Star Crossed

by Jennifer Echols

  “You’re not a badass at heart,” Wendy said. “When you try, like in this war you’re having with Colton, you just end up sounding insecure. To be a real badass, you have to be one, and those girls are a special breed. You could, however, be America’s sweetheart.”

  “I could?”

  “You totally could, but you have a deep hole to crawl out of. I can picture people in a few years saying, ‘Remember when Lorelei Vogel went through her difficult period?’ and other people will be unable to recall this at all. But you would need to start today to build that image. Definitely don’t do anything else to make it worse.”

  “But I just posted last night that you were a twat. If I suddenly turn nice, won’t it seem like I had a talk with my PR expert and she told me what to do? I mean, that’s not going to play well.”

  “You’re a fast learner,” Wendy said. “Yes, we may have a clean break here from your past behavior, and people may comment on its suddenness. The alternative is worse. Let me explain something to you. It’s wonderful publicity for you to hang out in Las Vegas. There are bars here that your average chick would kill to get into. You can get into them. You need to go wearing your shortest skirt and your highest heels, but you have to look good in the dress, and you have to be able to walk in the heels. Don’t pull a Björk on me, or a Gerald Ford.”

  “Who?” Lorelei asked.

  “Inside the club,” Wendy went on, “sure, you can drink. That’s what you went for, and it would be weird if you didn’t imbibe. But you can’t get too drunk, Lorelei.”

  “I can’t? I thought that’s what I went to the bar for.”

  “Maybe so, but the public can’t know that. You need to drink but not get drunk. You need to eat but not look fat. You need to wear high heels without getting blisters and wear short skirts when it’s cold out without getting goose bumps. You have to be a superhero, because that’s what the public expects. I don’t expect that. Maybe the awards show doesn’t, either. But we expect you to make every effort to hide that you’re human. And so far, you are doing a terrible job of it. You’re acting like a senior on spring break from a West Virginia high school.

  “Keep your eyes on the prize, pretty girl. I have trouble with this, too. We want our dream careers, but we have to battle against our own natures to get and keep those careers. If you want it badly enough, sometimes you just have to swallow things you were going to say. Like this.” Wendy swallowed, closing one eye as if everything she shouldn’t have said to Darkness Fallz was very hard to get down. “Ah, it tastes good and makes you feel so much better afterward. Try it.”

  Lorelei performed her own swallowing act, then asked, “Can I make a blow job joke about this?”

  “A lady should never make a blow job joke in public. Let someone else make the blow job joke. You may giggle good-naturedly.”

  “Tee-hee!” Lorelei played along.

  “Very good.” Wendy patted Lorelei’s knee, then consulted the notes on her laptop. “Prepare me for the unveiling of your mother’s statue. You feel okay posing for the magazines with this likeness of your mom?”

  “Sure.” Lorelei nodded. “The photographers will get some cool shots I can use in my tour.”

  Exactly what Wendy had been thinking. “You’re not going to do anything to her statue, though.” Wendy didn’t want to approach this touchy subject, but Lorelei was so unpredictable that she felt it was her duty to make sure. “You’re not going to be photographed picking your mom’s nose? You don’t harbor any ill will toward her?”

  “Oh, gosh, no,” Lorelei said. “I was so little when she died, you know? I hardly remember her. All my dad ever said about her was how much she loved me.”

  “Really.” Wendy’s very low estimation of Lorelei’s ne’er-do-well father rose several notches.

  “Yeah. It was only later that I learned all the other stuff. What she was into and how she died.” Lorelei turned away from Wendy, toward the window onto the sunny Strip. She was clearly used to the idea of her mom being gone. It was more a part of her than her mom herself. But it still made her sad, and she liked distraction. Wendy knew the feeling.

  “My mom died when I was three,” Wendy said.

  Lorelei turned back to her in surprise. “I’m so sorry. How’d she die?”

  This question would have been rude coming from anyone else. Coming from another motherless girl, Wendy didn’t mind it.

