Famous in Love (15 page)

He looks at me for a beat so long I swear an entire song goes by on the radio. Then he says, “You’re lonely. Your boyfriend is gone. I’m sure once Rainer is back, things will return to normal.”

“How can you say that?”

“Trust me, it’s easier this way.”

“For
who
?” I ask. “It’s not easier for me. It’s awful.” I can hear myself pleading, my voice cracking. I’m distinctly aware of Scotty in the front seat, but I can’t help it. Something about Jordan makes me incapable of acting like a sane, rational person. Not the most awesome influence when you’re supposed to go to a very public event in about five minutes.

“I told you. I’m not getting in the way of anything.”

“But we can try,” I say. “Can’t we at least try to be friends?”

His black eyes flash. “We were never just friends, were we?”

I open and close my mouth. “No.”

Jordan’s eyes soften, for just a moment. “Things are
hard enough. You know how much Rainer hates me… what he thinks about Britney.” He’s whispering now. “I can’t be close to you. That’s just the way it is.”

“What happened between you two?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” I say. I can feel the edge in my voice. The pleading. I don’t care. “It matters to me. Why do you guys hate each other so much? Is it really all about her? I won’t take sides. I just want to know.”

I realize that I’ve moved closer to him, so close that I’m inches from his face.

“What happened?” I say again. My hands become disconnected from my body, or my brain, and the next thing I know my fingertips are tracing the line of his scar, just like when we were at the beach. They brush over his ear and down his neck.

“Stop,” he says, but his voice is breathless, soft. I can tell they’re just words, that they don’t mean anything, not even to him.

“Please,” I say again.

He looks at me, the same look he had in the beach tent. The one that makes me want to take his hand and press it up against my heart right here in the backseat of this car. “No,” he whispers. He brings his hand to my cheek. My eyes reflexively close.

“Why?” I whisper back.

I open my eyes and see his spark. They’re gold in the center, bright—like a camera flash. “Just trust me,” he says.

We’re pulling into Barnes & Noble now. I can see the lines of people twirled around the shopping center like a long, sleeping snake—ready to rear its head awake at any moment and swallow us whole.

Jordan unsnaps his seat belt and moves away from me as we pull forward. I open my mouth to argue, but Scotty turns around and gives us a pointed look. “You guys ready?”

Jordan doesn’t respond; he just opens the door. One of the guys who works security at the hotel meets him outside. “This way, Mr. Wilder.”

That’s when I hear it—the screaming. It’s sharp at first—a few voices—and then louder and louder, like a stereo system that’s been cranked up to full volume. But it’s not melodic. It’s manic. Loud and shrill and high and raging. I suddenly have the desire to jump under my seat and beg Scotty to turn the car around. But he’s outside, too, and before I can dive into the trunk, my door opens.

I was once on a trip to New York with my mom—the second and only away audition we ever went on together. It was for a role on a soap opera—and after a lot of negotiating, I convinced her to go. I saved up all my summer money and worked straight through winter break to pay
for it, too. We went in February. I had never experienced cold like that, ever. I remember walking out of our hotel room and being blasted by it, so overwhelming that it knocked the wind right out of me. That’s how it feels now. When I step out of the car, I can’t breathe.

The first thought I have is to look around and see what all the fuss is about. It’s ridiculous. I
know
what all the fuss is about—it’s about us—but I still turn my head and glance behind me, like maybe it’s John Lennon, back from the dead.

But no, there is no Beatle. One Direction isn’t here, either. These are
Locked
fans.
Our
fans.

They seem to be everywhere, and when they spot Jordan, then me, it’s like they multiply. I imagine those scenes from movies where ants or spiders or cockroaches come crawling out of the walls and cover the characters in a prickly, suffocating mass. A different security guard leads me over to the line where fans are waiting to get into the bookstore. They chant our names like they’re war cries.

“We love you!” they yell.

How can that possibly be true? They don’t
know
me.

One girl hands me a photograph. It’s of me, some promotional pic I don’t recognize. I guess they’ve been taking stills from the set and releasing them. I kind of just stand there, holding it. I feel like a complete idiot. I should sign it. I should do something. A pen materializes out of thin
air, and on autopilot, I sign the photo and hand it back to her. She presses it up against her chest when I do, and I have the fleeting hope that it’s not permanent ink. I hope my words are not scrawled across her shirt, smudged and unreadable.

