working the bar, which only had a few customers.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I let my boss borrow the car for a run to the store. He’ll be back soon. Sit down and hang out. How’s Hollywood?”
“She hates it,” Sean said.
Robin took a stool, folded her arms on the wooden bar top, and put her head down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I think it sucked all the life out of her,” Sean added. “Can I have a beer?”
“And get me fired? No way,” Lina said.
They ordered unsweet iced tea instead and Sean opted for onion rings, too. The sight and smell of them made Robin nauseated. Sean and Lina talked about people they knew from Fisher Key, but Robin had no energy for it. She watched the TV that was mounted near the ceiling. In principle, she hated TVs in restaurants, but for now the soothing nonsense of one of those ridiculous reality shows was like candy for her overtaxed brain. For the first time, she understood why people sat in bars and let the world go by instead of getting out there and trying to change it. Change was exhausting.
The iced tea caught up with her bladder and sent her to
the bathroom. In the mirror, she studied the dark circles under her eyes and the blotchiness of her complexion and wondered why on earth anyone like Karen or Molly would ever be interested in her.
When she got back to her stool, she saw that she’d left her phone by her tea. Sean was talking on it to someone.
“Okay, fifteen minutes,” he said.
“Who was that?” Robin took the phone back and scrolled through the missed calls.
“Some friend of yours,” Sean said. “He said stay right here, he’s coming over. Who do you know with a British accent?’
The name on her phone said Saunders. Oh, crap. She stood and said, “We’ve got to go.”
Lina shrugged. “Okay, but my boss isn’t back. Who’s going to jump your car?”
“Why so panicked?” Sean asked.
“I’m not panicked,” she replied.
“You’re like a deer caught in the headlights,” Sean said.
Robin wanted to leave, but to where? It was too hot and she was too tired to dash around Key West trying to evade Austin, who was probably going to accuse her of betraying his trust by taking that script.
“Let’s go sit somewhere private,” she said.
Austin arrived ten minutes later on foot, his face hidden by a baseball cap and sunglasses. With him was Molly, which Robin hadn’t expected at all. Molly looked flustered and wouldn’t quite meet Robin’s gaze.
“Sean, this is Molly,” Robin said as they sat on the opposite bench of a table in the corner. “And George Saunders.”
Austin didn’t even look at Sean. He said, “Tell me about the script.”
“I didn’t take it,” Robin said. “I swear.”
“I know.”
“I would never betray your—” Robin stopped, puzzled. “How do you know?”
“Dead trees wrapped in animal hide,” he said. “You said it yourself. Besides, it was on the kitchen table after you left. I went upstairs for some clothes to pack and heard someone come in. When I looked out the window, I saw someone hurrying away, but it was too quick. A flash, and I couldn’t get any details.”
Sean was staring at Austin as if trying to figure out who he was. Robin kicked him under the table and he glared at her.
“Why would someone deliberately steal the script and put it in Robin’s backpack?” Molly asked.
“To get her fired,” Austin said. “Only four people have that keycode: myself, Liam, Juliet, and Karen. Who could have slipped into the trailer, then?”
Robin held herself very still. “Liam and Juliet were filming.”
“Karen?” Molly asked. “Why?”
Robin didn’t say anything. It hurt deeply to know that Karen would rather frame her than simply ask her to depart the set.
Austin said, “The important thing is that I know you didn’t do it, and Liam will, too, once I talk some sense into him. The wrap party’s still on for tonight. I want you to go to keep an eye on him.”
Sean said, “How can they wrap the movie if Juliet Francine just came back?”
“Because the production is out of money,” Molly said.
Austin nodded. “If he’s lucky, Michael Lake will be able to get some more funding to reshoot scenes down the road. But for now, the studio’s holding firm. Will you go, Robin?”
Sean said, “I’m totally available to attend any party at all.”
Robin thought about her car, the open highway, and how much she wanted to sleep in her own bed tonight. About how awkward it would be to see Karen, and whether Liam would even believe her.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Robin told them. “I’m not the party type. I didn’t even go to my senior prom.”
Austin slid his sunglasses down and gave her a level look. “You promised. Your fabulous unpaid internship isn’t over yet.”
Molly leaned forward. “It’ll be fun. Everyone’s much more relaxed, and they’ll show bloopers and I’ll have someone to talk to.”
The warmth in Molly’s voice, the earnestness, was distracting. It meant that Molly might actually have forgiven her. And that maybe they had some kind of future when Robin went to school and they were both living in Miami.
Sean was staring at Austin again. “I know you, don’t I? You’re someone famous.”
“Not me,” Austin said. He stood up. “Yes or no? I’ll talk to Liam and make sure your name is on the list.”
Molly nodded at Robin. “Say yes.”
Robin sighed. “Yes.”
Maybe she’d regret it, but she was going to her first ever Hollywood party.
*
Lina told Toni, who came to the bar after her shift at the time-share office was over.
“Big time showbiz shindig, hmm?” Toni asked. “What are you going to wear?”
