Imposter (16 page)

KRIS DROPS US AT THE FAMILIAR
building: small, anonymous, nondescript—the opposite of the large, very public headquarters of Machinus Media Enterprises. Sabrina thought the project was based out of here to ensure privacy. She's probably right too. As long as we're here, Curt Barrett and Machinus can pretend they have no idea what's really going on.

“You should come in,” I tell Kris.

“Uh-uh. I'm not exactly welcome right now.”

He has no idea how true that is.

He accelerates away as I press the buzzer. Brian answers immediately, looking like someone trying on a smile for the first time. “Seth. Gant. What a pleasant surprise.”

I don't know whether to cower or lash out. “You bugged me,” I say quietly. Then, propelled by some force deep inside me, I push past him and slam my cell phone on the nearby coffee table, rattling a plastic plant. “You bugged my cell phone!”

Brian glances at Tracie. “Not
your
cell phone.
Ours.
”

I was expecting him to deny it, and his answer throws me off. “This can't be happening,” I mumble.

“Very melodramatic. Not exactly
Whirlwind
material, but it
might get you some work on daytime soaps.” Brian rubs his chin. “Oh, but they don't really exist much anymore, do they? Hmm. Maybe your next community play, then.”

Hearing the commotion, Ryder emerges from a room halfway down the corridor. When he sees me, he quickly pulls the door closed behind him, but not before I catch a glimpse of a large monitor in the darkened space.

“What are you doing here?” Ryder asks.

I study his face for signs of concern or remorse, but his expression is neutral. Today is just business as usual. But what kind of business?

“You all work for Machinus,” I say. “That's how you got the footage from the party. You've been filming Sabrina and me the whole time.”

“Just like your contract stipulated,” agrees Tracie.

“But the movie hasn't started shooting yet.”

“It started the moment you got here,” says Ryder.

I wait for shock to become anger, but I'm too afraid to be angry. How much of the past two weeks do they have on film?

“I'm going to tell Sabrina. How you lied to me. Bugged me.”

“You won't get within half a mile of her,” says Tracie. “Anyway, she signed the same contract as you.”

“She didn't know you'd do this to her.”

“Shouldn't have fired her agent, then. He'd have sniffed it out in a heartbeat.”

“We're talking about her life here. She's a person, not some character in your movie.”

“Actually,” says Brian, “she's both.”

His words make me think of Annaleigh. “Did
you
leak that stuff about Annaleigh's father?”

“People were bound to find out eventually,” he says.

Ryder steps forward. “You're looking at this all wrong, Seth. Yesterday, Sabrina was a drug addict; today she's in rehab, recovering. Annaleigh's dad's been relying on a public defender with the worst track record in Arkansas; now she'll be able to afford to get him proper counsel. You told us your family was cash-strapped; well, not after tomorrow, they won't be. Two weeks ago, no one had a clue who you were; now you and Annaleigh are almost as big as Sabrina and Kris. See what I'm saying? There's a silver lining here—”

“I thought this job was
real
.”

“It is real. The most real thing you've ever done.”

“But I'm an
actor.
”

Brian rolls his eyes. “So are porn stars. And they work a whole lot harder for a lot less money.”

He likes that last line, I can tell. I don't think it's spontaneous either. I think he has been waiting for this showdown ever since we met. Like an anti-hero explaining how he pulled off the heist of the century, he looks relaxed, arms folded, secure in the knowledge that his target can't fight back. Or won't.

Brian flicks his head toward the rehearsal room. “We've got things to discuss. Let's at least sit down.”

Ryder leads the way. I want to see inside the mysterious room halfway along the corridor, so I let Brian go ahead of me too. As he passes the door, I open it and slip inside.

Three monitors are banked on desks against a wall. Still images
of Annaleigh and Sabrina and me fill most of one screen, with a row of smaller images underneath. It looks like editing software, as if Ryder's putting his movie together. Right here, in this tiny room.

