Between the Lines (16 page)

“Even though Graham and Brooke might be hooking up? Hmm.”

“Uh, one more thing. Graham left Austin sometime during the night after that kiss, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him since then. Some family emergency, I think. But he hasn’t called or texted or anything.”

“Weird,” Emily says, pencil going
tic tic tic
. “What else do you know about him?”

“He’s older.”

“How much older?” I hear a prepared-to-be-horrified note in her voice.

“Two and a half years.”

“Thank God, I thought you were gonna say he was like thirty or something. Look, I think the reason you’re in this predicament now is you’re letting
them
determine everything. Maybe you should decide what
you
want, Em.”

“Right now I want to come home and hide in your closet.”

She laughs because that’s exactly what I used to do when Chloe came to pick me up and I didn’t want to go home. “Look, you don’t need either of them. Don’t do anything else until you figure out what you want. Or
who
you want.”

I’m suddenly extremely homesick for my best friend, my usual routine, and my uncomplicated life—which didn’t include photos of me, locking lips with a bona fide teen idol, splashed across the Internet.

Chapter 22

REID

John arrived last night. Picking people up at the airport is starting to feel like a second job. Quinton tagged along and we all went out for a late dinner, then back to my room to plot the trip down the Guadalupe, which Bob is none too happy about. He came by the room to tell me he’s sending Jeff and another security guy with us. “If anybody drowns, it had better be
that
guy,” he said, pointing at John.

“What the hell, man?” John blinked. Bob growled at him as he left the room.

At this point, we’d already put down a load of whiskey sours, so this exchange was hysterical as far as Quinton and I saw it. Tadd joined us around midnight after some don’t-ask-don’t-tell activity, which he usually tells anyway. Especially if we ask.

I’d intended to be awake early enough to see Emma before we left, but given the level of inebriation that occurred and the fact that it was three a.m. by the time everyone left my room, that didn’t happen. I texted her once we were underway, and she answered when she was on lunch break. I’m less worried about competing with Graham than I was before I kissed her. Never hurts to draw an obvious contrast to potential rivals, though. Especially if it seems to be unintentional:

Reid:  Going tubing for a couple of days with quinton, tadd, and a friend from home. Thought I would tell you and not just disappear. :)

Emma:  What’s tubing?

Reid:  Basically you get in a huge inner tube and float down the river. I will def bring you along next time.

Emma:  Sounds dangerous…

Reid:  Nope, lol. Just fun.

Emma:  K. Have fun. :)

We rent three cottages and six tubes, and buy as much beer as the coolers can carry. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it all the way. Our assigned bodyguards, Jeff and Ricky, are less unhappy than Bob was about our impromptu excursion. Even though they technically aren’t allowed to drink on the job, we assured them we didn’t consider beer consumption
drinking
, per se. Plus they’re both legal and can buy the beer.

“How do you even know about all this?” Tadd asks, while we meander through a convenience store, all wearing hats and sunglasses, grabbing water shoes, sunblock and mesh nets to hold the empty cans.

“I used to know somebody who lived in Austin. The locals do this for fun during the summer—I figured we might as well try it while we’re here, right?”

Brooke is the somebody. Once upon a time, she told me stories about her older sisters, who planned tubing trips with their friends every summer. “They drink beer all day and float down the river, flirting with boys, and then everyone meets up at a bonfire, where my sisters trade in their Baptist roots to become river whores and hook up with every cute guy they bump into.”

“Sounds fun,” I’d said, and she punched me in the arm.

“Ow!” We were watching a movie in my trailer, something so boring we’d long since lost interest in favor of making out. At fourteen and fifteen, nobody knew who we were yet, but we wanted the fame, we craved the industry recognition, and we were willing to work like hell to get there. The movie we were filming together then was ultimately a flop, but we weren’t the stars so it didn’t reflect on us.

She leaned over and kissed the spot she’d punched. “I don’t want you hooking up with a bunch of girls.” Leaning back, she regarded me with a slight pout, an expression that had, at the time, melted me every time she did it.

“I don’t want any other girls,” I said.

“I don’t want any other guys,” she answered, leaning closer.

“Good.” I kissed her, pulling her onto my lap, my hands wandering under her shirt as hers wandered under mine. Maybe that was the first time we went a step further than making out.

That conversation went like this: “Do you think—?”

She looked at me a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

*** *** ***

Emma

We’re filming at the Bennet house again. Graham and I have the first scene. I don’t know when he returned to Austin, only that I haven’t heard from him in the two and a half days since he kissed me. Meanwhile, the photos of Reid and me at the concert have pretty much gone viral, and considering Graham’s silence, it seems clear enough how he feels about that.

The kitchen is packed, between craft services people setting up breakfast and snacks, crew members standing around eating, discussing camera angles and scene layouts, and the cast taking bites between bits of line rehearsals. More than once I start to leave the kitchen and go to the living area, where it’s less crowded and noisy, but something keeps me hiding in the throng of people, and I know exactly what that something is.

Waiting to see Graham yanks my emotions back and forth, as though I’m either facing a starting gate or a firing squad. I’m as jittery and nauseated as I would be after four cups of coffee. I can’t quite get a grip, giving me five seconds, from the moment I finally hear his voice in the other room, to pull it together.

Epic. Fail.

He comes around the corner, sides in hand, talking with Richter, wearing jeans and a rumpled button-down shirt, sleeves rolled and pushed above his elbows. Running a hand through his hair, he glances around the room, his eyes not stopping on anything or anyone until he reaches me. Expression unreadable, he nods once in my direction and turns back to Richter.

“Let’s get you into makeup,” Richter tells him. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.” I don’t see him again until right before we’re on camera.

