Hollywood Hot Mess (18 page)

“Where’d you get it?” Of course the hateful woman won’t let it drop and I’m really wishing I had told Jerrie to fuck off when she asked me to do this. What was I thinking?

“Don’t really remember.” I slap a smile on my clipped answer, because I can always act my way out of uncomfortable situations. “So you and Dad are finally getting a divorce?” I quickly switch the subject to her and enjoy watching her face fall as she squirms in her seat.

“Jerrie told you?” she guesses, and her face pulls into a pinched pucker behind her enormous sunglasses. She turns toward the railing, trying to hide her reaction.

“Yeah.” My voice holds zero remorse for bringing up such horrible things. After the childhood she watched me suffer through, she deserves it. I fish in my bag for the huge shades I purchased this morning. I had really grown accustomed to Heather’s sunglasses, which are now gracing Maria’s head. Cost me a month’s rent to replace the damn things, but something about wearing them makes me feel like I’m a little more sheltered from the world. Thank god my first paycheck finally arrived.

“We are,” she finally answers, and turns back to me. The only thing is, with both of us wearing these ridiculous shades on our faces, I don’t have a clue how she’s really feeling. “I couldn’t make excuses for him anymore.” A shaky hand reaches up under her sunglasses and when she pulls it away she wipes something on her napkin. I assume it’s a tear, which is really out of character, even for my mother. She uses a lot of nasty tricks to get her way, but she’s always been too proud to use tears. And I hate to admit that this pricks some dark place under my left rib. “I wish it had happened sooner. Maybe I’d still have you.” She reaches out for my hand with a half smile and I really want to pull it away. But I don’t. I tell myself it’s because I’m too shocked to move. But I’m not so sure.

The ice water that used to fill my veins is warmer these days. Maybe from the Sardinian sun. Maybe by the fact that I’m finally making money doing what I love again. Maybe because I feel, for once, my toe hold on the ladder can’t slip this time. But most likely? It’s because I have Devon now, and even if it’s only a small part of him...it’s enough.

I look down at her brightly manicured French tips resting over my bare nails.

“Good.” I pull my hand away after letting her hold it for a few seconds longer than I’m comfortable with. “I hope you find happiness, Mom.” If I keep looking at her I might have to admit that she’s changed. Never has she ever been concerned about me, or us, or salvaging any kind of relationship. This is way too much change to embrace in one lunch.

“Thanks, honey. And I hope you can forgive me.” I look back to her, because there is a desperation in her voice that I have never heard before. My eyes narrow behind my glasses and she actually tucks the corner of her napkin under her glasses, revealing a smudge of mascara when she pulls it away. “Listen, I know I was an awful mother. But, I hope you’ll give me the chance to make things right.”

Wait...what?
This is not at all what I expected to hear today. My mind spins and I blink away the hot, watery sensation burning behind my eyeballs. As much as I want to believe her, I refuse to let myself. Instead, I grit my teeth, knowing I have to nip this in the bud before it goes any further.

I give her my best consoling, yet noncommittal, smile, which she immediately returns, and by the merciful gods of awkward parental relationships the waiter appears to take our order.

I fumble over the menu long enough to give Mom time to compose herself and order. By the time he walks away we are over the hard part of our reunion and I hope we can finally relax.

“So tell me all about this new movie,” she says with an eager smile as she squeezes her lemon into iced water. “Devon Hayes...what’s he like?” I cringe when she says his name like he’s a chocolate donut at a Jenny Craig meeting.

“Devon?” I ask innocently, as if I haven’t thought about him since I left set. “He’s great.” But bringing up his name opens the floodgates I’ve been holding back and I can’t stop the verbal vomit. “Really nice guy.” I nod as I take a sip of my water and straighten the silverware.

“Have you met the wife?”

“They’re not married. And no, I haven’t.”

“I’d stay away from her if I were you.” This gets my attention.

“Why?” I ask with an incredulous smile. Heather Troy is nothing but an annoying afterthought.

“I’ve heard things about her.” Mom says this like she knows. She’s annoying, too. I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Carly. She’s one of the most determined women in this town. I wouldn’t trust her.” She hasn’t been my manager in years. Her advice means nothing to me.