  “She had cancer,” Wendy said. “My dad was between jobs. We didn’t have insurance. When you don’t have insurance, they do stuff to try to save you, but they don’t do everything.” Unlike Lorelei, Wendy had always known the details of her mother’s death. Her father had described it like the losing end of a cash transaction.

  Lorelei opened her hand on the duvet. Wendy put her hand inside Lorelei’s. They held hands for a few moments while something passed between them. Wendy wasn’t sure what it was, and for once she didn’t try to analyze it. It wasn’t part of her job.

  She drew her hand away and placed her fingertips on her laptop keyboard again. “So. Tonight. Do you have any really good friends coming to the museum?” Lorelei named a few who passed muster. Wendy would call their PR folks and invite them to go with her and Lorelei to a braid bar before the party. Lorelei would get a stylish, dreamy updo to go with tonight’s bohemian outfit, which the wardrobe mistress had showed Wendy. Lorelei would be photographed having comparatively innocent fun with her friends: a first. And Wendy’s own braid would hide the jagged ends where her hair had gone missing.

  8

  Let Colton in.” Even over the phone, even when Daniel’s tone was stern, his voice in Wendy’s ear gave her a jolt of excitement.

  She stood at the edge of the soiree in the spacious lobby of the wax museum. In the center of the room crouched the lifelike replica of Lorelei’s mother, mid-stroke on her electric guitar, mouth open, hair somehow suspended in air, head-banging to her own beat. The press had been fascinated by the amazing work of art. Lorelei had behaved perfectly, thanking her mom’s fans for honoring her memory over the years by enjoying her music. The speech hadn’t even sounded staged—because it hadn’t been. Lorelei had ad-libbed from the heart.

  After the unveiling, hors d’oeuvres were served along the museum ticket counter. A tribute band had started their run-through of Lorelei’s mom’s song catalog. They were good. Not as good as Lorelei—but Wendy wanted her to save her voice for the TV mini-concert she’d scored for Thursday, and of course the awards show Friday.

  Wendy’s roundup of the movers and shakers in town had been a success. Several hundred guests, most of them famous, laughed and danced, assisted by leather-clad waiters passing around shots of Lorelei’s mom’s notoriously favorite gin. Lorelei was getting a little drunk already, but Wendy figured the night had been hard on Lorelei, despite the brave face she’d worn. Wendy was willing to cut Lorelei a little slack as long as nobody wheeled out a box of syringes and Lorelei’s mom’s favorite opiate.

  Now Wendy was trying to calculate how unhappy her arch-rival was on the other end of the phone call. His careful control made it impossible to tell. “Lorelei went out of her way to say something kind to Colton at rehearsals in the afternoon,” Daniel said, “and now this? She was just baiting him, and you directed her to do that.”

  “Absolutely not. We’re not keeping Colton out of this party.” Though Daniel hadn’t raised his voice, she felt like shouting back at him in defense. She reminded herself that she was innocent—this time, at least—and she kept her tone friendly. “He should be on the list to get in. The bouncer must have gotten confused. Serves you right for being fashionably late.” In truth, several times she’d caught Lorelei scanning the room—for Colton, she suspected. And despite herself, Wendy felt the same way. She was still angry at Daniel for making the comment about ruining her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to see him. The night felt empty without him.

  “He is on the list,” Daniel said, “but your people are telling me his name is crossed
off because he’s already inside. If this is your trick to embarrass him, Wendy—”

  “No trick,” she said quickly. “Put the bouncer on the phone.”

  She didn’t find out why Colton’s name had been crossed off the list. The bouncer seemed confused on this point. But two minutes later, Colton’s bodyguard opened the lobby door, followed by Colton’s driver, Colton, and Daniel. In his slim suit, with his black eye, Daniel looked like the height of gentlemen’s fashion on his way to a fight club. He caught Wendy’s gaze briefly and then, frowning, backed against the opposite wall and surveyed the party from his end of the room.

  Which, unfortunately, gave Colton the leisure to make a beeline for her. She saw him coming and thought of a lie to tell him about checking in on the caterer, but he was shameless. He actually jogged across the dance floor to catch her before she could escape behind the ticket counter and into the makeshift kitchen.

