by Heather Lin
“I have two scripts for you to read, three talk shows you should do, and GQ wants you to make up the interview you missed,” Roy continued.
“Okay. Send me the scripts and schedule the rest. Shoot me a text with the info. I’ll get myself there.”
“Damn right you will,” Roy grumbled. Alton ended the call.
“You’re being awfully cooperative,” Madison said, leaning against the kitchen counter and eyeing her friend. “I guess that time at Applewild did you some good. And maybe Monroe did, too. I am sorry about that—”
“Don’t,” Alton cut her off. “You were right. She was bad news. L.A. and the backlash from Sophie are the lesser of two evils.”
Madison set her coffee down and crossed her arms over her chest, concern for her friend written in the down-curve of her mouth.
“Ms. Hutter told me you two had a disagreement and Monroe resigned. What exactly happened?”
“Resigned?”
“Yes, resigned.”
Alton snorted. “Isn’t Ms. Hutter supposed to give you detailed reports about these things?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
Alton shook his head, not wanting to talk about it but unable to keep the words from spilling out. “She sold me out. I thought we had something special. Special enough to defend to you. But she’s just a gold-digging attention whore like all the others.”
“You mean she was responsible for the articles?” Madison said.
“Yes. Without a doubt. Those conversations…they were private. No one heard those words but us.”
“What about the picture?”
“She must have cut one of her friends in on the deal. Maybe she wasn’t really sleeping at all.”
“Hm.” Madison took another sip of coffee.
“Hm?”
“Well, I just…I thought she was overstepping her bounds and putting you in a vulnerable position by seeing you, but it never crossed my mind she would take it that far.”
“Well, she did,” Alton said, leaving no room for argument—maybe because he was afraid he could be persuaded.
“I believe you.” Madison held up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just surprised. She’s always been allowed in and out of the main house to see Elsa and Ms. Hutter. She’s helped Xan with the pony; Will and I have gone for trail rides and picnics on the property; she’s driven us to and from the airport. I wonder why she never sold any information on us. She earned our trust. Otherwise I wouldn’t have risked having her around you.”
Alton didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. Monroe seemed like a great girl. Of course she did. Any respectable con artist was good at seeming good.
“So you had her fired?” Madison clarified.
“Ms. Hutter said there was a zero tolerance policy for invasion of privacy.”
“There is.”
“So, yes, I had her fired.”
Madison nodded. “I’m sorry it ended that way.”
“You and me both.”
“Do you want some help cleaning up?” Madison asked. “Will’s working at home. Xan’s asleep. I have a couple of hours.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll call the cleaners and go out for groceries and new bed sheets later.”
“Then let me take you to lunch.”
“Okay. But no more talk about me.”
“It’s a deal.”
XIV
It had been a week since Monroe left Applewild. She was still with Shannon and Mark, living in the guestroom on the opposite end of their double wide trailer. She’d sold her truck a day ago. It hadn’t taken long—one ad on Craigslist, two potential buyers, and one lucky bidder. She loved that truck. But with no job and plenty of bills in her future, the payments would just leach away what little money her mother and step-father had managed to leave her. Now she had a good chunk of change in the bank and a no-frills Dodge Ram.
She sat on the couch, scouring the local paper for a place to rent. Shannon was next to her with a bag of pretzels, flipping through TV channels and a bridal magazine.
“What do you think of this?” she asked, showing Monroe a mermaid gown.
Monroe grabbed a handful of pretzels and turned back to the newspaper. “I think you won’t be able to walk down the aisle.
“People walk in these all the time.”
“They hobble, Shannon. How long do you want the processional to take?”
“Hmph.” Shannon flipped to the next page, popped a pretzel in her mouth, and changed the channel to a comedy station.
Monroe circled a house for rent. It came with two fenced-in acres of land. If they’d let her put in a stable, it could be perfect. She turned to the help wanted ads.
“Good to have you on the show again, Alton.”
“Good to be here, John.”
Monroe froze, a pretzel half-way to her mouth, her eyes landing reluctantly on the TV screen. There he was. The last man she’d slept with, fought with, fallen for. Her heart beat fast and strong. Seeing his face on the covers of magazines was hard enough, but this living, breathing, talking version of the man she’d known for all of a week—yet somehow managed to love—sent a shock of pain straight to her core.
Shannon glanced at her friend and raised the remote but Monroe held up a hand to stop her. She’d have to deal with this eventually. She’d have to see him. And a part of her, a part she hated, wanted to see him. She missed him.
“So this is your first TV interview since that infamous photo came out.”
“It is.”
Monroe watched Alton lift a glass of water to his lips. He’d shaved. He was in a v-neck t-shirt and blazer, but this styled version of Alton couldn’t compare to what she knew. She preferred him in that dirty black jacket, unshaven. She’d gotten to know the real him. She’d gotten to know what those smooth lips tasted like, what those strong hands felt like, what that deep, London voice sounded like in the throes of passion.
“Should we get talk of that out of the way first?”
