Imposter (7 page)

WE SPEND THE MORNING REHEARSING, AND
the improvement is dramatic. Ryder sits at the head of the conference table, nodding like a bobblehead doll as we nail scripted lines and improvise others. The only downside is that Sabrina isn't around to see it. Or maybe that's the reason things go so well.

After three hours, two bottles of water, and a cup of coffee, Ryder wraps things up.

“Is Sabrina all right?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says. “We just felt there was no need for her to be here today. There's only so much she can do until things change.”

Annaleigh and I glance at each other. I don't know what Sabrina thinks needs to
change,
and I'm not sure I want to.

Ryder drops us at the hotel at one p.m. Five minutes later, he texts me instructions to pair the white shirt with the gray sports coat, and the blue jeans with the white Converse sneakers.

This afternoon's theme is preppy.

He arrives at my room at two fifteen p.m., a full forty-five minutes before the press junket is due to start. Casting a critical eye over my appearance, he awards me two thumbs-up. Since he told
me exactly what to wear, I don't know whether to be flattered or relieved.

“And you'll change into black for the party later,” he says.

I point to the suit already hanging beside the closet.

“Great. It's going be at the headquarters of Machinus Media Enterprises. Curt's a big deal there, so this is our chance to draw some attention to the movie. Get people noticing you, and talking about you. Kind of like this press junket.” He furrows his brow. “You okay?”

“Just nervous.”

“Yeah. Look, I need you to remember something, Seth: Every actor, actress, director, producer, composer, cinematographer . . . hell, every single crew member had to start somewhere, right? Literally, there was a project where they went from being new to being professional. I bet a lot of them had doubts the whole time they were filming, but the ones who make it are the ones who keep going, no matter what.”

He joins me on the sofa and leans forward, elbows on knees. “Everyone at this junket believes you were cast for a reason. Your job is to show them,
Hell yeah, there's a reason I was cast
. So for the next couple hours, I want you to put your true self aside and create an alter ego—good-looking, talented actor who's about to take the world by storm. Okay?”

“Okay,” I tell him, because that's what he wants to hear. Behind his pep talk is a message, though: He needs me to create an alter ego because real Seth isn't cutting it. “Actually, Sabrina said something like that—about dividing yourself into different people.”

“Well, if anyone would know, it's her.” He makes eye contact, but breaks it quickly. “When did she tell you that?”

“Yesterday. We went for a drive.”

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

He produces a closed-mouth smile. “We never wanted Sabrina to pull out of the movie. I asked her to come to Curt's house so I could sell her on rejoining. But after our conversation she was still totally on the fence. Then she meets you. Next morning, she's ready to sign on the dotted line.” He pats me on the shoulder. “So tell me, is that a coincidence? Or does Sabrina Layton see the same promise in you that I do?”

The press junket is in the aptly named Champagne Room. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling and crystal sconces adorn the walls. Annaleigh's eyes are as wide as mine. I wonder if she's thinking of that movie
Pretty Woman
again. I can totally empathize with a rags-to-riches story right about now.

Ryder leads us to a narrow table on a stage. Annaleigh sits to my right, Sabrina to my left. Mine is the only seat without a microphone.

In an ideal world, I'd create an alter ego who savors the improbability of being sandwiched between two hot girls. But as Ryder introduces the movie and us with a prepared statement, real Seth just feels freaked out. It doesn't help that Brian is standing sentry at the back of the room, looking like a disgruntled bouncer.

There must be fifty people here. Most of them are reporters, I guess, but some are photographers. Sabrina exchanges a nod with
half of the front row as if they're longtime friends. One of the front-row attendees raises her hand. “Kind of strange to have the junket before you've started filming, isn't it?” she asks Sabrina.

Sabrina turns to me, eager to share the limelight. But her hand rests on the base of the microphone, and so it's Annaleigh's mic I drag toward me. “It's, uh . . . well, it's a different kind of movie,” I say, my voice booming around the room.

The reporter never takes her eyes off Sabrina. “Different, how?”

“We're being given unprecedented control,” Sabrina explains. “Not just over character development and dialogue, but even the filming itself. Being here today, talking to you, it's like we're going on record. This movie is a process, see? Today's plan for the movie could change tomorrow. We want witnesses to that evolution.”

“You want
witnesses
?” The woman snorts. She's clearly not a card-carrying member of the Sabrina Layton fan club.

