Reality Check (4 page)

S
omething about the taxi ride was off. Different. Charly looked over at Mason and wondered why he was so quiet. Ever since the airport and the screaming girls, he hadn't been his usual upbeat self. Then again, she told herself, he had just arrived. Maybe he was tired.

“You okay?” Charly asked, tilting her head in curiosity and admiring him at the same time. He was as fine as she remembered, and still made her stomach flutter.

He nodded. “The trip was long. I'm cool though,” he replied.

Long? The flight couldn't have been more than two hours, and that was including boarding and deplaning the aircraft. Charly may not have flown a lot—okay, not at all—but she'd heard enough of her mother's complaints and had researched travel times online, so she knew. Still looking at him, she licked her lips, then shrugged. Who was she to judge whether his day had been a lengthy one or not? She'd done plenty of traveling and had discovered short trips weren't always short. “Are you hungry? Because we can grab something to eat. I'm sure we have time.”

Mason finally turned to face her. “Really?” His question said so much more than the one word that escaped his lips. His “really” was a mouthful of unspoken feelings, but his tone said it all. It was hopeful, as if he was happy that she hadn't forgotten about him.

Charly nodded. She had to be reading too much into his demeanor and question. There was no way Mason was acting funny. None. It wasn't like him to be, well, weird, she decided. “Yes. If you're hungry, we have time.”

“Can you take us here first?” he said to the driver, scooting up to the edge of the backseat and pushing a small slip of paper through the small Plexiglas window that separated the back from the front. He'd moved so quickly, Charly was sure he hadn't had time to consider, let alone hear, what she'd begun to say.

Charly drew her brows together. “I meant we have time to eat at the
set
. There's food there. I saw the catering people setting up.”

Mason pressed his lips together and gave her a look. “Well, what about my bags? I'm s'pose to just go to the studio with luggage?”

Charly laughed. Was he kidding? She'd traveled from Illinois to Michigan with suitcases, then from Michigan to Pennsylvania to New York with luggage and a puppy, so surely Mason couldn't have thought his baggage to be that big a deal. “Serious?” She shook her head. “I can put it in the dressing trailer if it'll make you feel better. It's really not a biggie.” She smiled, then elbowed him. “Come on. Lighten up. You know you come first with me. Where's my Mason—the übercool Mason with the Brooklyn swag?” she teased, knowing he'd like being reminded of his New York roots. He'd been in Illinois for some time, and truly wasn't a fan of the small town his mother had “dislocated” them to, as he liked to say.

Mason nodded his head and smiled. Charly had broken his cool, and for a second his old self returned. He nudged her, then told the cabbie to forget the pit stop. His shoulders relaxed as he sat back. He took off his baseball hat, ran his hand over his waves, then quickly put it back on, adjusting it to the front. “Pardon me for girling out on you. I guess I'm just tired. You know us Brooklyn boys from the 'Bush aren't sensitive,” he reminded her.

“Whatever!” She elbowed him again, and they both laughed. “You just want me all to yourself, Mr. Flatbush Brooklyn who traveled from Illinois to see me. Don't act otherwise.” She bit her lip and went to reach for a lock of hair so she could twirl it, but her tresses weren't hanging over her shoulders as usual.

“Ahh. You forgot you got a headful of rollers. Didn't you, Ms. Superstar?” he teased, then became serious. “So you really got the series, huh? That's good stuff, Charly. I'm happy for you.”

The cab pulled over a bit but was still blocking the cars behind it. Charly sat up and grabbed her purse, preparing to exit the taxi as car horns blared behind them.

“Uh . . . Charly?” Mason said, a pregnant pause between his words.

Charly opened her door, then looked over to him. His eyebrows were raised, half wiggling, half not, but definitely dancing and doing that thing that she loved so much. Then his expression went flat. “I uh . . .” He patted his pockets. “I'm kinda outta money until tomorrow morning because I sprung for my airline ticket at the last minute. My moms is going to wire me some—”

“It's cool,” she assured him, digging into her pocket. She pulled out some cash, sticking the fare through the slot. “Keep the change,” she told the driver. “Come on, Mason,” she urged. “It's showtime. Let's see if I can keep you happy for me. I think a nice big meal will help.”

