Hollywood Lies (32 page)

Jesse’s boyfriend, Terell, has taken on the role of my assistant until I find someone else I might be able to trust. It’s nice to have them in my life like this, and Terell is a master at organizing lives. I don’t have to worry about anything, which is good because my sobriety is back to being a tentative thing. I want to be sober, but I’m back to square one in recovery and too much stress could cause me to slip up again.

I’ve also been banging out some good times with Quin Houston again. We both know the sexual relationship won’t last, and neither one of us really want it to. We’re together for comfort and companionship. There isn’t any stress or pressure now that we’re just friends, and both of us know it’s better this way. Rolling off Quin, I let my fingers run through the tangle of whiskers on his cheek. Since he has grown a long beard for some reason, I take any opportunity I get to touch it as much as possible. It’s like a reminder of something private. He still gets recognized, but it’s a lot less.
 

We were spotted at a little outdoor café yesterday, and it took Jeremy Locker hours to figure out it was Quin.
 

Intentionally being seen together has become a little game we’ve developed. Sometimes we pretend to fight, other times he’ll do something a little secretive, like kissing my hand, and then we wait to see who breaks the news that we’re over, or together first.

While it’s all in good fun, it still demonstrates how trapped we are.
 

“Damn, woman. You’re gonna kill me,” Quin huffs.
 

I like the feel of his breath blowing over my sweat-dampened skin. “You always say that.” I prop myself up and drape an arm over his naked chest.

“That’s because you always make my heart feel like it’s gonna explode. You move so fast.”

“You just need a few extra workouts to create some endurance.”

He pulls me back down. “I’ll show you some endurance, woman.” Neither of us initiate anything sexual again. He’s always lethargic after sex. We lie there for a few minutes before he sits up straight and pulls me up. “Come on, let’s go grab something to eat. You can smack me in public just to give ’em a show.”

I allow myself a chuckle, but shake my head. “Not today.”

“Not feeling it?”

“No.”

He narrows his eyes as he looks at me, so I get out of bed and move toward the bathroom. Any leftover sensation from the orgasms are now gone, and I’m left with a nervous energy prickling at my skin.

“Anxiety?”

“I just don’t want to go out.” Inside the bathroom, I stare in the mirror. Even with Quin here, I feel alone. Loneliness makes me want to use, and going out when I feel like this won’t help. I know Quin will understand completely. He has his own struggles with alcohol, but I don’t want to tell him.
 

I don’t want to do anything; I just want to be alone.
 

I fight the urge to shrug off the kiss Quin presses into my shoulder from behind. It’s meaningless affection, but I not only let it happen, I savor it for a moment. My mind turns to Devon and how I wish this soft kiss is from him, something full of meaning and purpose.
 

I still haven’t sorted out all my feelings about Devon. I think about our age difference and on one hand, I realize he deserves someone younger and fun who can go out into the world with him, but on the other hand, we had a solid connection. There was never a moment when we had nothing to talk about, even though there were plenty of moments when we chose silent companionship over anything else.

That is how I know we had something special. Almost everyone else wants to talk and
do
all the time, but we could just stay quiet and
be
. Silence and stillness are two things I value, so finding someone else who shared that with me was amazing. But it was forcing him to stay in that drove him away. Devon wanted fun, and all I could offer him was inside of hotels, apartments, and houses. He wasn’t able to understand the isolation such overwhelming celebrity can bring. I wonder if things have changed for him now, or if he still feels the same.

“We’re still on for—”

“I don’t know.”
 
We decided to attend the People’s Choice Awards together, but now I’m not so sure. I suddenly don’t want to have a public thing—real or not—going with Quin. “Maybe we should go separately. I don’t want—”
 

He cuts me off with a sigh. “Whatever you want. Just let me know when you truly make up your mind.” Quin steps into the shower. “But we’re presenting together, so no matter what, you’re stuck with me for at least part of the night.”

I spend the next few days alone, but successfully do not use anything. No heroin, no painkillers, no antianxiety meds. Well, I was as alone as I can be when surrounded by a security team. I don’t want to go to the awards show, but I know I can’t back out of it. When I’m in my emerald green dress, jewelry adorning my ears, neck, and wrists, and my makeup applied to perfection, I start to go into acting mode. I push all thoughts of everything to the back of my mind and focus on the job at hand.

Be beautiful. Be charming. Don’t let them in
.

The limo ride is quiet. As we wait in the queue, I close my eyes and savor it.
 

Zara clears her throat. “You’ll be great.”
 

It’s my turn to get out. I place my hand over my stomach as if that will calm my anxious body.
 

I give her a smile and nod even though I feel like I could cry. The door opens from the outside, and I step out. The flashbulbs are going off like lightning. The sound is deafening compared to the silence I so love, and the air is hot with the wants and desires the people around me.