But I'm beginning to understand what drew Sabrina back to this movie. “I think what Sabrina's saying is that everything's going to affect a movie that's as real as this,” I explain. “If we're behind the cameras, deciding when and where and how to film, the real world is going to matter.” I picture the photo of me and Kris. “People getting in the way of what we're doing is going to matter.”

A new reporter raises her hand. “So you're asking people to stay away?”

“No,” says Sabrina quickly. She smiles at me like we're explaining a problem to a bunch of particularly dense kids. “We're saying the audience will own this movie like never before, because they'll literally have played a role in what it is.” She's excited now, all bristling energy and unshakable confidence, the polar opposite
of the melancholy, introspective girl on the beach. “Look, Seth and I can't just block off a street when we want to film each other. People'll be able to get on frame, say stuff, screw around with us. And yeah, it might piss us off,” she admits, chuckling, “but you've got to admit, it doesn't get any more real that that.”

Our audience looks just as confused as before, but their eyes flit between Sabrina and me now. She has identified us as a team. Perhaps that's why the next reporter points his pen at Annaleigh.

“So you're the love interest, then, Anna,” he says flatly.

“Annaleigh,” she says. But the microphone is still facing me, so her voice is lost. After a long moment, she slides it closer. “Annaleigh,” she tries again. “And yeah, I'm one-half of the couple.”

“What can you tell us about your character?”

“Well, my name's Lana. I guess you'd say I'm from the wrong side of the tracks. I've been kind of beaten down, but then I meet Seth . . . I mean, Andrew. He's the good guy. Brings me out of my shell.” She shakes her head, disappointed by her answer. “The movie's so much more than that, though. It's about trying to do the right thing and still getting it wrong. The way we're trapped by things we can't control—events, family . . . love. Seth's right,” she adds. “Audiences are going to connect with it because it's going to feel scarily real.”

Actually, Sabrina was first to say it, but I think Annaleigh knows that.

“Scarily real,” the guy repeats. “Are you speaking personally? Because it must be intimidating to be playing this particular role, right?”

“When it's your first movie, everything's intimidating.”

“But to be playing opposite Sabrina . . .”

Annaleigh shrugs. “Sabrina's a great actress. We're thrilled to have her on board.”

“But this was her role, right?”

“
Was,
yes.”

“And that doesn't freak you out? To be playing against someone like that?”

She almost bites her thumbnail, but stops herself. “Okay, yeah, sure . . . it's intimidating.”

“We went over some material yesterday,” interjects Sabrina, “and Annaleigh's great for this role.”

“Better than you would've been?” asks a woman at the back.

Sabrina raises her hands like she's surrendering, but she doesn't answer.

“So what
is
your role, Sabrina?”

“I'm Andrew's best friend. His very
possessive
best friend.” Sabrina links arms with me, and raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. “It won't require much acting, let me tell you.”

Everyone in the audience laughs. Cameras flash. Flirting is good for business.

“You mean
sister
.” I whisper the words, but I'm leaning toward her, so the microphone picks them up.

“Best friend,” Sabrina insists. She turns to the audience. “I met with the director first thing this morning and told him that a best friend would add layers of complexity that a sister doesn't. This is exactly why I want to be in the movie. To feel like I'm creating a character instead of
re-
creating her, if that makes sense.”

Sabrina's on a roll again, volleying questions with a dash of self-deprecating humor and a million-dollar smile. Our arms are still linked, which means that I'm a part of every photograph. She looks at me constantly, as if she's speaking for both of us. And I almost give in to it, the fantasy that I'm no longer Seth Crane. That I'm Andrew Mayhew, and I'm destined to love and be loved. To be a hero.

But Annaleigh is beside me too. Out of frame and out of the discussion. She seems smaller than before, a bulb that grows dimmer as Sabrina's light shines brighter. Like the pivot of a teeter-totter, I watch one girl rise and one girl fall.

Ryder closes the junket on a high note. Leaves the reporters wanting more.

“Great job,” he tells us, slapping the table. “You nailed it.”

He's right. The press got value for money today. But ever since Sabrina dropped her
best friend
bombshell, Annaleigh hasn't said a word. Now Brian is glaring at Annaleigh from his place at the back of the room. Maybe Ryder should give her the same pep talk that he gave me.

Maybe he already did.

We step into an anteroom. It's quiet here. There are no cameras or questions. No one seems relaxed, though.

