Loving (19 page)

B
RANDON HEADED NORTH ON THE 405
F
REEWAY TO THE
W
EST
Mark offices. The past two weeks had been crazy busy — studio meetings and postproduction on his last two films — but even so he barely acknowledged that he was in Los Angeles. Not when his heart and soul were back in Bloomington with Bailey.

The idea of surprising her on the Fourth of July had come up suddenly. He arranged his flight that morning with a few phone calls and wondered the whole way there and back why he hadn’t flown to see her sooner. Back when she was moving to New York he’d taken a plane to Indiana just to help her pack. But with his last two months in Montana and the constant meetings at West Mark Studios, somehow he’d forgotten that with even as little as a single day’s time he could find a way to see her. Even if their time together lasted only a few hours.

Brandon gripped the steering wheel and checked his rearview mirror. Two cars full of paparazzi were on his tail. Another day in Los Angeles. Brandon stared straight ahead and tried to forget them. Matthew West’s song “Strong Enough” played on the radio and he let the words and music speak straight to the center of his being.

He had to credit God alone for giving him the inspiration to fly to Indiana a couple weeks ago. By then it had been so long since he’d talked to Bailey that he could barely focus. He could feel their relationship slipping away and he had been desperate to connect with her again, to convince her they still had a chance.
Only God had given him the strength to make the plan and carry it out so quickly. And now with God’s help he would figure out a way to do the next thing pressing on his heart.

Take a trip to Bloomington and have a talk with Bailey’s father.

But like the song playing on the radio there was no question about one thing: He could only take this next step with God’s help, with the Lord speaking peace and assurance to Bailey that somehow they would figure out a way to be together. He would fly to see her as often as he could, but that wasn’t the permanent answer. The schedule he’d kept for the last two weeks was a preview of how his life would be once he signed the contract with West Mark. He’d be lucky to find a couple days a month to fly to Indiana.
Work on her heart, God … change her mind about Los Angeles. I can’t live without her for the next five years
.

Not when all he wanted with every waking moment was to marry her.

A screeching sound came from behind him and he looked over his shoulder in time to see the two cars full of photographers jockeying for position beside him. Was it really that important, getting a picture of him driving on the LA freeways? He exhaled, forcing himself to listen to the song. He needed God’s strength for this too. Since returning from Montana he hadn’t slipped into his LA life the way he thought he might. He was beyond annoyed at the intrusion of having paparazzi jockeying for position, cameras aimed at him wherever he was, whenever he stepped outside of his home. He glanced at the cars chasing him. No, he was more than annoyed. He was angry.

He needed a more private way of getting around — not just so Bailey would think about moving back here — but so that he himself could stand it. Back when he was journaling his thoughts and writing letters to Bailey in Montana, five years in Hollywood hadn’t seemed like too long to ask of her, not too long to deal with the paparazzi. But here on the freeway this morning it felt like an
eternity. Yes, he would definitely have to find a more private place to live, a better way of avoiding the constant chase.

The drive wore on, and Brandon hit traffic before he took the off-ramp for the West Mark offices. In the sanctuary of his car, another song filled his senses. “Walking Her Home” by Mark Schultz. The song told the story of a couple who had fallen in love young and lived out every day at each other’s side. Small town guy and girl, love bigger than the skyline in New York City. The pleasure of simple nights together and raising a family and long walks through a local park. That was the sort of life the song made him think about.

Another loud screeching sound came and to his right one of the cars with paparazzi ran the other one off the freeway. Brandon sucked back a quick breath, careful to keep his car steady. In a cloud of dust, the second car veered off the road and down an embankment. From what he could see, the vehicle didn’t flip, but it skidded broadside into a cement wall doing what must have been serious damage to the side of the vehicle.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Brandon uttered the words out loud, trying to focus on the halting freeway traffic. All around him people stared at the wreck, bringing the traffic to a nearly complete stop. Brandon peered through the passenger window and saw the photographers piling out of the damaged car, while the other carload lurched into the lane next to Brandon. The guy at the wheel was laughing, and two more in the back still had their cameras aimed at Brandon.