I freeze as I take in the pictures of Annaleigh and me on the next screen. These aren't outdoor shots. Instead we're sitting on the bed in her hotel room. The quality is amazing, the images taken from above us as if there are cameras in the ceiling . . . or the light fixtures.

Brian grips my arm. “Rehearsal room's farther along, Seth. I think you're getting turned around.”

I shake him loose. “I know where it is.”

Gant and I head to one corner of the perfectly ordered room, while Brian, Ryder, and Tracie fan out to the others, conspicuously surrounding us. Like me, they don't sit. If this is an attempt to freak us out, they should stop trying. I'm plenty freaked out already.

“You filmed Annaleigh's hotel room,” I say.

I look at each of them in turn, waiting for an apology or denial, but they don't reply. Annaleigh and I opened up to each other in that room. We shared things we never would've said in public. We made love.

I try to block out the images spinning through my mind. I need to focus.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask Ryder. “You've written screenplays, produced and directed shorts. You worked runner on a couple studio films. I looked you up the day I auditioned. You're a real filmmaker.”

“Yes, I am. Just like thousands of other real filmmakers, all of us fighting for a chance to make a movie. And when Sabrina and Kris signed on, I felt like I'd finally made it. Good budget, guaranteed distribution. Then they split, and for the next forty-eight hours, that was all anyone talked about.” He shakes his head. “They got more publicity for
breaking up
than we generated in months of pre-production. And that's when I realized: People don't care about art, beautiful writing, well-rounded characters. They want scandal. They want to build up stars, make their personal lives public, and then drag them down for the fun of it. So why not make art around that?”

“Like you are.”

“Not exactly.” Ryder is eerily calm. He's not making excuses. On the contrary, he sounds like he's trying to convert me to a cause. “I've never put words in your mouth, Seth. Or Annaleigh's. The script may be fiction, but the scenario is real: Boy who's struggling to do the right thing, girl who can't escape from her father's shadow. And you've done such a great job of filming—the pool, Rodeo Drive . . . the execution and dialogue has been all you, just like we wanted.
Scripted reality,
remember? You guys have controlled everything. Driven everything.”

“You never said you were secretly filming us.”

“I couldn't, though, right? This was never about Andrew and Lana. It's about Seth and Annaleigh, unfiltered. I want viewers to see who you really are. The way you talk to each other, look out for each other. Even the way you make love.” Ryder sighs. “Look, I know you're confused right now, but you have to believe me, we're making history here. No one forgets the trailblazers. People are
talking about you now, and they'll talk even more when the movie comes out.”

I can tell from his face, Ryder really believes he's putting me on the front line of cinematic history. He reminds me of a dictator single-mindedly pursuing his vision, blind to the wreckage piling up around him.

“You should be proud, Seth,” says Brian. “You're a natural. Take Sabrina, for instance. The reason she was at Curt Barrett's party is because she was on the fence about rejoining the movie in a smaller role. But then you two started flirting—yeah, we have that on camera too, don't worry—and anyone could see the sparks flying. She signed on the next day. Which is great, because when it comes to drama, nothing adds intrigue like a love triangle.”

“Except telling everyone she's a drug addict,” I snap.

“That's true,” says Tracie, nodding sagely. “Although we only found out about the pills because she insisted on sticking around. Sabrina was only in the movie to complicate things between you and Annaleigh, but I guess we underestimated how much she likes you.” Tracie smothers a smile. “Oh well. At least she gave us a major publicity push on her way out.”

“Listen, Seth,” continues Ryder, still upbeat, “I saw you onstage. You had
presence
. But at the end of the show, you couldn't even bow in time with the rest of the cast. Then you told me about the commercial—about how close you'd come—and I realized, we're alike, you and me. We get knocked down, but we keep fighting. That kind of determination, that optimism . . . there's something noble about it, don't you think? And that's the version of Seth Crane I'd like people to see in this movie—talented, aspirational . . .
real
.”

It sounds like he's giving me another pep talk, but I'm on high alert now and quickly decipher the underlying threat: As editor, he gets to dictate what version of me people will see.