“Don’t worry. There’s no reason for me to have anything to do with Heather Troy.” The last thing I need is for Mom to think there’s something to my relationship with Devon. Thinking she’s got her point across, she relents.

“You and Devon have some major love scenes, right?” Her elbows are on the table, fingers steepled at her chin, and she leans into me, wanting to hear the juicy details from set. Of course, the tables nearest to us are now listening in on our conversation at the mention of Devon’s name. I get all mother bear protective of him, leveling a pointed look at the nosy bitch to my left.

“Yeah,” I whisper, and brush a finger discreetly up to my lips to tell her to take it down a notch. She fake grimaces and nods her head, peeking over her shoulder to see who has heard.

“How are those?” She whispers now. “First on-screen love scenes. My little girl’s growing up.” She brings a hand to her chest and manages to look like a heartbroken mother for once in her life.

“Nerve-racking.” I roll my eyes behind my glasses and sigh, because it is. “But Devon’s great. He makes me feel really comfortable and even kicks the crew out so it’s not so embarrassing for me.” I’m actually smiling and leaning into her now, so easily drawn into her web, but I tell myself it’s to keep our conversation confidential and not because I’m actually caring about this woman again.

“Wow. That’s really nice.” Mom brushes her hair away from her face and gives an approving nod as she sits back.

My phone buzzes and when I retrieve it from my bag my blood runs cold in my veins and a delighted yelp threatens to burst out of me.

It’s him.

I jump up from the table, scattering the napkin to the ground, but I don’t dare waste time picking it up. I hold the phone up and wave at Mom as I back away.

“Speaking of.” I shrug and point to the lower balcony where I can take the call with a little more privacy.

“Devon Hayes is calling you?” she whispers as loudly as she can without the other tables hearing her, her look utterly aghast. The phone has rung several times now and I have to answer before he hangs up. He hasn’t called in weeks, only texted. And I can’t wait to hear his voice.

I shrug as I turn and run down the steps, answering as I go.

* * *

“Hello?” I’m all breathy and panting when I answer the phone. Devon’s slow, deep chuckle rolls into my ear. It nearly makes my knees buckle because I immediately picture the way his lips are pulling away from his teeth when he laughs like this. I grab the railing for support.

“Hello yourself.” He’s teasing and playful and my chest is about to explode. “Happy birthday. Did you get your gift?” Of course he’s calling about the necklace. I’m schoolgirl giddy, clasping the encased pearl at my neck.

“I’m wearing it right now. I love it.” The fact that Devon, who’s known me for a handful of weeks, can remember my birthday when my own mother can’t somehow justifies the needy feeling he creates in me. I don’t care if this isn’t the way I’m supposed to act. I’m so starved for his attention I can’t think straight at this moment. “Is it the same pearl from that night?”

“Yep.” His answer is short and I frown. Silence drags out. “I thought you should have a memento from our holiday.” Our holiday? The air sucks out of my lungs when he says this and I can’t think of a single thing to say other than
I
want to fuck your brains out
, because in my mind that’s what I think he wants from me.

“Are you in L.A.?” I ask, hoping there might be the tiniest chance that I can actually make it happen before we get back to set.

“No. Aspen.” He sucks air through his teeth and I’m thrilled that he might be disappointed by this. “The HeaVon show is in full swing.”

A frustrated whine escapes my throat before I can catch it and he chuckles again, obviously knowing what he’s doing to me and loving every minute of it. “I’ll look for the pictures in my magazines.” I delight at my boldness.

“Funny.”

“I’m headed back to location tomorrow. When are you coming back?” I dig a nail into the handrail I have been leaning against so my light-headedness doesn’t send me crashing down to the balcony floor.

“Not for a week. I’ve gotta reshoot some studio scenes on another project.”

“They just rearrange the entire filming schedule for you?” I hate that he has so much damn power on this film. If he were just a measly little actor like me he would have to be back on set tomorrow as originally planned.

“What can I say? It’s good to be the king.” I can tell he’s smiling again and so I am, too.

“Ha!”

“Happy birthday, Carly.”