“Mind if we talk, Sabrina?” Ryder asks. He flicks his head toward another room. “In private.”

“Sure.” Sabrina turns to me and pulls me into a hug. “See you at the party tonight, okay?”

She leaves before I can answer.

Annaleigh's leaving too, but by a different door. “Hey, you okay?” I call after her.

She stops. “Yeah.”

“Good.” There's an awkward silence. “Do you want to . . . I don't know . . . talk?”

She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “What's there to say? This morning, Sabrina's character was your sister. Now she's your
possessive
best friend.” She makes air quotes for the last words. “I wonder what best girlfriends get to do to you that sisters don't.”

“I guess Ryder's trying to add dramatic tension,” I say, aiming for lighthearted.

“Then he'd better buckle up, 'cause there's going to be plenty of that.” She gives an imitation of a triumphant smile, but I'm not fooled.

“Sabrina's not going to take your role, Annaleigh.”

“Maybe she doesn't have to. Remember what Ryder said at the rehearsal this morning? About how Sabrina will be skipping rehearsals until things change. I don't think he was talking about our acting. I think he's rewriting the script for her.”

“So what? We can change the script, remember? We can improvise our lines. We're the actors here, not Ryder.”

“And he's the director. Which means he can leave every last scene on the cutting room floor.” She points to the room next door, where Ryder and Sabrina are talking in private. “Come on, Seth. If that junket made one thing clear, it's that there's only one real star here. And it sure as hell isn't you or me.”

ANNALEIGH IS LATE. SO IS RYDER.
I stand in the lobby, shadow-like in a tailored black suit, watching people glide past as if I'm not even here.

There's only one real star here. And it sure as hell isn't you or me.

My phone rings.

It's Ryder. “Something's come up,” he says, voice breathy. “I'm going to be late getting to the party. Brian and Tracie can't make it either.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. It's good news, but I can't say anything yet. You'll be fine, right?”

The last time I attended a party, I ended up on the front page of a newspaper. I can't do any worse than that. “Sure,” I say.

I hang up as Annaleigh draws alongside me, stylish in a moody, all-black ensemble: satin shirt, tailored pants, and pumps. Ryder wants us to match, I guess.

“Our chaperone just ditched us,” I tell her.

“What happens now?”

“Well, since there's no one to watch out for you, I take advantage of your innocence by linking arms and making idle chitchat.”

“Sounds scandalous. Don't tell me: Then you cast me aside.”

“You'll be soiled goods.”

“No one'll marry me.”

“
Tsk
. Guys!”

“Yes,” she says, linking arms anyway. “Guys.”

We head out to the waiting limo. Safely inside, Annaleigh rests her head against the window. It's a wide backseat, and there's a lot of real estate between us.

“I was worried about you this afternoon,” I say. “You seemed . . .”

“Depressed?” She reaches for her neck again, for the long hair I'm pretty sure she used to have. “I'm fine. That stuff about Sabrina being your friend instead of your sister caught me by surprise, is all.”

“She said you're great in the lead role, though.”

“Based on one read-through.”

“Sometimes once is enough. I only saw you on the treadmill for a moment last night, but I can tell you run track.”

“Uh-uh. I just run by myself. I do it to get out of the house mostly. That's why I started acting too—so I have something to do when the days are short.” She lowers her voice. “When I'm in a play, I can go almost a full day without being at home.”

She peers up at me, which is how I realize that I'm sitting very straight. I had her pegged as a classic overachiever—fit, smart, motivated—and now I realize that it isn't just her accent that she's been keeping under wraps.

“Is home so bad?”

She bites a fingernail. “It's complicated. My parents and me, we don't get along. The things my dad does . . .” She shakes her head, closes the book so soon after opening it. “What about you? Why do you act?”

I'm still clinging to her confession, wanting to know more, which is probably why my answer is unguarded. “It's the only time people really notice me. Most of the time I feel like my dad and brother and me, we're completely invisible. Like, nothing that happens to us can ever move the needle for anyone else.”

“But it's different when you're acting.”

“Yeah. When I'm onstage, everyone watches. They don't even see Seth Crane. They see whatever character I'm playing, and the character
matters
to them, you know? I want to feel like everything I do and say—every single moment—really matters.”

The limo slows down. Cameras flash through the closed tinted windows.

“You're not in character now,” she says, “and the cameras are waiting for you anyway.”