I wish Rainer were here. He would know what to do. He would whisper something funny in my ear, make a joke to the crowd. He’d wink at me or catch my hand, and I’d feel centered somehow, tethered to something.

Jordan may have saved me on the beach, but right now, in this tsunami, he is totally content to let me drown. I can’t see him from where I am, but I know he’s in front of me somewhere, winding his own way through the crowd.

I’ve been a total fool. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s the classic bad-boy appeal. The same thing that got my sister into all that trouble. And I’m not her. I’m not willing to give up what I love for someone else. This job is what’s important to me. This opportunity, screaming fans and all. And Rainer is someone I can navigate all this with. Someone who will hold my hand and stand by me. Not someone who puts me in danger of losing everything I now have.

“Close your eyes.”

I’m sitting with Rainer on the living room floor of his condo. I managed to avoid Jordan almost entirely yesterday. Once we got inside the bookstore we took pictures with people and signed books for an hour, and then we were whisked back to the condos—this time in separate cars. Now Rainer is back, and things feel as they should. I told him about the book release, and he told me that next time he’d be here to do it with me.

“Just give it to me.”

He shakes his head, his golden-blond hair falling into his eyes. “Nope. Closed.”

“Fine.” I close my eyes, and when I do he takes my hand. He holds it for a moment and then uncurls my
fingers one by one. I feel it then—a cool piece of metal. Like a raindrop in my palm.

“Okay, open.”

I look down. Inside my hand is a cowrie charm. It’s almost identical to the one we’re using in the movie. The one August wears around her neck. The one that Noah gave her.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur.

“So are you.” Rainer holds his own hand out to reveal a thin gold chain. “Do you want me to put it on for you?”

I nod, and Rainer lifts the charm from my hand and strings it onto the chain. It slides down and then dangles, dead center.

“Here.” He brushes my hair back and loops the chain around my neck. He fiddles with the clasp until it catches, and I feel the gold shell cold against my chest.

“Looks good,” he says, letting his fingertips graze my neck.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, tucking some of my hair back behind my ear. “I had it made. I’m glad it came in time.”

“In time for what?”

Rainer frowns. There is something written on his face, but when I try to read it, it’s gone. “Just in time for this.” He kisses me gently, his fingertips brushing my shoulders.

“Okay,” I say when he pulls back.

“I can’t believe we’re almost done here,” he says. He pulls me into his arms and runs a hand through my hair. I snuggle down into him.

“I know. Only a few days left—it’s weird.”

“I’m sure they won’t wait too long between movies. I bet they give us four months off, at the most.”

I loop my arm around his neck. “But the second movie isn’t even guaranteed yet.”

Rainer looks at me and laughs. “You really need to call your agent more,” he says.

I shove him back. “I call her,” I say. It’s just that every time we talk, she wants me to get a manager, and I’m just not sure how I feel about that. I know Sandy can’t keep doing everything forever, but I don’t know if I’m ready to commit to someone else yet. I don’t know who I trust.

And it’s not like my parents are particularly good at business. My mom still thinks this movie is a hobby, some flyer she can fold and stuff into her jewelry box. She fully intends for me to come back to Portland and finish my senior year when we wrap the shoot.

At the thought of Portland, I feel that familiar pinch in my stomach. I wonder if Cassandra has gotten the book yet.

“So,” Rainer says. “Are you going home next week?” He pulls me closer and places his hands on my neck again,
to touch the necklace. They linger there and then move down an inch, sliding against my collarbone.

“Yeah.” I swallow.

He leans in now, his lips meeting mine. “I missed you,” he says. He draws me in, and I fold quickly. He runs the back of his hand over my cheek. I’m in his lap now, my hands reaching up to his hair. I try not to think about Jordan, about the guilt I feel at that kiss. That betrayal.

“I missed you, too.” Seeing him makes me realize even more just how much.

Rainer raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“What do you mean?”

He scans his eyes across my face. “Nothing. I just sort of felt like…”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe this isn’t what you want.” His eyes hold my gaze. His hand stops moving on my back.

I feel like I used to when I’d sneak home late on a Friday night. My pulse would pound in my ears if I heard a noise before I was safely back in my room.

“You’re Rainer Devon,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Every girl is into you.”

He shakes his head. He’s not biting. “We’re not talking about every girl. We’re talking about
you
.” His face is calm, and I remember, suddenly, that he’s older. Right
now, in this moment, he’s not acting like a boy. He’s acting like a man.