  “Hey, Wendy,” he said knowingly.

  “Hey, Colton!” She tried to sound as innocent as he sounded guilty. “I almost didn’t recognize you without a plastic monkey in your hair.”

  He grimaced at her, then snatched her hand. “Ha ha. Lorelei and I are over, obvs. What are you doing later?”

  “Handling the shutdown of a major public relations event.” Wendy tried to pull her hand from his, but he was really gripping her. He was trying to be funny, she assured herself. He knew she wouldn’t want to be seen with him, and he was making fun of her by forcing her. He didn’t understand the panic he was sending her into. He wasn’t the spitting image of Rick. It was only the blond, looming, muscular threat of him that had her backing up and pulling her hand until it hurt. “Let go.”

  He stepped closer. “What’s the problem? Daniel said the two of you broke up.”

  Damn Daniel! Heart beating like she was a frightened rabbit, she couldn’t even work out the logic of the situation now that her fake boyfriend had thrown her to the wolves. “Lovers’ quarrel,” she said quickly. “And I know you’re just doing this to make Lorelei mad. I’m not playing. Don’t make a scene.”

  “Problem?” Daniel was beside them, taller than both of them and looking down at them. She was getting used to her heart speeding up every time she encountered Daniel. But her heart couldn’t have beat any faster. Now it slowed down. She was so relieved to see him.

  Colton glared at Daniel. “You said the two of you were over. Why should you care if I move in?”

  “I’m not a condo,” Wendy muttered.

  Daniel told Colton, “I’m over her exactly like you’re over Lorelei. Back off.”

  Colton looked surprised. He released Wendy’s hand so suddenly that she was still pulling, and she fell backward.

  Daniel caught her by the elbow without even looking in her direction. He remained focused on Colton. “One of the movie producers interested in you is standing by the statue of Richard Nixon. Why don’t you quit hitting on my ex-girlfriend and go save your chance at an audition?”

  Colton rolled his eyes, but he walked away in the direction of the president.

  Daniel stepped into the space Colton had relinquished, boxing Wendy in against the wall. One hand slipped onto the hip of her sequined minidress as he bent to whisper in her ear, “Sorry. I didn’t know he was going to come after you again.”

  She hoped he couldn’t feel that she was trembling at the touch of his hand and his deep, soft voice in her ear. Colton or no Colton, she should duck away from Daniel rather than letting him body-block her. He’d threatened to ruin her twelve hours before.

  But as she stared into the open collar of his crisp white shirt, inhaling his musky cologne, loving the feeling of his breath in her ear, she was seriously thinking he hadn’t meant what he’d said to her that morning.

  Right! It would be easy to ruin you was a term of endearment around the Blackstone Firm, just as I hope you die and rot in hell was an invitation to a birthday party. No, Daniel was only using her. There were no genuine friendships in this business. She felt sick, but this was her life. This was the life she’d wanted.

  Ignoring the chill bumps breaking out over her bare arms, she teased him in a tone of mock innocence, “Why did you break up with me?”

  He looked down into her eyes. “I thought you broke up with me.”

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “It’s all been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  “Miss Mann,” he said in a perfect British accent straight out of Masterpiece Theatre, “we should endeavor never to be drawn apart again.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Daniel. Do not talk to anybody else like that, unless you want these girls sexting you.”

  He beamed at her. “I’m sure. Back to work.” He stole a kiss from the corner of her mouth, then turned and followed Colton across the room.

  Wendy pulled the phone out of her purse and checked Lorelei’s accounts. She’d posted only polite compliments so far. Colton had posted nothing. A few entertainment and tabloid sites already showed photos of Lorelei and other stars on the red carpet outside the museum, with begrudgingly positive stories about the party. Wendy concentrated on this very, very important activity so her eyes wouldn’t trace Daniel as he talked with beautiful celebrities. Any of them would be glad to have this devastatingly handsome man. Several of them appeared to be working on it.

  Half an hour later, an argument near the hors d’oeuvres drew her attention. Lorelei and Colton were shouting at each other. Oh no. The party would be closing down soon, and they’d almost made it to the other side unscathed.

