Starlet's Web (The Starlet Series, #1) (22 page)

Manuel was still not convinced. “What about Franz?”

“Mom is dropping him off on her way back to the airport.”

Manuel finally smiled. “Okay, let's go,” he said confidently.

As we walked out the front door, camera lights flashed in such a burst that Manuel stood motionless with his eyes blinded. Photographers yelled at him, asked me questions, demanded to know who he was. I was confused because I was sure my publicist would have given them facts about whom I was dating. Nevertheless, I spoke immediately to help poor Manuel.

“Hey, one at a time. I'm happy to answer questions about my boyfriend,” I commanded.

I stood patiently, holding Manuel's hand and smiled until the photographers became civilized. I observed Manuel. He stared at me. I let go of his hand and put my arm around him. I reassessed his mood. He still stared at me.

I did not raise my voice and continued to smile. “This is my boyfriend, Manuel. We've been best friends since preschool and grew up together in Santa Monica. We attended our high school senior prom and started dating.”

Again, I smiled as I finished the sentence, looking pretty, blinking quickly so the photo wouldn't show my pain.

A photographer I knew asked politely, “Marie, good for you. It's nice to see you happy. How long have you been dating?”

“We've been dating since March. Prom was the weekend after the
Constantine's Muse
wrap party.”

Uh, oh. I said something they didn't expect. Photographers were nudging us and shouting out questions, questions about Byron and about Manuel. I checked out Manuel. I did not want him to hit anybody. He'd get sued.

I grabbed his hand and took off towards the limo. I ran in the darn stilettos, pulling Manuel with me. I opened the limo door and rushed inside. Manuel followed me and slammed the door closed.

 

It was the wrong limo. Manuel and I both gaped at a man and a woman doing it, mostly clothed. The man slid off the woman to the side and the woman covered herself. I recognized both of them immediately. The man was Byron. The woman was the lighting specialist.

Stunned by the absolute ridiculousness—the improbability—that this was happening, I laughed. It was the same response I had when the guys lost to me in strip poker or when I felt uncomfortable at an inappropriate comedy show.

“Happy birthday, Marie,” Byron smiled, not at all embarrassed. “So you're still with Manny?”

“Yep. Hi, Claire, this is Manuel, my boyfriend. I'm sorry to barge in.” I chuckled again. “I thought this was my limo.”

Manuel frowned. I kissed him. He was tense.

“This
is
your limo. I was borrowing it. I just got here. Claire and I saw each other in the parking lot. I saw your driver smoking outside and had Claire give him $100 to be back in fifteen minutes. He let us sneak in. I thought this would be a comfy place to shack.”

“You know he's a prick, right?” I said to Claire. The three of us chuckled. She did know and didn't care.

Byron defended himself, “It figures you would leave your own party. You always leave early. Sorry, though.”

“So just now,” I asked, “what was going on with the photographers? They didn't know who Manuel was and my publicist should have clued them in. They went crazy when I told them we started dating at our senior prom.”

“Damn, Marie.” Byron said, “Now you're the one with your foot in your mouth.”

“What? I'm…”

“Richard wants us to be a couple for the premiere,” Byron explained.

“Oh. Well he should have asked me, so I could say, “No way.” Thanks for the heads up,
late
.”

I smiled at Manuel and squeezed his hand. He was as stiff as a statue. But I still felt the hilarity of the moment and shook my head laughing.

“So this is just too much. I'm stuck here with my boyfriend, with you guys half-naked, and a gaggle of photographers who saw us get into this limo. The driver is out counting his money. I've already messed up the premiere's spin, and I want to go home and have a nice quiet night with Manuel. Any suggestions on how we're all gonna get out of here?”

They laughed. Not Manuel, poor guy. I tried to snuggle into the statue.

Claire moved away from Byron and he casually pulled up his pants and surveyed the limo's bar. He poured drinks.

Manuel watched, shocked.

“Don't worry about it, love.” I said to Manuel out loud. “He's an ass. Everyone has seen it.” The three of us laughed again. We were having fun now.

“Easy solution to being stuck in this limo together,” Byron said. “We'll take you home.” He handed everyone a drink.

Manuel grumbled to Byron, “You're an asshole.”

Just then, the driver got in. “Time's up,” he announced.

I answered back. “Byron told me your arrangement. Now take us home immediately. Byron will be paying you for the car tonight.” I eyed Byron. He shrugged a ‘sure.'

“Wait,” Claire interrupted. “I'm going to Marie's party.  Baby, call me anytime, and we'll finish what we started.” Claire crawled onto Byron and kissed him passionately. She put his hand in her crotch. “It'll be waiting for you.”