Rage ripped through Brandon and for a long moment he wanted to pull over and yell at the photographers, tell them what they were doing was insane. Instead he picked up his cell and dialed 9-1-1. He told the operator his name and how two cars had chased him, how they’d tried to run each other off the freeway and put everyone on the road in danger.

“And now one of them crashed into a wall.”

“Is anyone injured?”

Brandon wanted to throw something. Only me, he wanted to say. But no one could know what it felt like to be hunted every day. He steadied himself. “They’re out of the car walking around. But someone needs to be arrested over this. If you could send the police, I’d appreciate it.”

“Yes, Mr. Paul.” The woman promised to have authorities check out the incident and as the call ended, Brandon tossed his phone on the passenger seat. A conversation came to mind, one he’d had with Dayne when the two of them first became friends.

“I called the police all the time at first,” Dayne’s defeat sounded in his tone. “Most of the time the problem’s too big for them. They could arrest a car of photographers, but there’d be two more taking that one’s place fifteen minutes later.”

The only time the law had helped Dayne was after his horrific accident — but even then the driver who caused the wreck only served a year in jail. Considering Dayne almost lost his life, the law wasn’t enough of an answer to really help.

“Use a driver, get tinted windows, wear disguises,” Dayne told him. “Even then there are no guarantees. But calling 9-1-1 only helps when something serious happens. And by then it’s usually too late for us.”

The memory of the conversation faded, but Brandon’s frustration did not. Traffic inched along moving them further from the wreck, further from whatever police responded to his call. And all the while the second car stayed at his side, snapping pictures. Brandon wanted to flash an angry look their direction, but that would only give them something to sell. Instead he kept the practiced smile firmly in place. That way they couldn’t say he was grieving the loss of Bailey or living in anger and reclusion. Of course, they could say what they’d said when they ran a picture of him talking to his costar Molly at LAX the day they returned from their shoot.
Brandon Paul, Happy and Loving the Single Life
.

Suddenly — in a way that had never hit him before — he was sick of this. Sick of being chased and photographed and described in any of a dozen untrue ways by the tabloids. As soon as the traffic let up, he cut in front of the paparazzi car and took the next off-ramp. Surface streets would be better than driving on the 405 with a camera aimed at his face. Mulholland was a two-lane option, so the photographers could stay behind him, but not beside him. That was at least a little better.

The ride to the studio took another ten minutes, and then he left his car with a valet attendant and ran up the steps and through the glass doors. He missed Bailey with every step, every heartbeat. But he put those thoughts aside for the next hour while he met with the studio executives. His manager Stephen Chase met him at the door and whispered a quick warning. “They’re presenting you with the new contract. Luke Baxter’s already given his approval.” He paused, looking over his shoulder. “This is the moment when you act really grateful, Brandon. It’s celebration time, okay?”

“Luke approved it? You’re sure?” Brandon definitely had his doubts. Luke hadn’t called, and usually he would hear from his attorney first.

“Look,” Chase’s patience seemed especially thin. “You hired me to manage your career. You either trust me or you’ve got the wrong guy.” The conversation was still in whispered tones, just outside the boardroom.

“Fine.” Brandon hadn’t seen Chase act like this. “If Luke’s okay with it, then we move ahead.”

Chase stood a little straighter and smiled. “Perfect.”

“Yeah.” Brandon tried not to see dollar signs in the guy’s eyes. “Let’s get it over with.” A heaviness weighed on him as he entered the room. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the walls were closing in on them.

He took his seat, but as the conversation began his mind went
back to the night of the Fourth and how it felt to sit beside Bailey, the feel of her fingers soft between his, the sound of her voice filling his soul. The taste of her kiss on his lips.

“Brandon?” Across from him, his agent Sid Chandler cast him a strange look. “Did you have an opinion on that?”

