Beware of Boys (22 page)

Faizon laughed and waved her question away. “No, Charly, it wasn't a joke. I was perfecting my character. I always do that. I live as the character until I finish filming. It's the only way to come across authentic. You have to really become the part,” Faizon explained. “I can help you when you decide to cross over from the small screen to the big one—”

Her palms were on his chest. His body flew backward, crashing against the brick wall prop. And Charly's finger was pointed in his face and her breath spurted out before she knew it. “Help me? You could've helped me by telling me the truth, Faizon! And just think, I believed you. So no Kingston to Queens to Las Vegas to Hollywood. No fighting to survive. No really liking me.” She threw her arms up in frustration. “And probably no M
kel either. Everything's been a lie, including your mother dying from—”

“My mother did die from cancer, Charly,” he interrupted. His tone was bleak, and his eyes weren't bright with pride anymore. “I didn't lie to you . . . not about everything. Okay, so I fluffed the truth a bit about M
kel. But that was only because I wanted you with me. I wanted you to see me work. But my mother . . . I wish that was a lie. I lost her a couple of months ago.” He reached out to touch Charly, and she pulled away. “I do like you—that's why I wanted you here. I'm really into you.”

Charly shook her head. “No, Faizon. You're really into you—into yourself. I get the perfecting-the-character part, but you shouldn't play on people's emotions or play games with other people's lives. Those girls back in Las Vegas need this project, and you couldn't care less,” she said, then turned on her heel and left the way she'd come in. She moved quickly down the hall, searching for a red exit sign above the few doors she spotted. She had to get away. Quick. Hollywood had gifts for her she didn't want, like Faizon, the pretend boy from the hood, and Eden, the sham of an actress who couldn't act like a chaperone.

“I gotta get out of here,” she said. “I don't care how dangerous a place Lex is in, I'd rather deal with reality any day.” She ran down the hall, and finally found her way out of the huge building.

Jogging slowly through the lot of studios, searching for the place where they'd parked, she dug into her purse for Faizon's keys. He'd tricked her into coming to the studio, so she decided that having him provide her a way out—his car—was only fair. She had to get to Lex, and she still had to find M
kel. She shook her head, following the arrow on a sign that pointed toward the lot. Her cell phone vibrated against the back of her hand, and she breathed a mini sigh of relief. She didn't know who was calling, but suddenly she didn't feel so alone. She whipped out the cell, and saw her best friend's name scroll across the screen.

“Lola,” she answered, breathlessly, tilting her head to secure the cell between her shoulder and ear while she continued to run. “I'm in Hollywood, I think. And I'm lost. Terribly lost. I don't know where M
kel is, and Lex has gone MIA on Liam. I need him too. Everything is crazy.”

“Hold up! Hold up! What are you talking about, Charly?” Lola said, popping gum in Charly's ear. “And this better be better than the news I'm calling to tell you.”

Charly turned right and almost ran into a dressing rack of clothes. She felt like she was in some cheesy Hollywood movie, in which some comedy actor couldn't find his way through the maze, and ended up running through set designs that resembled cities or sky or something. “Excuse me,” she said, her head still tilted. “Okay, Lola, here it is.” She filled her friend in on the happenings, and finally found the lot. She pressed the remote to unlock the doors, and instead, the car roared to life. She selected another button on the key, and another, then started pushing down two at a time until she heard the locks click open. “So I have to find them. I just don't know who to get to first.” She tossed her purse onto the passenger's seat, got into the car, took off the all-access pass and stuck it into her purse, then put on the seat belt.

Lola laughed as if Charly had just cracked the best joke of her lifetime. “That's easy, Charly. Don't tell me you've become such a big celebrity that you've forgotten how to do things for yourself,” Lola said, and Charly could hear her typing in the background. “We're like Generation Y or Z or something, so that means the Internet is our best friend. Here!” she shouted. “M
kel has a concert tonight, and Lex is . . . uh . . . let's see. Aha!” she exclaimed, and Charly's hopes rose. “Ah, it's nothing. He's scheduled for a Showtime interview, but not for days. And you know the interviews always come
after
the fights, so you have plenty of time.”