I don’t want him to say goodbye. I grip the phone with both hands, thinking of anything to say to keep him on the line. But I can’t.

“Merry Christmas, Devon.” It’s all I can think of and the line goes silent.

My stomach does backflips and the world seems really surreal as I walk back to the table.

“Why in the world is Devon Hayes calling you?” My mother’s glasses are off her head and she is holding her phone, no doubt checking her email like she’s all important while she waited. But I’m not stupid. I know she’s actually been watching my every move and I have to think fast to cover my obviously love-struck dumbness.

“Just confirming call times. I’m due back on set tomorrow.”
Good girl
,
Carly!
I pat myself on the head for thinking so quickly.

She slides her glasses up to cover a suspicious look, but says nothing more.

Chapter Eighteen

Cell phones are inconvenient as hell. Especially when they’re across the room and you’re laid up on the couch with ice packs cooling your crotch. Taking my bush to Brazil sounded like sexy fun, until I actually went. Now, my lady bits are smooth as a baby’s butt, and sore in all the wrong places. With a hand gingerly holding the pack in place, I hobble over to my purse. I haven’t even said hello when Jerrie’s voice blasts through the receiver.

“What the hell, Carly? Why are you trying to ruin your career again?” I wince and jerk the phone away from my ear to stop her tirade from bursting my eardrum.

“Jerrie, it’s 10 a.m., I haven’t had time to ruin my career today.” I limp back to the couch and ease myself down.

“Pull up TMI.” Jerrie’s bark is so vicious I drop the ice. Dread floods through me, but I reach for my laptop. I’m keeping too many secrets these days and any one could catapult me back to the bottom of Hollywood’s hierarchy.

“What? Why?” I ask, hoping the fear doesn’t register in my voice.

“Just do it.” Based solely on the level of anger in Jerrie’s voice I’m certain pictures of my Thanksgiving in paradise have surfaced.

Of course the first thing I see is the photo of Devon I was looking at earlier and that makes me happy. But when I type in the web address, I’m greeted by my own picture on the front page of TMI. I smile at first because I look damn good. Leaning over the restaurant railing yesterday in my cute dress, blond hair blowing in the breeze and a sultry grin on my face. But when I read the caption my smile fades and it suddenly feels like the bottom has fallen out and I’m plummeting through darkness.

Rumor Has It Love Is in the Air
—
Reliable sources say life may be imitating art for Carly and Devon on the set of their racy new historical drama
The Mighty Fall—
Carly is nothing but puppy love smiles as she takes a call from her costar while eating lunch with her mother
,
Aubrey Klein
,
at Hotel Bel-Air.

Every drop of blood drains out of me. I fall against the couch cushions and move the ice pack to my throbbing head, wishing it could hide me from the cruel world outside my door. A world that so obviously wants me to fail. A desperate groan escapes me. Jerrie says nothing. A moment later my switch flips and I’m enraged by this intrusion of privacy. I bolt upright, hurtling the ice pack across the room.

On the street, out in public, like the other day—fine. But in a restaurant, when I’m obviously having a private lunch with family? Not okay.

My poor laptop isn’t immune to my anger. I send it crashing to the floor with a swift kick. I flail around on the couch like a petulant child, beating my fists against the cushion and screaming to release the rage searing through me.

My throat is on fire when the thought of losing Devon becomes reality. I immediately find my composure and pick up the phone.

He won’t approve of this. We have to make it go away or I’ll lose everything—him, the money, the fame. It will wash away like yesterday’s garbage.

“I don’t know what to say, Jerrie.” I have to grit my teeth so I don’t scream again. “Yes, I was talking to Devon, but we were discussing the schedule for next week.” I brace myself, eyes closed, waiting for the tongue-lashing Jerrie is sure to give me. Only she doesn’t. I guess hearing my mini-breakdown is enough to check her own anger. “You’ve got to make the story disappear. Deny everything. There’s no way they can prove who I was talking to.” My plea is garbled and sputtering, like I’ve swallowed a ton of water trying to swim upstream against the current. Because that’s exactly what I’m doing now that TMI has ruined my life—again.