Panic pushed through him. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to talk about the contract. Why hadn’t Luke called him? And shouldn’t his lawyer be here if he had approved of the contract? That way he’d have absolute certainty that the new contract gave Brandon the creative control he wanted. He cleared his throat and leaned closer to the table. “Sorry.” He looked at Jack Randall, the top guy at West Mark. “Lots on my mind.”

Randall hesitated, but then he gave Brandon a slightly condescending smile. “I guess I can understand that.” He smiled at his assistants and at Brandon’s management team. “This is without a doubt the best deal we’ve ever offered any actor.” He chuckled, but the tone was more frustrated than humorous. “I guess I’d be a little distracted too.”

“Yes.” Brandon felt the heat in his face. If the guy was trying to humiliate him, it was working. Everything about the meeting felt out of control, like he was merely a puppet watching other people make decisions about his life. Dayne had warned him about this. Something similar had happened to him years ago, right? Brandon blinked, trying to focus. “What … what were you saying?”

Another dry smile from Randall. “I was saying it’s your call about the party. We’d like to see red carpet at Grauman’s Chinese Theater.” He nodded at Stephen Chase. “You wanna tell him the news?”

“Definitely.” Chase made a show of taking a folder from his briefcase and laying it out on the table in front of him. “You’ve been given your own star, Brandon. On Hollywood’s Walk of Fame.”

A year ago the news might’ve made his day, but here in this
setting it meant very little. It was the studio’s doing, no doubt. A way to increase the publicity around the announcement of Brandon’s deal. Even still, he knew the right response and the great honor the star held. He managed a surprised look and then glanced from Randall back to Chase and Sid Chandler. Whoever was behind the act, he needed to be grateful. “That’s amazing. Seriously.”

“Yes,” Chandler raised his brow and looked down at his notes. Clearly he was still irritated with Brandon, as if he thought Brandon should maybe have jumped from his chair in gratitude. “Anyway, now that your attorney has approved the contract, we’ll have the announcement August first — that’s less than two weeks from now.”

“A Saturday,” Chandler pointed out — in case anyone wasn’t sure.

This part wasn’t a surprise. Brandon listened but he felt like he was watching the meeting happen from some distant room. Like his role there was merely a token. All the work, all the decisions, everything about the announcement — all of it was already planned by his team and the brass at West Mark. He was about to make headlines everywhere. Greatest contract ever offered.

Brandon Paul — locked up with West Mark for the next five years.

Brandon tried to take a full breath, but the air in the room felt too thin.

“We’ll start with the star ceremony. You’ll put your hands in a fresh block of cement, and you’ll be immortalized on the Walk of Fame forever.” Randall looked proud of himself. He nodded at the others in the room. “The perfect way to start the night.”

He went on to say that the party would then move into the theater, where by invitation and red-carpet arrival several hundred VIP guests and celebrities would help acknowledge the contract. “We’d like you to make a special announcement to your fans
live on the Web that night. Your team will put it on your website, get it on Facebook and Twitter. We’ll build it up with a countdown. Have millions of fans ready for your big news.”

“Perfect.” Chase nodded as he wrote something down on the pad of paper in front of him. He grinned. “This’ll be big.”

Brandon thought about that Saturday. First day of August. It was a day when, if he were any other guy in the world, he would be taking Bailey on a date, celebrating summer, and enjoying private time with her. The voices of the people in the room blurred together until the sound was only a buzzing in his head, a clanging in his heart.

“That’s perfect. Right, Brandon? The big party? Otherwise West Mark is okay to make it smaller, more intimate.” Chase’s look held a clear warning. This was that moment when Brandon was supposed to get excited.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Alarm flashed in the eyes of Chase and Chandler. They stared at him, waiting for him to say more, act more enthusiastic.

Brandon dug deep and found the smile he was famous for. He flashed it at Randall, and then at the West Mark team. “I mean, it sounds amazing. I’m the most blessed guy in the business. No question.” The words were true. Brandon really did appreciate the effort everyone was making. None of this was their fault — not what he was feeling about the paparazzi or the suffocating room or the way he missed Bailey. He felt sorry for not being more excited. “I’m beyond grateful guys. Seriously.”