Authors: Todd Strasser
Famous (18 page)
A cab pulled up. Nasim held the door for me. I got in without saying good-bye and told the driver where to go.
And began to sob.
NO OFFENSE, BUT TIJUANA IS A RINKY-DINK TOURIST-TRAP DUMP
. If it wasn't for all the wonderful and magical things they offer on that side of the border, I'd never go near the place. But it's almost like they know they don't have to make the town nice to get you to come because this is where you have to go to get what you can't get in the States.
I wish my parents could see me sitting on this crowded trolley. Their adorable, obedient Avy, who they expected to go to all the best schools and become a lawyer and marry a nice girl.
Meanwhile, Brad Cox, who took the role that was
supposed to be mine on
Rich and Poor,
is now starring in
Dave in Deep,
and I heard they've started offering him movie roles. That could have been me. That
should
have been me.
MY CALLS, E-MAILS, AND TEXTS WITH AVY CONTINUED TO SLOW. I TOLD myself we were both busy and involved in our own worlds, but to be honest, the whole cosmetic surgery thing really weirded me out. That wasn't the Avy I knew. Still, I was unhappy with myself for being judgmental. In early December I called him. After some superficial chitchat, he told me that he wasn't coming home for Christmas.
“Don't your parents want to see you?” I asked.
The phone line grew silent. I could hear a TV in the background. “I don't want to see them,” he finally said.
“But they're sending you to the academy and paying
for you to live in a nice place and letting you do what you want to do.”
Again there was quiet except for the TV. “Avy?” I said. “You there?”
“Did they tell you to call me?” he asked.
“Your parents?” The suggestion caught me totally by surprise. “No! I called because you're my friend and I care about you.”
“You
sure
they had nothing to do with it?”
This was strange. It almost sounded as if he was being paranoid. “Avy . . . What a thing to ask. You're my best friend. What is this?”
“They've been giving me a lot of grief about Christmas,” he said. “Saying the same exact things you just said. Like, âWe did everything you wanted us to do, so why won't you come home?'”
“Maybe that's what anybody would say. I mean, it
is
Christmas.”
“Look, Jamie, I really don't want to talk about this, okay?”
I was shocked. We used to talk to each other about
everything.
“Okay, I guess.”
The line was silent except for the TV in the background. I was tempted to make a crack that it seemed like he was more interested in what was on the tube than in me. Then he said, “I'll tell you what I'm doing over Christmas. But it really hurt me last time when you
weren't supportive. You're my best friend, and I need to know you're behind me.”
“Okay.”
“I'm going back down to Tijuana.”
I was careful not to react. “Uh, okay.”
“Seriously, Jamie, I know what I'm doing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“God, Jamie, you sound like it is so
not
okay.”
He was right, and I knew I had to be honest. I couldn't lie to him. He knew me too well. “I don't know what else to say, Avy. You know how I feel about it. I mean, what if I called you and said, âHi Avy, I have this big syringe of heroin, and I want to shove it into my arm and I need your approval.'”
“It is so totally not the same thing.”
“I know, but we've always been honest with each other. Don't you want me to be honest with you now?”
“I always want you to be honest with me, Jamie, only you can't be honest if you don't know.”
“Don't know what?” I asked.
“Just . . .” He hesitated. “What it's like. What I'm up against. It's different here. The rules, the attitudes. I told you, out here cosmetic surgery is like getting braces. Everyone does it. People would think it was weird if you
didn't
do it.”
I believed him. It was practically impossible to look at a fanzine or website and not find ads promising
fewer wrinkles and flatter stomachs. And was there a Hollywood star besides Diane Keaton who
hadn't
had cosmetic surgery? “I'm just not sure that means it's right for you. There's nothing wrong with your looks, Avy. And you've got something that's way more important than looks. You've got talent.”
He laughed bitterly. “I have news for you, Wonder Girl.
Everyone
out here has talent.”
N,
I feel lonely and insecure when you don't call or write. I know you don't check your e-mail as much as most people, but you must have read mine and gotten my voice mail by now. Why no replies?