Alton shrugged. His hands were between his knees, and he was hunched forward. It made him look as if he didn’t care whether he was on TV or lounging on the couch at home. And he probably didn’t.
“It’s your show, John.”
“That it is. So just to clear up a few things, let’s play a quick game of true or false and then move on to the film you have coming out next year. Number one: You knew about the affair before it hit newsstands.”
“False.”
“You and Sophie are getting back together.”
“False.”
“You and Sophie remain friends.”
He laughed at that one, and Monroe smiled a bit. “Definitely false.”
“You have a new love interest.”
Alton paused, and Monroe looked down at the paper in her lap. She knew his answer, and she knew it would hurt.
“False.”
“You paused a moment there.”
Monroe looked at his face again. He took another sip of water. “False,” he assured the host coolly.
“Okay, you can change it,” Monroe said.
Shannon quickly turned the TV to a cooking show. “This seems safe.”
Monroe didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The misery she felt was almost tangible.
“You had it bad for him, huh?” Shannon asked.
“Not talking about it.”
“Fair enough. What do you think of this?” She showed Monroe a ballroom gown with a five foot train.
“How will you pee?”
Shannon sighed. “So practical. Cinderella never had to worry about peeing.”
“Cinderella was fiction.”
*
Alton exited to the green room after leaving the set of John Talks Live. He grabbed a bagel and nodded to the band that was waiting to perform, then went through to the hallway. Waiting just outside the door was a young redhead with a clipboard—probably an intern.
“Hello, Mr. Daniels, I’ll be escorting you to security. T
hey’ll get you safely to your car. If you’d like to give a wave to the fans and press, feel free. And if you’re looking for someone to spend the night with, I’m off in an hour.”
Alton paused mid-bite and looked the pert young woman up and down. She was pretty. According to his new creed, that was all he needed to know. They began walking.
“Meet me at the L’Ermitage,” he told her. “Seven o’clock. We’ll do dinner and then…”
“You can skip the dinner, if you want. My name’s Mary.”
Alton nodded and flashed a confident grin. She smiled and gave him a wave. Then the security guards ushered him to a waiting car, and he waved out the window to appease his fans. Girls screamed. When he was out of sight, he lit a cigarette.
“L’Ermitage Hotel,” he told the driver.
“Yes, sir.”
Twenty minutes later, Alton put on a pair of sunglasses and hurried up the hotel steps. It was five-stars and known for celebrity sightings. He planned not to be sighted. He entered the polished white lobby and approached the front desk.
“Alton Daniels. I’d like a room.”
“Yes, sir. We have a suite available on the sixth floor.”
“I’m expecting a guest. Red hair. She’ll ask for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alton took the key and rode the elevator up to his room. He had an hour and a half before Mary was supposed to arrive. He liked hotels. He liked relaxing, ordering room service, and watching TV. He liked that, in this hotel, one of his most basic needs was going to be met by a bold and beautiful young woman.
Someone might talk about the redhead who came in asking for Alton Daniels. It might get a mention in the papers. But there would be no feelings, no pillow talk, no personal details. He’d give her nothing to sell, and he’d make sure no one had anything to report but speculation.
He could get used to this—moving from woman to woman until the media could no longer keep up with or care about his love life.
Alton made himself a Jack and Coke at the mini bar, kicked off his shoes, and lounged on the bed. He turned on ESPN. At 6:58pm, a knock sounded on the door. He looked through the peephole and let Mary inside.
She’d done her hair and changed into a tight dress. She smiled, and he returned the gesture.
“Come in. Leave your cell phone by the door.”
“Is that the only security protocol? I half-expected to be frisked by a bodyguard.”
“I like doing that myself.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her.
He was trying hard to keep something like Monroe from happening again. Letting his guard down wasn’t an option. Getting emotionally involved wasn’t an option. He’d trusted Sophie. He’d trusted Monroe. And he’d learned his lesson.
XV
Monroe picked up a copy of People magazine from the floor of her foyer. She’d moved to a townhouse about thirty miles outside of St. Clare, in walking distance to the boarding stable where Werther was staying and just a few miles from her part-time job at a tack shop. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but she felt safe. At least for now.
The only real downside to her situation was the former tenant’s subscription to gossip magazines.
She glanced at the cover. There was Alton, caught outside of a hotel with another pretty, one-time girl on his arm. She tossed it in the recycling bin and moved to get the paper from her front stoop. She’d rather keep up with local news than celebrity trash—especially when that trash threatened to break her heart.
Monroe sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal and flipped through the thin pages. A local cat hit five hundred thousand views on YouTube; a historic farmhouse burned down; a new bridge was being built; and in the local crime section was the announcement of a warrant for her father’s arrest.
She set her coffee down hard on the table, barely noticing when hot liquid splashed over the side and onto her hand. Even as it burned, she felt cold. She read the blurb again.
Talbot List is wanted for failure to meet with his probation officer. If you have any information on his whereabouts, please call 1-800-555-TIPS.