“Uh . . . Charly?” he said, waiting for her to turn around.

“Yes?” She froze, not liking his tone.

“About the money . . . Well, I kinda didn't have enough to get you the popcorn either. Sorry about that.”

Charly just nodded. She was disappointed, but it wasn't the end of the world. “No biggie, but you should've said something. I could have wired it to you.”

 

“Let'sgolet'sgolet'sgo!” Ryan, the producer, was yelling again, this time running his words together, which signaled to Charly that they were behind. “Hey! You. Ms. Charly?” he boomed, walking her way with a clipboard tucked under his arm.

Charly froze. Mason stopped behind her, stepping on her heels. “Yes?” she asked, nervous.

“Day said you'd be back. I wasn't so sure though.” He stopped short, grimacing. “I thought I sent you to hair and makeup. The makeup part I can see. But what the heck is going on with the rollers?” He looked around. “Hair! Someone get the Gossip Trinity out here, and tell 'em they have fifteen minutes to work out Charly's hair dilemma or I'm getting her a new stylist.”

Charly threw Mason a look, then shrugged. Ryan was over the top and loud, and had now turned his attention away from her.

“Yo, what's he yelling at you for?” Mason asked, his expression even more twisted than Ryan's had been. “I don't appreciate him talking to you like that. Me and him need to talk,” Mason snapped, then turned in the direction Ryan had taken. He took two steps before Charly stopped him.

A slight laugh sounded from behind, the delicious voice Charly remembered only too well and had memorized in a very short time. “He always yells. Seems he had a bit of a middle ear problem when he was just a kid, and hasn't been able to turn down his volume since. He doesn't mean any trouble by it. I don't think he's even aware of it,” the voice said, walking in front of them. “Name's Liam,
Ms
. Charly St. James,” he said, introducing himself to Charly. “So you're not a
he
,” he said, referring to when he and Charly first met.

“Nope. I'm all
she
. Nice to meet you. Finally,” Charly said, fighting a surfacing smile.

Liam moved over one step, then extended his hand to Mason. “Liam. You are?”

Mason puffed his chest a little. “Her man,” he said. He turned to Charly. “Where's the trailer, baby? I need to put my things away.”

Charly looked from Mason to Liam, then Liam to Mason. Her look told them both she was sorry. She thought Mason was being rude, and didn't understand it. Liam had been perfectly nice, and she hadn't flirted with him or anything. Had she? She shook off her questioning. There was no way Mason's actions were going to make her question herself. She hadn't done anything disrespectful, and she didn't even know who this Liam guy was except for his name and delicious accent, and now his supercute face; but Mason couldn't see her feelings and judgments. He had no right to act stupid or jealous.

“The trailer's back here. I'll show you,” a female voice said.

Charly's head spun fast, and she locked eyes with Annison, who smiled at her. She wore what Charly assumed were her yoga clothes, which fit her like a second skin and showed all of her business. In her hand was a book that Charly couldn't see the title to. “Thank you, Annison, but no. I'll show him,” she said, returning a forced smile. Annison's offering to show Mason where the trailers were had rattled her nerves, and now she kind of understood why Mason had reacted the way he had with Liam. She was perfectly comfortable in her own skin and didn't think any girl was better than her—even majorly famous ones like Annison. Still, there was something about a beautiful girl wanting to help her boyfriend that she didn't like. Charly shook her head, trying to shed the thoughts. Her being uncomfortable told her one of two things, and neither was good. Either there was something about her boyfriend she couldn't trust, or there was something about Annison she shouldn't. Her instinct, though, she would trust. She'd bet everything on that, no matter what.

“Cool. I remember you,” Mason said, smiling at Annison.