Charly stuck the key into the ignition and pressed the start button. “Got it, Lola. Thanks,” she said, then put the car in gear and tapped the accelerator. The car shot forward, and Charly slammed the brake pedal to the floor. Her purse toppled off of the seat, and its contents spilled. Beads of sweat popped across her forehead and her heart thumped. She was probably less than an inch from crashing into the truck in front of her. Carefully, she put the car in P, and reached over to pick up her things and toss them back into her purse. Her eyes lit up when she saw her open wallet. Coop's business card. Coop had told her if she ever needed anything, he'd be there for her. She knew he'd taken a bus into Cali the same night she'd flown in, so, hopefully, he was still there. She knew she didn't have to question whether Coop was the real thing or not; his facial tattoos and M
kel's description of Coop's past told her he was authentic. She only hoped he lived up to his word. “Lola, I think I'm good. Now I just have to find my way back to Faizon's, and that should be easy. Either his address is in his navigation system or it's online.” Charly breathed easily now. “I'll call you when I get to Faizon's. I don't want to be on the phone while I'm driving.”

Lola cleared her throat. “Charly, you know I don't work for you, right? I didn't call to assist you. I called to tell you that we're going to be neighbors. I'm moving to New York!” Lola announced, then sneezed. “Isn't that great? Maybe I can work on your new show.”

Charly agreed. It was terrific news. It would also be terrific if she got the new show, but right now it didn't look like that was going to happen. But she wasn't giving up so easy. “Time to call in the troops,” she muttered, then hung up with Lola and dialed Coop.

C
harly sat by the infinity pool, looking out at the ocean and waiting for Coop. Her purse was on the patio table, her phone was in her lap, and her hopes were everywhere except high. She'd been waiting on him almost two hours, and was growing restless. She needed to get to Lex and M
kel, but more than that, she needed to get inside of Faizon's house to retrieve her things. She had no idea where she was going or how she was going to get back to Las Vegas or when, but she knew she couldn't stay at Faizon's a minute more. He and Eden were too wishy-washy for her. Neither seemed to know who he or she was, but lived in character moments. He was whomever he was playing, and Eden was whomever someone else wanted her to be to earn a paycheck.

A slamming noise came from the side of the house that sounded like a gate closing, and Charly's shoulders relaxed. She'd told Coop where to find her, and like he'd promised, he'd shown.

“Charly,” Coop greeted from behind. “I got here as fast as I could. I didn't know if you were still here or not because I didn't see Faizon's car outside. What's up? You ready?” he asked, walking toward her.

She turned in her seat and smiled. He still looked like death getting ready to happen—from his tattoos and permanent grimace—but it was an appearance she now welcomed. She laughed inside, thinking how life took its own turns and made you follow. The guy she'd been wary of had turned into someone she'd looked forward to seeing. She stood up. “Thanks, Coop! Thanks for being a man of your word. No, even more than that, thanks for being you. I used the garage opener and parked Faizon's car inside. I left the keys in the ignition too. I just borrowed it to get here. I didn't want him to think I stole it. I don't want any more run-ins with police.”

She shook her head. “Long story. Me and Whip were stopped the other day.”

Coop stopped in his tracks. His look went from dangerous to confused. “Makes sense. So why are you thanking me for being me? Who else did you expect me to be?”

Charly threw her hands up in surrender. “It's just that nobody is who I thought they were,” she said, then went on to vent about Faizon being the actor of the year, Eden being the wannabe actress/chaperone, Lex being the number-one contender who'd turned into a quitter, and M
kel having a male hissy fit because control had turned into uncontrollable.

Coop lit up, then doubled over in laughter, shocking Charly. She hadn't known he had a light side to him. “You don't know who you're talking about, Charly. You talk about them all as if they're separate people, when you should be viewing them as the same.”

Her head tilted in wonder. “Huh? I don't get it.”

Coop waved his hand, beckoning for her to follow him. “Didn't you tell me on the phone that you can't get your stuff because of Fai's alarm system?” he asked, cutting Faizon's name in half. “Well, come on. I can help you. There's not an alarm I can't crack.” Charly hesitated, and her concern must've registered on her face. “Don't worry, I got you. And if the cops do show up—which they won't, because I know what I'm doing—I won't go to jail anyway. Faizon will just tell them I'm supposed to be here because he knows better.”