I feel my breath catch in my throat. Like it’s forcing me to shut up—to stop and tell the truth. “I know,” I say. “This is all just a lot.”

Rainer nods. “It is. I know that. That’s what I’m saying.”

My stomach turns over. He keeps going. “At some point, you’re going to have to choose.”

“Choose?” I can tell my voice is high and squeaky. How does he know? It’s not like there is a choice, since Jordan has taken himself out of the equation. But Rainer doesn’t know anything about that. Panic sets in, and I can feel my muscles begin to knot up with tension.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re going to have to decide whether you want to be with me, or not.”

The air leaves my body in a rush. Relief. “But I thought we already were. Together, I mean.” Immediately, my face flushes.

Rainer notices and cups a hand over the back of my neck. It’s soft, gentle. “That’s been mostly my call, not yours. I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you into anything.”

“Okay,” I say, cautiously.

Rainer pushes on. “It’s not just about us,” he says. “Being together means a lot more than that.”

I don’t say anything, just wait for him to continue.

“It’ll mean more press. And less privacy. But to me it’s worth it.” He moves his hand from my neck to my cheek. “It’s worth it to get to be with you.”

I think about what Jordan said, about Rainer only dating actresses for the press. About how wrong he was.

Rainer’s thumb traces a small circle on my face. “What I’m saying is, I won’t make this decision for you. But I realized while I was gone how much I want to be with you. To make sure nothing happens to you. I want to get to be that person for you.” He gently moves me off his lap, and takes my hands in his. “Could you say something?” he asks me, his green eyes wide. “I’m kind of dying over here.”

“I don’t know what to say.” A million thoughts are scrambling to take center stage. One threatens to push through, but I clamp it down, shut it out.

“Why don’t you take some time?” I can see the hurt in his eyes. I know it’s taking everything in him to suggest that, and my heart swells so big I think it might burst. I just want to leap back into his arms and stay there.

But he’s right. Being together means something. We’re not just a couple. If we do this, it’s for real.

“Okay,” I say.

He smiles. “Okay.”

“How long do I have to think for?” I ask.

He laughs, and so do I. It feels good. It cuts the tension.

“You’re going home, right?” he says. “See your family. Think about it there. I’m going to be in Europe shooting for a while, anyway. You can tell me at the premiere.”

I nod, remembering he’s doing a movie in Prague while we wait for the release of
Locked
. I suddenly think of the scripts stacked up in my condo. Of how my agent keeps saying I should line up a project.

“All of that seems far away,” I say. “It’s months.”

His eyes look into mine. He nods. “It is. Feel free to cut to the chase and tell me you’re ready now. But I think you need time.”

I drop my eyes to my hands. “I know.”

He makes a move to get up, and then decides against it because in the next instant he’s right next to me—his hands on either side of my face. He kisses me, parting my lips with his. I reach up and thread my fingers through his hair. I breathe him in—plumeria and vanilla and warmth and something else, too. Comfort. Home. “Something to consider,” he says. Then he holds out his hand and helps me up.

The end of filming comes too quickly, like a cold blast when the leaves haven’t even changed yet. When Wyatt calls “that’s a wrap” for the last time, it feels like everything is coming to an end, not just this movie. I can’t shake the feeling that maybe this was all some fluke, a glitch in
the system, and come next week I’ll be back on a plane to Portland for good.

But that’s also not entirely true. I’ll be back in Portland, but not forever. I’m going to do that small daughter role in the indie script I read a few weeks back. It shoots in Seattle, so I’ll be close to home, and it should only take two months. It will keep me busy while Rainer is in Europe.

“I’m proud of you,” Rainer tells me at the wrap party that night. The cast and crew are having a bonfire on “our” beach, and they’ve set up a projection screen outside underneath the stars.

“For the gag reel,” Jessica tells me. Tonight she has on a white dress and dangly gold earrings, and her hair is piled on top of her head, a few wisps hanging down, skimming her cheeks like angel wings. She’s beautiful. Totally stunning. Even Rainer looks at her, impressed. I don’t blame him.

“It’s the best part,” Rainer says. “We used to do one every season on
Backsplash
.”

I remember watching
Backsplash
. It was on the Disney Channel. Britney was in it, too, and a few other child actors who graduated to star on television shows Cassandra obsessively watches.

“It’s true,” Jessica says. “It’s kind of become a traditional part of the wrap party.”