“Everybody does,” Sully said from behind, slyly poking Charly in her back without being seen. “I'm Sully,” he said, walking around and facing Mason. “And you must be the reason Charly broke her neck to get to the airport. Good to meet you, brah,” he said, giving Mason a pound with his tattoo-covered fist.

Mason, to Charly's surprise, greeted Sully back. “Good meeting you, too,” he said. “I remember your face too. You were on a kid's show or something, right?”

Sully nodded. “More like a teen show, but yeah.”

Charly looked around for Liam while Mason and Sully talked. She wanted to try to apologize for the way her boyfriend was acting, but he was gone. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why Mason didn't like Liam on sight but seemed okay with Sully. She shrugged. And people thought females were complicated?

“Oh, I didn't mean anything, Charly,” Annison assured her, moving the book behind her back as if she were ashamed of having it. “I just figured I'd show your boyfriend where to go while you cleared things up with your dad.”

Charly's eyes widened. “My dad?”

Sully nodded and adjusted his fisherman hat. “Yes. Your pop's here talking to Mr. Day. Seems he's a bit against you traveling. Something that should've been taken care of before the commercial was pieced together, if you ask me.”

Charly shot Sully a don't-mess-with-me look, then rolled her eyes. He was right, but he didn't have to say anything.

Sully threw up his hands. “I got ya, Charly. I got ya. I know you're not to be played with. But don't shoot the messenger. It's nothing against your pops. I'm just saying.”

Her heart dropped. She'd forgotten about her father and how protective he was. After he'd agreed to her doing the first show, which had been cancelled, she thought he'd be cool with the new one. She shrugged. How was she supposed to know he'd be wishy-washy? She'd just recently moved in with him after reuniting with him after eleven years, and found the relationship not to be as wonderful as she'd imagined. He was a military man who had military ways, and that meant his regimen was strict. He was all about education and hard work and educating oneself. Nothing else. He didn't see the need for the media or entertainment, and thought them both equally stupid. Television for him was the tell-a-lie-vision and history was his-story. Charly shrugged. “Thanks, Annison. If you don't mind showing him to the trailer, I'd appreciate it,” she said, still hesitant about turning Mason over to one of the biggest female stars to ever hit the screen. She wasn't feeling too confident about leaving Mason, but she was happy that he didn't seem starstruck.

“And I'll show you where your father and Mr. Day are,” Sully offered Charly. “This way.”

 

She stood in the doorway, afraid to go in. Her father was in uniform, sitting in front of a desk. His foot was resting on his knee and his army-fatigue hat was on his lap. His expression, even from where she was standing, was serious. And so was Mr. Day's. “She's a child,” her father was saying. “What kind of man would I be if I let my child travel across country? I let you talk me into letting her do the first show, but now this one?” He shook his head. “How do you expect me to let her participate in such . . . such . . . mess? Don't all these shows end up messy? I saw the music television series before—the ones where the kids moved from place to place. They were all messy, and the stars ended up in supermarket tabloids.”

Mr. Day laughed, crossing his arms.

Oh no
, Charly thought.
Don't do that
. She knew her dad could read Mr. Day and would take his arm-crossing as being defensive. She'd only been with her dad for a matter of weeks, but saw him study body and eye language. He was good at whatever he'd done for the military. So good, in fact, that they still contracted with him for certain operations after he was supposed to be retired, hence the uniform. He was currently involved in special ops.

Mr. Day looked her father dead in the eyes. “It's true, Mr. St. James. Most reality shows are a bit messy. Most of them. But not any show I've been in charge of.” He uncrossed his arms. “You can check my credentials and they'll prove what I say is true.” He grabbed a folder from a file, then handed it to her father. “Charly signed an agreement earlier, with the first set of contracts, and her mom has already given us written permission—that's why we're airing the commercial. Right, Charly?” Mr. Day said, catching her spying from the door and waving her in.

Her father turned to her, and his look said she'd better not say a word. “Her mother? Well, she's a show all by herself,” he admitted. “But that's a different story.” He handed the folder back to Mr. Day. “Doesn't matter what Brigette signed. I have guardianship over Charly now.”