I get out and wrap an arm around Annaleigh protectively. I try to carve a swath through the hustling photographers, but they're reluctant to move aside. Their flashes burn white spots at the center of my eyes.

No wonder Sabrina told me to divide myself in three. If this is what it feels like to
matter,
it's not what I expected. Onstage I'm in control no matter how bright and hot the spotlights, but here I'm a patient on a gurney as a team of surgeons examine every part of me. They're invasive and unapologetic. I belong to them now.

Annaleigh startles me by putting her hand in mine. “This way,” she says, taking charge.

Machinus Media Enterprises is housed in a large open-space industrial building. A cacophony of modern art hangs over concrete walls. The music is loud and the mood lighting is low, as if everyone prefers to exist in a state of perpetual twilight. I recognize their faces anyway, though, because there are celebrities here—teens and adults, actors and musicians. They linger at the bar in the center of the room, and huddle in the nooks and crannies that fan out from the corners.

I remind myself what Ryder said about getting people to notice me, but I'm not about to introduce myself to strangers. Maybe I should follow Gant's advice instead:
Celebrity autographs sell great on eBay!

“What are you smiling about?” asks Annaleigh.

“I was just thinking, I'm so out of my league.”

“We,” she corrects. “
We
are so out of our league.”

My cell phone chimes. I hope it's Ryder, our personal choreographer, offering directions for how to behave, but the text message is anonymous:
Get a drink, imposter.

I tense up. I don't like that word—
imposter
—and I especially don't like that it's anonymous. Only a few people know this number.

I look around the room, but the only person I recognize is Curt Barrett, our financier, and he's too busy schmoozing to send a text. As our eyes meet, he peels away from his entourage and joins us.

Like a busy maitre d' Curt introduces us to people whose names I instantly forget, and some whose names I've known for years—a reality TV host, an award-winning character actor, a
former child star. An official-looking photographer records every introduction.

Curt steers us toward a tall guy with long hair. “You've already met Kris Ellis, haven't you?”

Kris tilts his head. “Don't I know you from somewhere?” he asks me.

He's flanked by at least half a dozen guys, all of them watching me. I recognize a few from TV shows, but not the others. They shadow him as closely as bodyguards.

As I gawk at the entourage, Annaleigh steps forward. “We haven't met,” she says. “I'm Annaleigh.”

“I know who you are.” A smile pulls at the corner of Kris's mouth. “Interesting junket this afternoon. I kept thinking: I wish I could see more of the female lead.”

Annaleigh blushes. “You would've seen plenty of her if you and Sabrina hadn't dropped out.”

“I'm just saying, when it comes to junkets, people often say too much. Sometimes less is more.”

“And more is less, yeah. Which one am I, by the way? More, or less.”

Kris knows she's teasing him, but he laughs anyway. And once he laughs, his posse laughs too. Difference is, they're all still looking at me, not Annaleigh.

“So,” says Annaleigh. “You got any career advice for us?”

Kris looks at Curt loitering a few yards away and lowers his voice. “Sure. Curt Barrett is a visionary. If he's putting up the money for this movie, he clearly believes in it. Don't do anything to change his mind.”

“You mean, like dropping out without warning?” I ask.

Kris flexes his jaw muscles. “Exactly.”

“He still invited you here tonight, though.”

“You might say we made up.” On cue, Kris's entourage laughs like well-trained dogs. “But you're not me. Not everyone deserves a second chance.”

My phone chimes again, startling me. I glance at the screen:
Smile for the cameras.

None of Kris's guys has a cell phone out, so they can't be sending the texts. Plenty of other people around the room have phones out, but I don't know any of them.

“Is everything okay?” Annaleigh whispers.

I don't want to freak her out. “Yeah . . . fine.”

“Seth, Annaleigh,” booms Curt, rejoining us. He's clearly anxious that we remain within his gravitational pull. “I don't think you've met Tamara.”

Kris peels away as the new arrival steps up.

“Tamara Pelham,” she says, shaking our hands. She has the angular face and dramatic makeup of a model. “You're the ones in
Whirlwind
.” She runs a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “Tell me, what's it like working with Sabrina?”

“She's a talented actress,” says Annaleigh, staying close to me.

“Actress, yes. Must be hard to know where you stand with her.”

“That's kind of the point of semi-improvised drama, right?” I say.

Tamara smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “You two are cute. Funny too,” she adds like we're part of the evening's entertainment.