“Who knew who you were talking to? Who would feed it to TMI?” Jerrie’s at a loss.

It’s nothing to get a photo of a celeb on the phone. If that’s all this was it’d be cause for celebration. The picture is really hot. But when I’m outed for what looks like flirting with Hollywood’s favorite, and very taken, leading man, I look desperate and pathetic and become extremely easy to hate.

I retrieve my laptop and stare at the image again. The screen blinks a couple times, but the picture remains. I study the photo, desperately searching for proof that I’m wrong.

It’s easy to miss at first. But on second glance, a blurred purple pen top lies clipped to my bag in the foreground. This photo was taken from my table. My chest caves in. That heartless bitch has sold me out again.

“Mom,” I whisper into the phone, accepting my crown for being the world’s reigning idiot.

* * *

On autopilot I’ve spent the past 24 hours shoving stuff in a suitcase, settling Maria into the apartment and flying halfway across the world, knowing with each ticking second
my
world grows closer to the end. Having the suckiest agent in the history of ever hasn’t bothered me until now. I valued Jerrie’s loyalty when Hollywood shut me out. But entrusting her with the enormous, steaming pile of dog shit I left in her hands is way beyond the pale. Even she knows it. It doesn’t matter how you slice it...I’m fucked.

Slinking along the sides of a European airport terminal, I’m the sole dancing queen at my own pity party when reality bitch slaps me...again. Why did I think I could escape this? Devon Hayes is way too big of a star to let a scandal like this blow away with tomorrow’s trash.

The airport newsstand is directly in my path and I nearly collide with the gossip rag plastered with a photo of Devon boarding his jet in Aspen and a headline reading Devon Hayes Responds to Infidelity Rumors.

The next second I’m tossing a bill on the counter and grabbing one as I beeline to the quiet privacy of the women’s bathroom. Inside the safety of the handicapped stall I sit my fully clothed ass on the toilet and devour the quote Devon’s rep has given on his behalf.

“
There is absolutely no truth to the accusation that there is
,
or ever will be
,
anything between Devon Hayes and the troubled Miss Klein.
The insinuation that there might be is as ridiculous as Miss Klein’s pathetic attempts to revive her own flailing career by spreading such outlandish rumors.
”

I fall to the floor, my locked elbows the only thing keeping me from lying down on the grime beneath my palms and weeping like a baby.

Of course that’s what he would say. Devon probably thinks I had my mother sell the story to TMI. So I’m sure he hates me right about now, because he only has affairs with women who know how to keep their mouths shut. Which I obviously don’t, as far as he knows. Even though I haven’t breathed a word of us to anyone, I can only imagine how it looks. And I know there really is nothing Jerrie can do to make this go away. TMI hates her as much as they hate me, and this story is way too juicy to let die. Nope, I’m totally fucked. No way out of this one.

My internal switch flips. I grab the paper and rip it to shreds, balling it so tightly with my fists my fingers are in danger of breaking, and burst from the stall like a raging bull, much to the terror of several other travelers refreshing themselves at the sinks.

I scream through gritted teeth, sounding like a crazy woman possessed by the devil, and hurl the paper into the metal trashcan along the wall. The second it’s out of my hands I need something else to hold onto or I will completely lose it, and the metal trashcan is all I can see in my tunnel vision. I grab the side of it, pulling with all my might and ripping it from the wall. In one motion, I sling my body around, trashcan still in my hands, and send it flying across the bathroom tile, skittering along the length of the sinks where women are jumping out of the way, sheltering their kids and running away aghast.

Fuck them all. Them and their stupid, petrified, wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlights looks. What could they possibly know about what has just happened to me? What I’ve lost? Someone mutters something about security and I jerk in her direction, slightly bowed up and ready to swing. But I know I can’t do that. I give her the evil eye instead, daring her to move a muscle, and make my way to the exit. Everyone remains graveyard still.

I wrap my scarf up to my ears, and pull my blackout shades low.

When I burst into the bustling terminal I see the flashing signs of the duty-free shop across the way. With medal-winning speed, I sprint for the gleaming bottles that can cure the chaos raging in me. Because I can’t do it anymore. I give up.