Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

  I swallow a lump the size of the damn golf ball, and I step up to finish my go. He watches me like nothing has happened.

  That was nothing to him. Calm down.

  When I’m done, Wren steps up and manages to take the longest time to get her ball in. I think it was about seven turns. Brody watches her with amusement.

  Mila is quicker with three. Though, she doesn’t look very happy about it. Probably because she feels like a fifth wheel. I want to scream that Spencer and I aren’t a thing. We haven’t been a thing in a long time, and we agreed that friendship is all we should have.

  We agree to the stupidest of things.

  Wren pouts. “Brody, I need another cocktail.”

  “You do that thing with your tongue later and you can have all of the cocktails you want.”

  “Let’s not discuss that with my friends,” she retorts, slapping his shoulder.

  “Yes, please don’t,” I say at the same time Spencer quips, “Way to go, Wren.”

  I’ve never thought much about sex with Spence. Mostly because I cut that off the very second he pops into my head, naked. There’s no point torturing myself.

  We move to the next game. Wren, Mila, and I have another cocktail. They’re nice, super sweet, and colourful with a huge after kick of alcohol.

  The next game, Brody wins. Then the one after that. Spencer soon catches up, though. Wren is horrible at the game, but Mila and I aren’t too far behind the boys.

  It seems that we get a new cocktail for every course. After three, I’m done, and I turn down another. I’ll need to be sober.

  Spence and Brody are both driving so they’ve had nothing but Coke.

  Mila and Wren continue drinking. Neither of them has any bad experiences with alcohol. Well, except maybe a few hangovers and an accidental marriage. They stayed married, though, so that no longer counts as a negative for her.

  When you watch your parents transform into strangers and slowly kill themselves over it, it puts you off. I like a drink, but I will make sure I never turn out like them. Not ever.

  “That was so much fun,” Mila says as we finish the final game, which was a course of inbred freaks wielding axes, with a chopped corpse at their feet.

  Wren puts her hands on her hips. “Next time the boys can drink, and we’ll beat them.”

  “Right, babe, the reason you lost is the cocktails,” Brody replies, rolling his eyes. Brody has the nicest eyes—second to Spencer, that is. They’re dark blue, like the colour of the sky at twilight. He’s a beautiful man with dark hair and killer body. It’s not hard to see why Wren fell for him.

  As we walk out of the building, we stop by the door to say goodbye. We’re each heading off in different directions.

  “We’ll see you guys soon?” Wren asks.

  “We can try to do something before Indie and I go to LA on Wednesday.”

  Oh, great.

  Mila and Wren jump closer to me. “What? You’re finally going to LA?”

  They have been nagging at me to go for ages. Wren even hinted towards them paying for my plane ticket, but I always said I’m too busy. It wasn’t a lie, but I have made myself busier than I need to be.

  “Yes, Wednesday until Saturday.”

  “That’s awesome! Will you be at the premiere? Oh my God, I’ll die if I see you on TV!” Mila gushes.

  Spencer laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll make sure she gets in front of the camera.”

  My heart comes to an abrupt stop. “Don’t you dare!”

  No one can see me with him on the red carpet. They’ll be digging around in my business and know my life story before the movie ends.

  “Breathe, Indie,” he says. “I’ll sneak you in my pocket.”

  Ten

  Spencer

  There’s nothing quite like knowing your best friend doesn’t want to be seen with you to ruin a good evening. She made it clear with a look of panic that she won’t be beside me on the red carpet.

  How am I supposed to take that?

  I wouldn’t mind if she just said she’d rather not. Her expression suggested that it would be the worst thing imaginable.

  She doesn’t elaborate on why, and I’m too much of a fucking chicken to ask.

  We walk back to my car after saying goodbye to her friends. “I like your mates. Especially Brody.”

  Looking up, she smiles faintly. “They’re amazing. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

  “Want me to drop you off home now?” I ask. My voice sounds dangerously on the desperate side. I’m not ready for this night to end. She’s been flirty and handsy. I’ve been hard.

  “No, we should to go to yours so I can drive home. I’ll need my car tomorrow morning.”

  “What’s happening tomorrow morning?”

  “I’m going to the library, first thing.”

  Is she crazy? “All right. When you’re done, are you coming over?”

  “Of course. I’ll be over early afternoon.”

  Good.

  We drive to my house in a comfortable silence between us, while listening to the radio. I love being Spencer Lowe: the new movie star the US is obsessed with.

  I love being Indie’s friend more.

  When I’m with her, I don’t need to be on it all of the time. I don’t have to smile and pretend that I’m the perfect guy.

  “Spence…” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shake her head and turn towards the window like she’s having a debate with herself. “Nothing.”

  “Come on, you’re clearly thinking something. What were you going to say?”

  She sighs. “I was going to ask about your days on set.”

  Bullshit.

  “Why is that difficult to ask? We’ve already spoken about what I do.”

  “I know, but not everything. Not all the details.”