“Funny's good.” I turn to Annaleigh. “Don't you think so?”

“Absolutely. Almost as good as a drink. Want one?”

“Sure.”

As Annaleigh leaves, Tamara's eyes drift over my shoulder. “Time for me to go too, I think.”

She steps away as Sabrina arrives, like a partner cutting in during a dance. Did Annaleigh see Sabrina coming? Is that why she left?

Annaleigh and I aren't the only ones who have had another wardrobe change. Sabrina's black cocktail dress ends well above her knees. She's wearing her game face too: teasing lipstick smile, eyes dark and smoky.

“Well, if it isn't my favorite costar.” She kisses me on the cheek. “I trust you weren't taken in by the competition.”

“Competition?”

She locks our arms and leads me away. Guests raise cell phones to capture the image of us together, hips touching, perfectly in stride.

“Did Tamara get what she was after?” Sabrina continues, ignoring my question.

“What was she after?”

“Oh . . . news. Information.” She leans in close. “She's the model Kris has been seeing in secret since we broke up.”

So that's what Sabrina means by “competition”—for
Kris
. “Why is it a secret?”

“Because he likes to keep his options open. Plus, she's engaged.”

“
What?
Does anyone know she's seeing Kris?”

“Sure. But no one will say a word. In this business, the moment
you start shooting your mouth off is the moment you put yourself next in the firing line.”

Guests turn to face us, cell phones at the ready. They stand in a bunch, wearing identical alcoholic smiles. All except for a young curly-haired guy on the left. He keeps one phone aloft as he talks on another. He isn't even watching us, which makes me think he's filming us, not photographing.

Sabrina tugs my arm and we keep moving.

“What about the press?” I ask. “Do they know about Kris and Tamara?”

“Maybe. But you don't make money by revealing gossip on Twitter. You make it in an exposé—something with good sources, so you're safe if anyone sues for defamation or slander.” Does she memorize this stuff, or is it the kind of thing you learn from a life spent in Hollywood? “Anyway, they're safe for now.”

Safe
seems an odd choice of word, but I don't ask her about it. We're almost to the back of the building, and the crowd has thinned out. Even the official photographer seems reluctant to follow. Presumably he likes to stay where the action is.

“I thought we'd be having our rehearsals here,” says Sabrina.

“In this room?”

“No, in one of the rooms next door. It's where Kris and I had read-throughs. But Ryder wants a closed shop. Says it'll be easier to keep the dailies under wraps if we're in our own building.”

We round a corner and are completely alone. The corridor is narrow and poorly lit. I think I prefer Ryder and Brian's office to this place.

“I wasn't sure you were coming tonight,” I say.

“Think I'd miss a chance to see what outfit Ryder laid out for you?” She obviously means it to sound funny, and her smile flattens out when she sees my reaction. “I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Although,” she adds, “you've looked pretty uncomfortable ever since you got here.”

“So it was you who sent the texts, huh?”

“What texts?” The question sounds sincere. But of course it would—Sabrina's an actress.

She breaks eye contact. Famous or not, she looks shy, demure as she bites her lip. “Forget what I said just now. The clothes look fantastic on you.
You
look fantastic. That dimple on your left cheek, the way you smile with your eyes and try to tame that cowlick—it's all just so . . .
real
.”

At the beach yesterday, she could hardly lift her eyes from the ground. Now they rove, taking in every part of me. In the whole crowded building, Sabrina has found the most private place to talk. It's impossible not to wonder why.

My body is rigid, but my thoughts race. Why does she like me when she hardly knows me? Am I a rebound? A way to get back at Kris? What if we're photographed? I don't ask any of these questions, though. As long as I'm face-to-face with Sabrina, I can live without answers.

She leans forward, lips almost touching my ear. “I need to use the ladies' room, but you'll wait for me.” Her voice rises at the end, but I'm not fooled—it's a statement, not a question.

She's absolutely right too.

Sabrina rakes her fingers across my chest as she disappears around the corner.

I wait for several minutes, rooted to the spot. Servers pass me, carrying trays of empty glasses. They cast suspicious looks. Without Sabrina beside me, I feel conspicuously alone.

My phone chimes again:
She's playing you.

The words jolt me. Sabrina would never send this text. But then, who did?

I turn the corner and survey the room.

Annaleigh rushes over. “Where have you been?”

“I was talking to Sabrina.” I look past Annaleigh, but there are so many people, and so many phones.