Miss Congeniality (10 page)

“And you’ll be hearing from mine.” Lance reached back and grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd. Brea wanted to die from embarrassment; she had no idea what in the world possessed him to act like that. He was like a crazy person, so focused on getting the memory card he didn’t pay attention to anything else around him, even her. She could have been mauled by the crowd and he would have been none the wiser. She had wondered earlier where he got his reputation but with that display, Brea no longer had to question. She concentrated on keeping up with him because he was practically running while on the phone with who she presumed to be his agent.

“I don’t fucking know!” he screamed into the phone. “I flipped the fuck out! Fix it!” Lance stopped abruptly, pinching his nose while he took deep breaths to calm down. She could hear the other person speaking in even tones but didn’t know what they were saying.

“I know,” he answered in a more civilized tone than before. “I’m sorry; I just went a little crazy. Okay, I’ll call him. Love you, too,” he murmured before ending the phone call.

Love?
Brea thought.
Now I really want to know who he’s talking to
. She kept quiet. The ball was in his court, and he was the one who acted like a crazy-ass maniac when the guy started taking pictures.

“So, did I imagine what just happened?” he asked sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his phone.

“Nope,” she answered. “I’m wishing I did because I don’t know who in the hell that was.”

“I freaked, okay?” Someone was clearly still upset.

“Ya think? What the hell was that about? And who was that on the phone?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” He continued to fiddle with his phone so she grabbed at it, wanting him to look at her.

“You don’t want to talk about it? Well, I didn’t want to witness it. Or be a part of it. But I was, and I can almost guarantee you we’ll be on the news because one of those tourists had a camera and probably taped the whole damn thing! So, I’m sorry if you don’t want to talk about it, but I don’t really give a shit!”

“Keep your damn voice down!” he hissed, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them.

“Let’s go.” He grasped her hand and tried to move, but she dug in her heels.

“Don’t touch me.” He grabbed it again, pulling her toward him. “Listen to me. You want to argue with me? That’s fine. But you are in the middle of Disneyland, and we are two of the most recognizable people on television, so if you want to avoid attention and videos, as you yelled earlier, then I suggest you get your ass in the car. We can argue about this later.” She clenched her jaw, ceding his point and tabling the discussion until they got in the car.

Two hours later, they slowly made their way home. What had started as such a great day had ended in a pile of shit. First, he had to speak to his agent, his lawyer, his PR rep, Disney security, and his mother, who happened to be the person he was on the phone with earlier.
Yeah, this date was fun
, she thought,
up until my date went psycho and risked legal action being taken against him. Go me
. Maybe she should go on a dating moratorium because the last two were horrible. Lance had shown such promise; even earlier in the day she felt like she could really see herself dating him.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked quietly.

“Do you want to tell me why you freaked out?”

He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Look, Brea, it’s a long story, and I really don’t want to get into it right now.”

She crossed her legs. “Then no, I don’t want to talk about what happened. Your reaction was over the top, and you scared the shit out of me for a minute. Unless you’re willing to tell me why…”

“I’m not.”

“Okay. Then I suggest you just take me home and we’ll chalk it up to a science experiment gone badly.”

“But…” he tried to argue his point.

She was adamant. “No. Unless you’re willing to communicate to me about the real issue, then all I am forced to see is the bad-boy image you portray to the world. Because that’s what I saw, and I don’t know if I want to spend my time around you.”

“Well, if you can’t look past all this, then I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“Guess so.” She stared out the window, biting down on her lip to prevent the tears which threatened to fall.

His theatrics ended up on YouTube, and they got over a million hits in the first two days. Having to watch the guy you thought could mean something to you make a complete ass of himself over and over again was always fun. And that was just YouTube; it didn’t count the segment on the major morning shows,
TMZ, Entertainment Tonight
, and all the other shows which played it on a loop. She fielded phone calls for interviews and comments, sick of it all after the first day. Raquel and Clare were concerned, her agent was worried, her PR person claimed this was a nightmare, and the producers were stuck somewhere on the fence because of all the new viewers they thought the buzz would generate. As for Brea, she was just hurting.

It was hard to ignore Lance, especially because she had to see him on the set. One of the unexpected benefits was she was no longer scared of working with him, and they were able to get through all the lines with no problems. The chemistry was still there, however. She felt it whenever he touched her like a pulse going through her body, but she batted it back. She refused to fall victim to his spell again, especially since he still wouldn’t tell her why he reacted so violently. He didn’t try to call either, so if she thought she meant anything to him at all she was clearly mistaken.

A week passed and nothing, no contact except for their continuous interaction in the studio. She was going mad. She missed the carefree banter they briefly shared, but she was unwilling to compromise, and two stubborn people couldn’t work it out because neither wanted to budge. She was lamenting her current situation when Raquel and Clare cornered her in her dressing room.

“Okay, we’re done,” Raquel said. “The pity party is over.” Clare elbowed her, showing this probably wasn’t their plan of action when they came in here, but Raquel clearly had other plans. She ignored Clare. “I’m serious; we’ve all seen the YouTube video.”