  “You’ve stopped making sense.” I turn into my road. We’ve had many long conversations about long hours and hundreds of takes.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry; tell me straight. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  I pull onto the drive but neither of us gets out. We sit in darkness with only the low glowing dash for light.

  “Indie, talk to me.”

  “I missed talking to you,” she whispers.

  Fuck. I’ve hurt her. “I didn’t call or text enough. I wanted to.”

  “Then, why didn’t you? I know it’s dumb but we both promised to keep in touch. Regularly.”

  “My workdays were anything between twelve and seventeen hours long. I would get back to my apartment or the trailer, and just crash. It’s not a good excuse, but I was exhausted in every way imaginable… and the time difference made it difficult to call.”

  I’m an arsehole, making excuses as if they matter.

  She squirms in her seat like she would rather be talking about anything else. “I do understand, Spence.”

  “But it’s still not okay.”

  “No, it is. You’re busy doing this amazing thing, living your dream. I guess neither of us really understood what you were taking on. You know… how much time and effort it would require. I’ve worried about you.”

  “I certainly didn’t realise, either. At first, it was a shock and took a lot of getting used to. I was sure I’d fail.”

  She shakes her head. “You will never fail. You’re the best actor on the planet.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “To me, you are.”

  My chest is tight. I look into her eyes and want to drag her into my lap. “I don’t ever want you to feel like I don’t have time for you. I know that sounds crazy, considering I’ve just told you I didn’t have time to call. But if you ever need me, Indie, I would be on the first plane home no matter what I have going on.”

  Her smiles almost knocks me out cold. She is the only one who can bring me to my knees.

  “You need to sleep, or can I come in for hot chocolate?”

  “Hot choco
late?”

  “We used to drink it all the time before we converted to coffee.”

  I remember. “Before we needed something harder thanks to high school exams.”

  “Ugh.” She shudders. “I can’t even think about that time without breaking a sweat. Soon enough, I’ll have finals at uni.”

  “You’re really going to fall apart.”

  “Thank you for the faith you have in me.”

  Laughing, I open my door. “I have faith. I know you’ll ace them. I also know you’ll stress so much that your hair falls out.”

  She grabs a fistful of hair. “Not happening.”

  “Come on, I think Mum has whipped cream and mini marshmallows, too.”

  We go inside, and I flick the kettle on.

  She watches me like a hawk.

  I try to focus on making the hot chocolate, but my head is swimming with indecent thoughts. How I would love to bend her over the counter in front of me. All evening, I’ve been uncomfortable. The tight jeans, the hint of cleavage, the subtle hand on my arm or chest when we’ve been messing around… I’ve missed her. I’ve not missed the blue balls.

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” I tell her, putting both mugs down on the sofa.

  “You cannot tell me there’s a lack of sugar in America.”

  “No, and that only makes it harder to resist.”

  She takes a look at me, her eyes raking over my chest.

  Fuck’s sake, make it harder.

  I raise a brow.

  “Hmm, can’t say the new diet and exercise isn’t working for you.”

  “Glad you approve.”

  Indie curls her legs under her fine arse on the sofa. She turns herself on the sofa cushions, so she’s fully facing me. She’s very close. Still not close enough.

  “I’m kind of scared about finals,” she admits.

  “I have no doubt you’re going to get a first, Miss A-Star.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “That doesn’t mean a fail. You are absolutely going to pass, Indie. Why do you need a first?”

  She shrugs. Why is she so petrified to fail?

  “Indie,” I lift her chin, and her terrified eyes search mine. “What’s going on?”

  “I just want to make sure I have a good career.”

  “You can do anything you want. The counselling world is missing you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get a job first.”

  “You wouldn’t start out on own your own straight off?”

  “I need the guaranteed salary. I’ve had some work experience in a few companies and really enjoyed it. One, I keep in touch with. The owner Sally is really nice. I’m hoping she’ll offer me a job when I graduate.”

  I want to ask her if she needs money. This conversation has my stomach in knots, worrying that she’s going without.

  “Are you okay?” is what I actually ask. It’s the most direct way I can ask her that without having her close up on me.

  “Yeah, I’m just the one who worries about stuff, remember.”

  “Uh-huh. Why are you putting so much pressure on yourself?” I ask the question as casually as I can and pass her the hot chocolate from the table. Please don’t throw it on me.

  She takes the mug from me, not throwing it over my face. “Thanks. I expect the best from myself. I want the career, and I want to help people.”

  “You. Won’t. Fail. Indie, you’re the smartest, most caring person I know. I wish you would see yourself the way I see you.”

  She licks the cream, and I squirm, imagining a very different scenario.

  “Thanks, Hollywood. That means a lot coming from you.”

  I squirm again.

  Eleven

  Indie

  I stay at Spencer’s for three hours, dinking two hot chocolates and eating a cheese toastie. It was the only way he was going to let me drive home. He still looks stressed, but I couldn’t be more sober if I tried.

  When I arrive home, it’s almost one in the morning. Through the drawn curtains, I can see the faint glow of the TV. Though that means nothing. There’s no way they’ll be awake this late after drinking since somewhere around midday. The TV still being on only means they got too drunk to care about switching it off.