Shit. Monroe took a deep breath. She’d moved. Her father had no way of knowing where she was, even if he intended to come after her. Still, she ran upstairs and reached under her bed, feeling for the cool, hard barrel of her security system. She had the bullets in a separate case, but she loaded the shotgun now, snapped it shut, and slid it back under the bed. She lay on the mattress to make sure it was in arm’s reach.
There was a second gun in her truck, but the idea of walking from her front door to her vehicle without protection seemed terrifying. She should have gotten a concealed carry permit and a larger purse.
But her weapon of choice, if she got to use it, would cause more damage than a handgun. And if he had the nerve to come after her again, after all this time, she wanted to make sure she did some damage.
*
Alton was a yes man, in the best possible way. Any beautiful woman who wanted a piece of him could have it. He was on the cover of gossip magazines for three weeks before his promiscuity became old news. His pictures were still in the magazines, but he was just an eighth of a page buried between fall fashion and Miley Cyrus.
He spent his days reviewing the script for a movie he’d be filming in New Zealand, and he spent his nights either alone or not. Life was good, sex was effortless. Just the fact the women who approached him were in bed with the Alton Daniels seemed to get them off, and he didn’t need much more than a pretty face and warm body.
Most days, he even managed to ignore the emptiness.
He’d barely seen Madison since getting back to L.A. Sophie’s baby bump was growing, and she’d had the gall to invite him to the wedding. He had no way to keep track of Monroe. He told himself it was better that way. Good riddance. But he’d loved her faster and better than Sophie. Two months after leaving Applewild, the wounds she’d inflicted were still fresh.
Alton turned the page of his script. He was at a café, one with few windows and high standards. No paparazzi were granted access, and the room he sat in now, enjoying a cup of tea with a dash of whiskey, was reserved for VIP.
He sipped his tea, mentally reviewing lines and diligently keeping his mind off everything else. But everything else found him. He sensed a presence nearby but didn’t look up until that presence pulled out the chair in front of him and joined him.
“Long time no see,” Madison said.
She was not happy with him. He may have been ignoring the majority of her calls and texts. He set down his work, trying to play it cool.
“Hey, there. You found me.”
“Found you? Were you hiding?”
“Sort of.”
“From me? From your best friend?”
“Women define ‘best friend’ differently than men.”
“Oh, really? Does a man’s definition include never calling that friend back? Never visiting that friend? Or, perhaps, missing the birthday party of that friend’s child?”
“Oh, shit.”
That hit home. He could have talked his way out of anything else. Now he felt like a real asshole.
“Oh, shit,” she mimicked. “What the hell has gotten into you? You’re not talking to your friends, you’re seeing all these random women, I can smell the whiskey from here….Did Sophie mess you up that badly?”
Alton gripped his mug, the truth he’d been denying for two months struggling to surface. It wasn’t Sophie. Monroe had been the real blow. But he would never say it out loud.
“No. No, she didn’t. I’ve just been an arse. I’m sorry. I’ll come by to see Xan tonight.”
“No, you won’t. We’re going to Applewild for the next two weeks. If you ever answered your phone you’d know that.”
“I get it. I feel really bad.”
“Good.”
Alton rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his tea. Madison took it away from him and handed it off to a passing waitre
ss.
“What did I say about playing my mother?” he said. “I have a mother. I moved away.”
“I am not playing your mother. I am being your friend. If relieving you of your booze is all it takes for you to forget that, you’ve got bigger problems than I thought.”
Alton shut his mouth.
“What is going on?” she asked, concern replacing her anger. “If it’s not Sophie, then what is it? Is the fame getting to you? Do you need help? I can recommend a great therapist.”
“No, it’s not the fame.”
“Then what?” He shrugged. Her eyes narrowed. “What is it that you can’t tell me?”
“I’m sorry I’ve been a shut in—”
“Except with the rest of the female population.”
“—and I’m sorry I missed Xan’s party. Really. I’ll do better. And I’ll see you before I go to New Zealand. I promise.”
Madison looked into his eyes, searching for answers. Maybe she found them; he couldn’t be sure. But she finally dropped the subject.
“Okay. You’d better.”
“I will.”
Madison reached out and squeezed his hand. Then she got up and walked away. Alton was left with his script and no drink.
Two days later, he was back on the covers of magazines: Madison and Alton feuding!
*
Madison was happy to be back at Applewild. Xan had room to run around, she and her husband had peace and quiet, and she could finally pursue the hunch she’d formed after ambushing Alton at the café.
Her friend just hadn’t been himself lately. That passion for life he’d had prior to Sophie was absent. His alcohol-tinged slump was affecting his ability to function as a normal human being, and it was sure to start affecting his work, too. She’d hate to see this downward spiral ruin his life and his career.
She had no doubt the bold headline insisting they were feuding would be yet another blow to his rationale. It was barely a tiff. She knew the truth, and that was good enough for her. But he still hadn’t quite grasped the technique of letting those insignificant lies and exaggerations go.