“So if I play along, you'll make me look good,” I say. “And if I don't . . .”

Tracie has heard enough. “You should get on with your work, Ryder. It's going to be a busy day.”

Ryder doesn't want to leave—probably still thinks there's a chance he can win me over—but he does as he's told. As soon as he's gone, Tracie slides a small stack of papers across the table.

“I'd like to remind you that you signed a nondisclosure agreement,” she says. “Break it, and we'll sue the crap out of you. Play ball, and you get paid tomorrow. Fifty thousand dollars.”

“You think I care about that right now?”

“You ought to. If you back out today, the contract is void. Annaleigh's too, if we can't continue. Think she'll forgive you?”

Brian takes out his cell phone and taps the screen. “Just in case you still need convincing . . .”

I try not to look, but then I hear Sabrina's voice coming through the tiny speaker:
“That wasn't a read-through. It was a humiliation. Seth was a fucking mess. If that's all he's got, we're screwed.”

Next is me:
“I don't care about Sabrina right now. For a while there, I honestly thought we were going to get cut. Now we've gotten a second chance, there's no way I'm going down without a fight.”

Sabrina's voice again:
“Why can't you admit you hate me? Just
say
it!”

Me:
“I just feel like things would be easier if you weren't around.”

Brian walks over and holds the phone in front of me. The video playing on the small screen was shot right here in the rehearsal room, though I'm the only one in frame.
“You probably feel guilty for letting the Kris and Tamara story get out,”
says Tracie.
“But hey, one fewer cast members means more time for everyone else.”
In high-definition, I watch myself accepting money—hundreds of dollars by the look of it.
“You won't tell anyone about this, right?”
Tracie asks. My reply:
“I won't tell anyone. I promise.”

I look up. Tiny cameras dot the rehearsal room ceiling. I never noticed them before. How many other cameras have I failed to notice?

As if in answer, Brian loads new footage onto his cell. The lighting is low, but it's clearly a hotel room—specifically Annaleigh's room, filmed last night. I know because we're both in her bed.

“Ryder thinks we should fade to black,” says Brian, turning down the volume. “But I'm not so sure. Seems a shame to waste such great material.”

I look away. I can't watch it anymore.

Brian rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder what kind of leading man you're going to be. Are you a sensitive hero, or a guy who takes bribes? Are you the guy who bares his soul to Annaleigh, or the one who baits Sabrina into baring hers? Do we show you making out with Sabrina or making love to Annaleigh . . . or both? 'Cause you ought to be thinking about this stuff. How you come across in this movie affects how everyone else comes across.”

“Annaleigh's and Sabrina's secrets are already out there,” I remind him.

He glances at the cell phone. “Clearly not all of them. Anyway, who said I was talking about Annaleigh and Sabrina?”

As Brian's eyes shift to Gant, my brother seems to shrink a couple inches. “The waivers,” Gant murmurs. “Ryder said they were a formality, in case we appeared in any footage.”

“And now you're in plenty,” says Brian. “Actually, you and your father have become fascinating characters. He just sits with his laptop, trawling through job listings and checking up on his dwindling bank balance, but you . . . you're a regular little Nancy Drew. Selling photos behind your brother's back—”

“I didn't sell anything!”

“But who'll believe that, huh? I've seen the footage of your argument with Seth from last night, and I'm still not sure. One minute you're browsing through photos you never should've taken, the next Seth is accusing you of selling him out. I think viewers will be disappointed in you, Gant. You come across even colder and more calculating than your brother.”

Shock and anger fade away, and now I feel only guilt. Gant swore he didn't sell that photo, and I didn't believe him. Even worse, I gave Brian material to use against us.

“There's still time for a happy ending,” says Tracie. “The party tonight is going to be beautiful. Really romantic. The perfect opportunity to show Annaleigh and everyone else what a nice guy you really are. And we'll all be there to make sure that you do.” She narrows her eyes. “You do want a happy ending, don't you, Seth?”