Anyway, I was sitting on the guesthouse porch, watching the party preparations--the caterer setting up tables, the bartender stocking the bar, the DJ and his sound system--
when Willow came across the lawn and sat down next to me. “You know what I'm going to say, don't you?”
I did.
“I'm really sorry about this,” she said.
“You don't have to be.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I agreed to let you come all the way out here and document my life, and now I'm going back on my word. It's a really crappy thing to do. But”--she nodded toward Rex, who was chatting up the DJ--“you understand, don't you? After everything that's happened, we really can't let anyone know about this.”
“Because of your contract with the studio?”
“No, it only says I have to stay clean. There's nothing in it that says I can't see him. But it really wouldn't go over well with my fans. It's a much better idea to wait until after the movie.”
I understood and promised I wouldn't take any photos of them together or tell anyone. But you have
to wonder about her judgment, N. I mean, she has to realize that getting together with Rex again could lead to something that could--potentially--destroy her career.
So, it's about eight o'clock now and the music's starting. Rex's guy friends are milling around, and there are some sketchy-looking girls here I haven't seen before. There's a weird vibe out there tonight, N.
Miss you tons and tons. Please write back or call! xoxoxoxoOXOXOXO
THE CAMERA FEELS HEAVY IN MY LAP. OR IS IT THE WEIGHT
OF the shots in its memory? Shots that have the power to change people's lives forever. Willow's and mine, at least. From the other side of the door I hear Willow hiss, “No! Go away. Don't even talk to me. Just leave.”
“You're not being fair.” It's Rex!
“
I'm
not being fair?” Willow's words seethe with wrath. “Excuse me? After what you just told me?”
“But I didn't go through with it. I told you the truth. All you have to do is get the camera back. I can't believe how stupid I was. I'm sorry, Wills, really.”
What's this? I wonder.
“You think all you have to do is say you're sorry? Are you out of your mind? Thanks to you, I could be five seconds away from seeing my entire career go down the toilet. You expect me to forgive you? You must be insane.”
“No, Wills, I must be in love.”
Why is it that sometimes the truest statements also sound the lamest? I'm tempted to pinch myself just to make sure this is real and that I haven't accidentally sleepwalked onto the set of a soap opera. But it's real all right. Only, why's she so furious at him?
“You're in love? That's why you took pictures of me without me knowing?”
Huh?
“If this is how you treat people you love,” Willow snaps sarcastically, “I'd hate to see what you do to your enemies. You are so full of crap, Rex Dobro. Just go. Get out of my life and never come back.”
I'm totally stunned.
Rex took the pictures on my camera? Why?
“Look, I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But I'm not walking away. Even if you truly never want to see me again, I'm not leaving you with this mess. I caused it, and I'm going to stay until it's straightened out.”
“Want to straighten it out? Go find that little wench. Get that camera back and strangle her.”
In the midst of my total bewilderment over what's
going on in the hall on the other side of the powder room door, it takes an extra second for the words to sink in.
Strangle her?
What's the saddest, bitterest, most pathetic and humiliating thought that can pass through anyone's mind at a moment like this? How about,
But I thought we were friends.
Earth to Jamie. Wake up and smell the LA smog. You are not Willow Twine's friend. And you were a fool to think you ever were. You've been used, dimwit. People in this town don't have friends. They only have people they pretend to be friends with because they think they'll be useful to their careers. Did you really think you were the exception?
But I still don't understand what's going on. Why would Rex take those pictures? Why would he ever do something so terrible? Especially if he professesâand he sounded sincere to meâthat he loves her? I stare at the angels on the pink powder room walls, and a single thought slowly takes shape in my mind: I can't wonder about that now.
First
I need to get out of here.
Then I can figure out what's going on, and decide what to do with the photos.
But how do I get off this property when Willow's people are all out there looking for me? How will I get over that wall? Because I obviously can't stroll out the front gate.
I press my ear against the door but can't hear anything
in the hallway. My BlackBerry hasn't stopped vibrating, so I turn it off. My heart is banging. Should I really try to sneak out? Do I have a choice? I can't hide in here forever. Better go sooner rather than later, right? Better do it now, before Sam gets here with a private security SWAT team and starts dismantling the place.