Robin looked down at her shorts and sweat-stained T-shirt. “This?”
Sean was pouting. “If I were going, I’d be in a tuxedo.”
“It’s a wrap party, not a premiere at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre,” Robin said, speaking slowly because everyone around her was obviously insane. She wished she could call on Austin or Molly to back her up, but they’d left as the bar filled up. It was nearly five o’clock now, and the party started at eight at the Lagoon Hotel.
“I’m not saying wear a ball gown,” Toni said, eyeing Robin’s clothes, “but you’re going to take pictures to last a lifetime, so you want to look good.”
Despite her protests, Robin soon found herself being escorted in and out of pricey shops on Duval Street with Toni as her fashion director. It was ridiculous. Robin wasn’t going to put on a skirt or dress, after all, and she barely had enough money for anything. Even worse, Toni apparently knew every single employee in every single shop, and they all assumed Robin was Toni’s new girlfriend.
“You’re taking on a handful,” one clerk told Robin.
“Not quite your type,” another said to Toni.
Everyone agreed that Robin would look better in purple, or maybe teal, and that her colors were “spring,” or maybe “summer,” and if she didn’t like skirts she could at least wear shorts that weren’t all baggy and wrinkled. Meanwhile the changing rooms all had horrible lighting and Robin absolutely hated trying things on in front of a full-length mirror. She looked awful. She might as well put a bag over her head and dress in a flour sack.
“You are definitely a spring,” Toni mused. “Let’s try Aunt Rita’s.”
Aunt Rita’s was a vintage store and Rita herself a tall, dramatic woman who dressed like a refugee from the 1980s, complete with geometric plastic earrings and a mullet of snow-white hair. “I have just the things,” she said after sizing Robin up, and herded her toward the back.
The white Capri pants were slimming and comfortable. The blouse was turquoise, more or less, with no frills and no lace and no flashy buttons anywhere. The V-neck made her face look less round. When she turned sideways, she didn’t look fat. The price tags weren’t exactly cheap, but she had the envelope Austin had given her and inside was a hundred dollars in crisp, new bills.
“Okay, we’re done,” Robin announced. “Let’s go.”
“Shoes,” Aunt Rita sang out.
The sad news was that Robin’s toenails were kind of chipped and ugly because she kept them jammed in sneakers all the time. Pedicures were nothing more than overpriced indulgences delivered by overworked and underpaid immigrant workers. The glittery pink nail polish that Robin had slopped on under Toni’s evil influence certainly didn’t help things.
“Not a problem,” Aunt Rita said, and dug out a pair of white Converse that looked almost new.
Toni sized up Robin in her new ensemble. “You’d be perfect if you let me pluck your brows.”
“You are not going anywhere near my brows,” Robin said adamantly.
But Toni convinced her to at least get her bangs cut, because they were too long and heavy and the ends were beginning to curl up. Usually, Robin would get a pair of scissors herself. Toni tugged her into a salon a few doors down from
Aunt Rita’s and dramatically announced, “Chili, help. We need beauty 911.”
The salon was small, crowded, and decorated for a unisex crowd. Or maybe an omnisex crowd. Sitting in the chairs were women, men, men dressed like women, and women dressed like men. The music from overhead speakers was some kind of Caribbean punk. Chili was a tall, butch woman with dark skin and almost no hair at all. She was wearing a leather vest and shorts that looked like a Monet mixed up in a blender, and she was the most marvelously unique person Robin had ever seen.
Chili sized Robin up with a critical eye. Robin crossed her arms over her new (to her) turquoise blouse to indicate what she thought of the whole thing.
Toni said, “She needs your help.”
“I think she’s beautiful just the way she is,” Chili said.
Despite herself, Robin felt a little glow.
Toni protested, “But those bangs!”
“Are perfect,” Chili said. “Maybe too long. What are you, dragging random girls off the street for makeovers? I’m busy here.”
Toni said, “She’s going to that big Hollywood party tonight.”
Chili wasn’t impressed. “Bunch of Hollywood snots have been blocking traffic all week.”
But still, Chili let her sit in an open chair, and after some thoughtful consideration, snipped, snipped and snipped some more, working around her bangs and maybe the sides and a little off the back. Robin didn’t even want to think about how much this was costing her. Her gaze fell on the pictures taped to Chili’s mirror: Chili hugging some young girls, Chili wearing a big cowboy hat and smoking a cigar, and Michelle Boyle in fatigues, standing in a desert with sunglasses over her eyes.
“You know Officer Boyle,” Robin said, before her brain clicked and remembered what Toni had said about Boyle’s girlfriend.
“She’s mine and you can’t have her,” Chili said easily.
“I don’t—I’m not—” Robin said, but she couldn’t finish that.
“Relax,” Toni said, flipping through a magazine. “She says that to everyone.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Chili retorted. She put her scissors down and said, “There. Much better. Stop cutting it yourself and use a trained professional. Would you tune your car up by yourself?”