It’s just acting. It’s just the part of my life I have to do if I want to continue to work. Wave, smile, stop, talk about my dress, wave, smile, stop, talk about
Reflections
, wave, smile, stop, talk about Devon and Liliana’s nominations for the first movie,
Tortured Desires
.

Do not let the pain show.

Smile, wave, stop, talk about my dress.

When I’m finally inside, I let out a long breath, before engaging in conversation with other Hollywood stars. Ronda Taggart, John McPherson, and I talk about the next Janet Malin movie casting right now. I have no interest in it since I’m not dying to play the lead in a mainstream thriller, but I contribute to the discussion by repeating snippets of conversations Zara has had.
 

Quin works his way over to me and places a light hand on the small of my back. “High?” he whispers into my ear.

“I wish.”

“Let’s go get a drink.”

I give him a look.
 

“Kidding, kidding. I love these things. Free alcohol everywhere. I think there’s even some free blow in the greenroom.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m good at not helping. Let’s go grab some water and pretend like we belong.”

We mingle and drink our gourmet waters. He makes me laugh as he guesses how the gossip sites and shows will critique everyone’s look. “You are going to make the best dressed list, but I guarantee they’re going to mention how you could’ve done something a little classier with your hair.”

“Classy hair is for the Oscars. The People’s Choice just gets relaxed hair.” I turn my eyes to him and look at his suit. “You, however, are going to get slammed for the beard and the suit. Can’t afford a tux?”

Quin’s laugh lightens my heart. “Tuxes are for proms and in case you haven’t noticed, my prom’s long gone.” He sips his water. “But I will have you know, I rocked that rented tux with Tracy Williams on my arm. She wore this little pink dress that barely covered anything.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s nice you still remember her name and the color of her dress.”

He puts a hand to his chest like I’ve wounded him. “She was the total love of my life for three whole months.”

“Come on, it’s starting.”

Quin squeezes my hand. “See you in a few.”

My time to present can’t come quick enough. Cameras love to get in stars’ faces during the show, and apparently I’m endlessly fascinating to one cameraman.
 

I go backstage early, just to have something to do. Quin and I present for Favorite Book Adaptation, but I’m reluctant to go back to my seat. He starts talking to Sam Fulton, the director who gave him his start, and I wander away until I’m outside of one of the greenrooms.
 

The door is slightly ajar, and I can’t help but see the who is inside. I wish I hadn’t because now I know I won’t ever be able to remove the image of Devon fucking Liliana against the vanity. I can see his face reflected in the mirror. His eyes are closed and that little crease is etched on his brow. I know the expression well. He’s going to come soon.

Liliana’s arms are around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck.
 

The sound of their panting and moaning hits me like a punch to the stomach. Their heavy breaths steal my own. Anxiety threatens to flood my body. As I back away from the door, something warm and hard behind me stops my movement.

Quin looks down at me, worry apparent on his face. “Cole,” he whispers, then looks through the door.

I get around him and start walking. I don’t know where I’m going, but I don’t stop until I’m out the back door, clutching the railing of the ramp for support. The fresh air helps to calm me a little, but I still feel incredibly overwhelmed.
 

I’ve known they’re together, but seeing it
 . . . 

“Cole,” Quin says, bringing me back into his arms. We say nothing until finally, he asks, “You really like him, huh?”

I stay silent.
 

“Love him?”

“Who fucks so openly at a goddamned awards show?” I tighten my hands on the rail and lean over a bit. “I can’t breathe here anymore.”

Quin pulls back, then runs his hands gently over my hair, smoothing it back. “You should get away. I haven’t seen you like this in a while. You don’t have any projects lined up for six months, right? Why don’t you just go?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Some place you can find your happiness again.”

“People will say—”

“Who gives a shit what people will say?”

Last time I bolted was right after my first stint in rehab after being attacked. The whole world freaked out about my whereabouts. While I debate with him for a bit longer, I end up taking his advice. I skip all of the after-parties in favor of packing.
 

After six weeks in Scotland, I have Zara leak that I’m spending time in my native country. It seems to soothe the world’s curiosity, and hasn’t led any journalist, photographers, or fans to scale the castle walls. Very few people are even aware I own a castle, and even fewer know its location.

The quiet of the past few weeks begins to heal me. I focus on myself, rather than how other people see me, and suddenly, I’m reminded of how great my life actually is. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of getting away before Quin mentioned it.
 

But this is perfect. I think about things until I find peace, and after that, I find I no longer need to think about them.

Last night Oscar and Xavier built a fire in the courtyard, and they even joined in when I started doing a little yoga. Even Down Dog was too much for them. It was far from relaxing or meditative, but watching them fall over made me laugh. And laughing is both balancing and calming. I just need to remember that all the time.