  At least I won’t have to talk to them.

  I get out of my car and head inside.

  The front door creaks when I open it. Inside is cold, despite the fact that the temperature is permanently set on twenty-three.

  My stomach twists.

  About once every few months, they have a ‘getting clean’ day. It starts off well. They do things around the house, drink coffee, pay bills, and sometimes go shopping instead of me getting the food delivered. Dad makes the only dish he can cook: spaghetti carbonara. Every time I come into the house and smell a carbonara, I know I’m going to get at least one good day.

  It doesn’t take long—maybe one to two days tops—before they’re reaching for the vodka again.

  There is still a lot of money in the account from Dad’s payout. We own the house outright, and we only have utilities to pay for. They don’t go anywhere or do anything besides drink cheap booze. If they hadn’t become drunks, they could have used the money to set themselves up very nicely.

  Sometimes I want to take all of that money and run. I’ve never been able to take a penny to spend on myself. It feels like dirty money. If we didn’t have it, my parents would be normal. We didn’t have a lot before, but we were happy.

  I close the front door and walk into the living room. Grinding my teeth, I watch them passed out on the sofas for a second. The usual décor litters the living room. Empty bottles and cans.

  Fuck this. I grab the remote and turn the TV off.

  They can’t be happy. I know I’m not.

  I throw the remote down on the other sofa and leave the room. When was the last time they went to bed? Like, brushed their teeth, changed into pyjamas and got into a proper bed? All I can ever recall is them sleeping here.

  They haven’t even made me breakfast since I was about nine. Mum was a high-functioning alcoholic for a few years, going to work and feeding me, but she wasn’t really present and never did anything with me. Then it swallowed her whole.

  I head upstairs to my own room—my sanctuary. It’s still in the vicinity of the house they own, so it will never be a place I want to be long-term, but at least they’re not in here.

  Today has been amazing and exhausting. All of the people who mean the most to me get along. I should be jumping for joy, but tonight isn’t going to be a regular thing. There will be no finishing work then meeting each other for a drink. Soon, Spencer’s workdays will be twelve or more hours long in another country again. We’ve already lost touch so much and this is only the first movie.

  I get ready for bed, and surprisingly, since my mind is working overtime, I fall asleep quickly.

  When I wake in the morning, it’s just after seven. I’m usually up earlier.

  You haven’t checked them.

  I climb out of bed and rush downstairs with my heart in my mouth.

  Every step I take chills me by another degree. What if they’re not okay?

  I live in constant fear of finding them dead. God, I have got to get out of this house.

  Clenching my hands as I reach the bottom step, I offer a silent prayer. Please let my parents be breathing.

  I’m not even religious.

  My heart thuds loudly as I peek around the corner.

  Mum stirs in her sleep and rolls onto her back. I turn my attention to Dad. He hasn’t moved yet, and I can’t see the rise and fall of his chest.

  Shit.

  Please.

  Shuffling closer, I swallow a sob and raise my trembling hand to place it in front of his mouth.

  Please.

  Air hits the palm of my hand, and I sink to the floor in relief.

  Dropping my hand, I steady myself and take a breath.

  It’s okay. They’re okay. You’re okay.

/>   It’s not like this is even the first time I’ve had to get this close to check. I ache with the knowledge that it won’t be the last, either. Why don’t they want our old life?

  Bile stings the back of my throat. I push myself to my feet and run upstairs, taking them two at a time. Slamming the bathroom door, I grip the sink and close my eyes.

  Just get ready and get out.

  This house is as toxic as they are. There’s nothing comforting about being here. I don’t look forward to getting back. The ‘there’s no place like home’ adage is absolute bullshit.

  I shower and get dressed with a knot in my stomach. I can’t stand it here.

  I’ve searched for rentals so many times, but I won’t have enough money for rent, utilities, uni, and savings if I leave now. What if things don’t work out, and my only choice is to move back with my parents? That can’t happen to me. I don’t have them as a backup.

  My best chance is to suck it up and get myself stable, with a decent full-time job before I leave.

  There can be no coming back if I fall, so I have to succeed.

  I wonder if they’ll even remember the day I move out. They’re never sober. Would they look for me? Miss me? They’d miss someone making sure there is food in the house, cleaning, and taking the rubbish out, I suppose.

  Who will do that when I’m gone?

  I shake my head as hot water drenches my body. They’re not my responsibility. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get them to stop drinking, and each time they’ve picked alcohol over me. I gave up hoping they’d get better a long time ago. Now all I can do is protect myself.

  I turn the water off and get out. Cool air makes my skin pebble, so I quickly wrap a towel around my body.

  There isn’t a lot of time before I need to leave. My therapist will be waiting for me. She’s going on holiday for two weeks and said she could fit me in on a Sunday morning or I’d end up going three weeks until I saw her next.

  I can’t go that long.

  I get dry, dressed, put make-up on, and I blow dry my hair into curls. It’s usually poker straight. I love the difference when I can be bothered to curl it. Today, I need to feel good about myself.