Charly didn't like the sound of his implied threat. “Maybe we shouldn't. I can just get my things later.”

Coop shrugged, then continued to walk. “Your call, but if I was you . . . I'd snatch up my stuff. You never know who'll be in it. Faizon likes to party, if you don't know yet.”

Charly followed him to the side of the house, and her eyes stretched. On the ground lay a small metal box that had wires stretching up from it that were connected to other wires in a panel on the side of Faizon's house. A digital pad was next to it. “What's this?” she asked, wondering if this was the genius part of Coop that M
kel had referred to.

Coop laughed again. “I told you I was cracking the alarm code. See?” he said, then pressed a few buttons until the digital display read DISARMED. He looked at her, then pushed the digits again, reactivating Faizon's security system. “You sure you don't want your stuff?”

Charly shook her head. “Yes,” she said, her words opposite of her actions. She wanted her things, but not badly enough to do a break and enter. “I do want it. Can you go in and get it? I don't want to break in. It's in Faizon's room.” Coop's brows rose, and Charly gave him a side eye. “Don't play me, Coop. I didn't stay in Faizon's room with Faizon. That's not my style. Me and Eden slept in there. My luggage is black with wheels, and I have some toiletries on his sink.” She crossed her arms, then walked off. “Thanks again. I'll be in your car waiting for you.”

 

The old beat-up Chevy hummed down the Pacific Coast Highway, headed in a direction Charly didn't know. The music on the system was old and streamed through much older speakers that popped every so often. “All right, so we need to get you to Lex,” Coop said, cruising as if he didn't have a care in the world. “First though, I need to make a stop. We gotta gear up.” He exited off the highway.

Charly manually rolled up her window. “Gear up how?” she asked with a hint of fear. Coop was a felon, and she wasn't certain that he was as legal as he proclaimed he now was.

Coop turned a corner, then pointed. “There. That's where we're going for ammunition.”

“Oh. No. No, I'm not!” Charly protested. “I said I was from both sides of the street, Coop. I didn't say I play in the street. I can't be doing illegal stuff!”

The Chevy's tires screamed as Coop maneuvered the car to the curb and jerked to a halting stop. His stare was deathly cold. “I thought you said you wanted this. You needed this. Ain't that what you told me on the phone? ‘Help me, Coop. I need you, Coop,' ” he sang in heart-wrenching tone. “Now you acting all scared.” He paused, glaring. “So now you got my attention, tell me, do you want this or not? And why? What's in it for you, Charly? Everybody wants something, and nobody works for free. So what's in it?”

Charly gulped. She was sitting in a car with a convicted criminal who probably knew the streets better than she knew how to breathe, so she knew she couldn't lie to him. He'd see through it. “Opportunity,” she admitted. “At first it was the opportunity, the opportunity to help, and then it was a bigger opportunity—a new show. If I could pull it off, I could design their other retreats across the country.”

Coop nodded, drumming on the steering wheel just like M
kel had when they had been trying to find their way to Bobsy. “Okay. Money. I can respect that.”

“No. No,” Charly stopped him. “I said ‘at first.' ”

“That's bull, Charly. It's always the money. You know it. I know it. Everybody knows it!”

Charly drew her brows together. “How are you going to tell me about me, Coop?” she asked, more agitated than afraid. She remembered M
kel saying Coop was a genius and Bobsy calling him smart, but Coop wasn't showing it. Real geniuses didn't guess; they proved. “Let me ask you a question now, since you want to tell me about myself. You tell me about yourself. How did you learn to disable alarm systems? How do you know how to form nonprofits? Why doesn't your brother like you? And why is the phrase ‘a dollar and a dream' so important to him?”

Coop reeled back in his seat like he'd been shot, and Charly knew her question about M
kel had hurt him. He ran his palms over his face in frustration, then looked out the front window. “I taught myself how to disable alarms.” He shook his head. “Most number sequences have patterns, but not all. And patterns can usually be broken down into systems. Systems can be reconfigured once you learn them. Something like that. It's hard for me to explain. I don't do textbook talk.” He glanced at her. “I just kind of know this stuff. It's always been natural. And any good attorney can tell you how to form a nonprofit, Charly.”