***

I don’t recognize Graham when he comes back. My concern that they wouldn’t be able to make him look goofy enough for Bill Collins was dead wrong. His hair is slicked back with gel and he’s wearing pleated khaki pants, a coral golf shirt—tucked in—and a pair of gold-framed glasses with spherical lenses. His walk and his mannerisms are timid, yet self-important. He’s perfect.

We’re filming the absurd proposal scene between Bill and Lizbeth. The assistant director lays out the scene and we listen without looking at each other. Graham hasn’t looked at me after that first glance, though he’ll be contractually obligated to in a few minutes. I would have felt so comfortable doing this scene a week ago, before he kissed me, before he disappeared and returned not speaking to me.

“Action,” Richter says.

INT. Bennet Kitchen – Day

LIZBETH is loading dishes into the dishwasher as BILL walks in from the dining room with a stack of plates.

BILL

Lizbeth, I have something to ask you.

LIZBETH

(taking dishes from him, rinsing them in the sink)

Yes?

BILL

As you know, I am an integral part of the Rosings firm, with a lucrative career in front of me.

LIZBETH

(rolling eyes to the side)

Yes, so you’ve said.

BILL

My boss, Ms. DeBourgh, believes that a man in my position is best suited to an advantageous career if he is settled down, domestically speaking.

LIZBETH frowns.

BILL

So, I’m asking you, Lizbeth Bennet, to marry me.

LIZBETH swivels to face him, dropping a plate into the sink where it clatters and breaks.

(The expression on Graham’s face is so guarded that I have a difficult time staying in character—Bill Collins is supposed to be comic relief. Graham seems… angry.)

LIZBETH

(incredulous)

But. But. I’m in high school.

(I’m determined to fix that parenthetical incredulous expression on my face. I try to focus on his ridiculous glasses, the stupid slicked-back hair,
anything
. Nothing works.)

BILL

The engagement won’t be official until you’re eighteen, but that needn’t stop us from planning.

(He sounds much too persuasive to be the idiotic Bill Collins; even his nasally whine is absent. Richter is going to notice;
everyone
is going to notice. Suddenly I’m
livid
.)

LIZBETH

(stunned)

Are you insane?

BILL

(laughing carelessly)

Girls are all such teases. It’s nearly impossible for a guy to know where he stands!

(And I’m blushing again…)

LIZBETH

(horrified)

I am
not
being a tease. If I’ve done something to make you think I’m interested, well, I’m sorry. My answer is still
no
.

BILL

You don’t need to worry about the choice of ring, by the way. I didn’t purchase one yet because I wanted to make sure you had your choice.

LIZBETH

You didn’t even know me a month ago. You couldn’t possibly have come here intending to just fall in love with someone you don’t even know?

(My voice cracks and I can’t keep my lip from quivering.
Dammit
.)

BILL

It’s true, I didn’t know you, but I had every intention of making up for my dad’s mismanagement of Bennet Inc. by hooking up, legitimately of course, with you. I knew you were beautiful. I was sure I would feel a connection. And I did.

(Graham is staring into my eyes, and I have trouble remembering my lines.)

LIZBETH

(slinging soapy water into the sink)

This is crazy. I’m not getting married to anyone, certainly not to you.

“Cut,” Richter says, and I can tell he’s less than happy. He eyes Graham and me, his hand over his mouth, as though he wants to make sure not to say anything until he knows exactly what he means to say. “Everyone but Emma and Graham take five.”
Crap
. “On second thought, make it ten.”
Oh, crap
.

Our accomplished director leans a hip on the table and crosses his arms over his chest, regarding the two of us. I imagine this is what it feels like to be called to the principal’s office for fighting or talking in class. Graham and I both look anywhere but at Richter or each other.

“So. Graham,” Richter begins. “You realize your guy is a silly, shallow character?”

Graham nods, crossing his arms over his chest, too. Defensive response, as any actor knows.

“So what’s with the brooding stares? You’ve been spot on playing this guy as clueless and superficial. And now, he’s staring at Lizbeth as though he’s deciding whether to kick a chair across the room or throw her over his shoulder and retreat to his cave.”

I’m blushing again—
throw her over his shoulder
—and Graham is silent for a full minute. “I know. I’m sorry,” he answers, arms loosening, one hand gripping the countertop while he almost runs the other through his hair, stopping when he realizes it’s gelled back. “If I could have a few minutes, I’ll get into character. I’m a little off today.”

“All right. Take ten minutes. Be ready to reshoot, but let me know if you need longer.”

Graham nods and leaves the room without looking at me.

“Everything okay between you two?” Richter asks when Graham is gone.

“Yeah.” What else can I say?

“Well. I think you were responding to Graham’s lead in that last take. Remember that Lizbeth isn’t angry. She’s shocked and incredulous.”

“I know. I’ll get it right next take. I’m sorry.”

“Take a few minutes and we’ll hit take two.”

We film the scene again, and Graham has pulled himself completely into character. We do several partial scenes and a few minor retakes. Richter wasn’t far off, though I should have been professional enough to stay in character, and I can’t blame Graham completely. “Perfect,” Richter says. “Let’s take a break, and we’ll come back and do the next bit with the Bennet family.” Graham walks out the front door dialing his cell.

The last scene before lunch, which doesn’t include Graham, goes well. When we’re done, I turn and he’s leaning against a door jamb, watching me. We lock eyes briefly before the PA claims his attention. I don’t know if that kiss meant anything to him, or if it was a regretted impulse. I don’t know if I’m interrupting something between Graham and Brooke that has nothing to do with me. He’s seen the photos of Reid and me, or at least knows about them, and I hate that he’s angry, or hurt, or disgusted. I hate that we aren’t talking.