“Raquel!” Clare admonished.

“Well, we have, Clare. There’s no reason to pretend as if you were too good to watch it. You called me about it.” Clare stepped in, clearly done with Raquel.

“What she means—” Clare jerked her thumb at Raquel “—is we have watched you two pussyfoot around each other for the last week, and you’re both so damn miserable there has to be something you can do.”

“I tried,” Brea said, wiping away the couple of tears which had fallen when they laid into her. “But he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I’m not going to force him. He overreacted, but he doesn’t want to tell me why.”

“We all know this level of fame comes with the territory, so while I agree he was over the top,” Raquel admitted, “you need to admit there are certain things you don’t want to talk about either and give the guy a break.” She had a point, maybe Brea should give him a second chance. But she refused to have a relationship with a man who was unwilling to discuss something as simple as why he hated the paparazzi with a passion.

“While I’m not saying you’re right, I’m not saying you’re wrong, either,” Brea conceded. “I just need to think about this because it’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, while you’re taking it in, think about this. The two people who I saw this week have looked miserable, casting longing looks at each other when they think the other isn’t looking. And the video showed a couple who was clearly enjoying each other and their time together. He may have overreacted, but a lot of that was to protect you and your privacy.” Raquel got up to leave, having made her point.

Brea nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Clare and Raquel both hugged her on the way out, telling her to call if she needed anything, but they both knew she wouldn’t. This was something Brea was going to have to work through on her own, to figure out whether their fledgling relationship was worth trying to save. Figuring she could decide later, Brea just wanted to go home and sleep on it. Hearing a noise, Brea fiddled with her purse to find the ringing phone, pleasantly surprised to see Derrick’s smiling face across her screen. She had talked to him briefly last week. When the video emerged, he had called to lend his support, but that was it.

“Hey, Uncle Derrick,” she greeted cheerfully.

“Hey, kiddo. How’re you doing?”

She sighed. “I’ve been better. But you already know that because I talked to you guys last week.”

“Yeah, well, you know how Silvia worries.”

She chuckled. “I know, but something tells me you aren’t calling about Silvia.” There was silence on the other end of the phone so Brea assumed they had lost their connection, but then Derrick started speaking again.

“I’m not. You were the last person I wanted to call, but Silvia and I talked about it last night and we figured you should know.” It was something with her mother; she was sure of it. It was always something with her mother whenever they called out of the blue.

“What is it? Is it something with Mom?”

“No, Brea, it’s not your mom.” That left only one person: Alex.

“What the hell happened with Alex?” More silence, as though he was debating whether he should tell her. “I deserve to know, Derrick.”

“That’s why I’m calling, because you deserve to know,” he agreed. “Are you sitting down? Or is there someone we can call, because this won’t be easy to hear.” She briefly thought about everyone she knew, even thinking about calling Lance, but she quickly dismissed that idea.

“No, there’s no one. Just tell me.”

B
rea tapped her finger on the bar, signaling the bartender for another shot. She had been sitting here for hours since she got the call, in some hole in the wall bar which didn’t ask questions, even if they did recognize her. She stared at the shot glasses around her. Were there really four? And what was going on with the empty beer glasses? She remembered the bartender saying something about pacing herself, but Brea didn’t want to pace shit. She wanted to get drunk, like down-and-dirty drunk; hung-over so badly tomorrow, she wouldn’t want to drink again.

“Is there somebody you want me to call?” the bartender asked politely. Brea glanced up from the scarred wood bar top she had been admiring, looking at the middle-aged brunette with kind eyes. Brea bit her lip, the sympathy in her eyes too much to bear, and shook her head no so she didn’t have to speak. If she did, she would start crying hysterically. At what, who knew; there were so many reasons to pick from, each one as equally horrific as the other. She could cry at the injustice of it all. She could cry at her own hopelessness, at the cruel bitch known as fate who continued to play jokes on Brea’s family, or at her brother, who had crawled so deeply into an addiction (one which destroyed their mother) he felt like he had nowhere to go. Her phone was laying there, the screen blessedly silent, because she wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone. Not even Derrick, who had broken the news in the nicest way possible, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to shoot the messenger.

The bartender was wiping down the bar top beside her, looking up when the door opened, eyes widening at whoever walked through the door. Brea just slammed the shot back, feeling the cool burn of tequila. She saw the man’s hand land beside her left elbow, the heat from his body crowding her. She glanced to the right, noting the empty bar, wondering why in the hell he decided to sit beside her. He must have signaled for the bartender because she came over holding a draft, handing it to him, and Brea felt him sit beside her.

Enough,
she thought, pissed.
He needs to find somewhere else to sit.

“Can I help you?” she asked snidely, examining the man for the first time. Either she was really drunk, or she was staring into the same green eyes of the man she had been fighting with for the last week.

Lance smirked. “That depends on you. What are you doing here drinking like you want to kill your liver?”

She faced the bar, staring at the alcohol bottles lining it, signaling for another beer from the bartender. “None of your damn business.” She did NOT need him here tonight, not when she wanted to forget everything. “And what the hell are you doing here?”