  She put her phone away and pushed through the milling crowd, hurrying for Franklin, who was lounging in a corner. He was easy to spot because he was head and shoulders above everyone else there except other bodyguards, professional athletes, and Daniel. “Can you go corral her?” she pleaded.

  As she said this, Lorelei stepped up onto a stool beside the museum ticket counter, then onto the counter itself, straddling a plate of finger sandwiches with her back to the room. As Wendy watched in horror, Lorelei shoved down her skirt and undies and bent over. Half the crowd, oblivious, kept dancing. The other half turned to watch and cheer her on.

  No.

  Wendy started forward, but it was too late. Brilliant light flashed and disappeared. Wendy blinked blindly. As her vision cleared, she saw Colton moving away and a fully clothed Lorelei stepping down from the ticket counter. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought that Lorelei had just mooned Colton from above, and Colton had snapped a picture.

  Anger boiled up in Wendy. She wondered whether Daniel had put Colton up to this in retaliation because Wendy had refused to go along with Daniel’s plan.

  Of course, nobody had made Lorelei pull her skirt and undies down. Wendy asked Franklin, “Did you see booty?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did Colton take a picture? This party has a strict no-picture rule.”

  “Colton’s bodyguard is bigger than me. Besides, Lorelei likes to show her stuff.”

  “On the Internet?”

  “Sure!”

  “Look—how could you let her get that drunk?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t need to be drunk to moon somebody, believe me.”

  The crowd dispersed along with the altercation. Lorelei put her arm around a girlfriend and disappeared into the darkness behind the counter she’d been standing on. Or mooning on. Colton, still gripping his phone, turned to greet a fellow actor from his canceled teen TV show. They embraced drunkenly, then did some kind of immature hand-slapping greeting that would have made Wendy roll her eyes if she hadn’t been a super-nice person. Speaking of which, she saw her chance.

  She rushed up. “Hey, Colton!” she exclaimed as if she hadn’t seen him in months.

  “Uh-oh.” He tipped his chin down and looked up at her with puppy dog eyes. “You’re probably mad at me for taking that picture of Lorelei’s ass.”

  “Fine, tight ass, though,” the other actor said. The two of them high-fived.

  Pigs. “I’m not mad at all,”
Wendy said. “Hey, let me take a picture for you guys!” She held out her hand for Colton’s phone.

  And he gave it over! She squealed with triumph inside. Finally, something was going right for her. “Smile!” She held the camera in front of her and centered the men’s embrace in the frame. She snapped a picture, then said, “Hold on,” and pretended to examine the photo. “The flash is messed up. Try again.” They put their arms around each other. She snapped another picture and pretended to be looking at it.

  The second they got bored and turned away from her, continuing their macho catching-up, she fled across the room. All she needed was a head start to get away from Colton and a few seconds to find the photo of Lorelei and delete it.

  She didn’t look back. She imagined a heavy hand clapping her on the shoulder at any second. No one stopped her. She slid past the velvet rope across the entrance to the museum exhibits. In a murky room lit only by the exit sign overhead, she stopped between statues of Babe Ruth and Cher and thumbed backward through Colton’s photo gallery to the picture of Lorelei’s naked butt cheeks. She hit the menu to bring up the command to delete the picture.

  Out of the darkness, the phone was grabbed away from her so fast that her fingers stung.

  That was the last thing she remembered.

  * * *

  Daniel spent a long time talking with the movie producer on the sidewalk outside the museum, far enough away from the paparazzi gathered at the entrance that he and the producer wouldn’t be overheard. Surprisingly, Colton had made a good impression when he’d talked with the man. Daniel skirted the subject, building rapport as he and the producer discussed mutual colleagues such as Victor Moore. By the time they wrapped up their talk, Daniel felt confident that the producer would be calling Colton in the next few weeks for a reading to be cast in a blockbuster movie.

  They said good-bye, and Daniel was very thankful the producer headed for his car. Colton had been mostly sober when Daniel left the party, but that might not still be the case, the way the gin had been flowing.