They’ve set up benches on the beach—long logs—and Rainer and I take a seat on one toward the left, in front of the projection screen. Sandy floats over in some combination silk-and-crepe outfit and squeezes Rainer on the shoulder before sitting down behind us. One of Gillian’s assistants is fiddling with the video equipment, and the rest of the crew make their way to the benches as well. I try to focus center, willing my shoulders to stay squared.
Don’t turn around.

Jordan probably isn’t here, anyway. Gag reels don’t exactly seem like his thing. And I’m not sure he’s so interested in being in the same time zone as me or Rainer. But despite whatever rational-thought blocks I try to impose on my mind, the feeling slips in like fog through the slits of a fence. I can feel him. The same way I can when he comes on set when I’m in the middle of filming a scene.

Don’t turn around
, I tell myself again.

Rainer’s sitting next to me, and I can feel the guilt seeping into my limbs like a drop of food coloring in water. It turns everything red.

“I really hope they got that shot of you puking salt water,” Rainer says.

I nudge him in the ribs, and he laughs. He’s got his hands tucked under him, and he’s looking at me and smiling. He’s been so gentle with me since our talk in his condo a couple of weeks ago. He doesn’t kiss me. Or talk
about our relationship. He’s just been a friend. But sitting here, looking at his impossibly gorgeous face, I feel like I don’t need until the premiere. I want to tell him right now that this is what I want. I don’t care about what comes with it. I’m ready. I’m about to open my mouth when Gillian comes into view in front of the screen.

“All right, guys, we’re going to get started. Dan over here”—she points to her assistant, who gives us a half wave—“has put together some fun stuff that I for one can’t wait to see.” Gillian squints, and folds her palm over her forehead. “I can’t see here, so I don’t know where you are. Where’s Wyatt?”

I see him standing on the sidelines, shaking his head. He rolls his eyes when Gillian calls him out. “Wyatt,” she says. “You’re not the easiest taskmaster.” I hear Rainer mutter something under his breath. It sounds like
understatement
. “But you are,” Gillian continues, “an incredible director. It has been a pleasure to serve you on this movie.”

I look over at Wyatt. He nods once and then looks at me, and in that moment I feel an overwhelming sense of affection for him. The first months seem to have boiled so long they’ve evaporated. He’s taught me hard and strong and at some points, without much delicacy—but he’s also made me
better
. I don’t feel like I used to on set. Going to this new movie in Seattle, I don’t feel afraid.

Gillian is saying something, and Rainer whistles and throws his hands over his head. “Excellent,” Gillian says. “You two.” I feel my face get hot and pinch my hands together. “You’ve given us some amazing material—both intentionally and unintentionally.” Everyone starts to laugh, including Rainer. “It’s been a real treat to watch you guys work.”

Rainer blows a kiss, and Gillian smiles. “Where’s Wilder?” she asks. My heart leaps into my throat so fast I swear Rainer can see it.

Gillian’s smile softens, and she motions with her hand for Jordan to come forward. I swivel around. He’s walking this way, arms folded across his chest, T-shirt pulled tight against his shoulders. He nods at Gillian and glances around nervously. Almost like he’s not sure he belongs. He slides onto the bench across from Rainer and me and keeps his head ducked down.

“Jordan, you already know how I feel about you,” Gillian says. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, kid. I love ya.” She turns her gaze back to the larger crowd. “Thank you to our crew. Camden, Jessica, Andre. Everyone. You have all been amazing. So let’s roll this thing.”

Everyone starts clapping and cheering, and then Gillian flicks a remote behind her and sits down next to Jordan. I watch her sling an arm over his shoulder and then him reach around and pull her down into a hug.

The gag reel starts—10, 9, 8—and then it’s our audition tapes. First it’s me in my jeans and sleeveless button-down at the Aladdin in Portland. I look nervous, bumbling. God, this seems like a long time ago. I want to shut it off, or at least for Jordan not to see. Rainer puts his arm around me and squeezes.

He lets me go as the scene changes—now it’s us practicing that kissing scene. There are some whoops from the crowd; Lillianna yells, “Hot damn!” They’ve set the whole thing to eighties pop music, and the effect is sort of funny. We look ridiculous.

Next it’s Wyatt yelling. There’s a montage that transitions to him ranting at Rainer about how Mumford & Sons is the most overrated band since Coldplay. Rainer is laughing so hard I see tears sliding down his cheeks.