She licked his lip and then left the limo. So much hostility emitted from Manuel when Claire passed him that I worried he might shove her out of the car. Photographers shouted at her over the percussion of camera clicking. Any humor I felt from the drama changed to fear that Manuel would lose it.

Then we left.

Byron finished Claire's drink and got into the bar again. He gave Manuel another drink and lit a cigarette. He asked, “So you two are lovers? How long have you been dating?”

I knew what he was exposing. I answered as confidently as possible, “Since our disaster night together, Byron, of course.”

“Not prom?” He grinned at me and peered at Manuel. “You're a lucky guy. She rejected me, as you know. But honestly, I don't know if I could have your patience. She's worth it, of course, but I'd get frustrated.”

Manuel glared at him, “Shut up. She's mine.”

“I know. But she's wounded. Has your love been enough for her?”

Manuel fumed, “I'm warning you that I'll kick your ass.”

“Of course you will. But you'll always wonder what I do to make her tremble.”

I yelled, “Shut up!”

“Marie, we both love you. We could work together, give you pleasure you've never known. I just participated for the first time about a week ago, made my friend's wife have the best orgasm of her life, made her so happy. It was a win for everyone.”

I shook my head, “There's no possibility, Bryon. Gross!”

“I could be like a director, coach him, tell him how I melt you.”

“Shut the hell up!” Manuel bellowed. Anger erupted from him.

Byron stopped talking and scanned his iPhone. Manuel did the same. I considered the possibility of having both of them at the same time. Tingles ran through my body. I blushed. Manuel studied my face. Then I noticed Byron's eyes on me, too.

Manuel asked, “You'd want to try?”

“No,” I said definitively but my cheeks became hot, flooded with blood.

Byron suggested, “Marie, you reaching climax is going to take a ton of time. Really, we both love you. You'd feel great.”

“No! I belong to Manuel, only. What turns me on is the thought of making love. What's gross is you guys sharing me. Got it?!”

“Good,” Manuel agreed, “because I can't share you.”

I addressed Byron coldly, “And a little lesson, Byron. You were played. Here's the situation you found yourself in, and please correct me if I'm wrong because I've seen it a dozen times: you're at a party, drunk and smoking pot. A babe is all over you. You show interest. She leads you down the hall to a room. You go in to see a guy in bed with his almost naked “baby” or “wife,” whatever turns you on. They offer you ecstacy usually, not coke, meth or heroin because there's too much ritual and mess with those drugs. No, they want an easy sell and repeat customer. You take the pill and get the pleasure. Then the next morning you wake up naked next to strangers and worry about who you screwed and who screwed you.”

Bryon wrinkled his forehead and frowned with pain in his eyes. Manuel's shoulders slouched.

I continued, “You've been partying for a year now. You'll continue to have your fun and be played for another year. You'll have so many drugs in you that you won't be able to get it up so you'll find yourself at orgies and hot parties. Then you'll find yourself sued, broke and all alone.”

I shook my head at the absurdity of the conversation and looked around the limo. I pushed out every memory of what I had witnessed or experienced while in a limo. I hated limos.

The driver dropped us off. Manuel and I held hands while I punched in the code at the front door.

“Thanks for enduring that, Manuel. You do know how much I appreciate you, don't you?”

He smiled. He hadn't said much the whole night. The GQ outfit altered him. But this life was a lot to take in all in one night. During my international party days, I had seen much worse than what we had just seen. Given that it was probably the first time he was blinded by photographers yelling at him and the first time he walked in on someone who proposed sharing his girlfriend, he did a great job.

When I walked inside, the light in the kitchen was on. We turned down the hall to my room, and he switched on the hall light. Rose petals were strewn on the floor of the hallway and a lovely bouquet of red roses sat on a small table at the end of the hallway next to my bedroom door. Three hearts cut from red construction paper were taped to the wall next to me with words in his handwriting. The conversation hearts read: Be Mine, I LOVE YOU, and Happy birthday from your loving Latino boyfriend.

“Oh, it's beautiful, Manuel. Thank you!”

I gave him a hug and kissed him. I was so happy. I kissed him again, starting to feel a warm glow in me.

“How did you do this? You were with me.”

He shrugged his shoulders. Something was bothering him but he was happier than he was in the limo. He explained, “My mom. I gave her the code. We can change it if you want to?”

“I trust Liz. Rules are rules, though. I'll change it tomorrow and text everyone to call Sage for the new one. I'm not mad. I'll have to thank her. It's very special.” I kissed him again softly.

“I'm so glad you like it,” he whispered. He pulled me off the floor into a bear hug, backed me up to the hallway wall, and began kissing me passionately. His hands moved all over my body. He unzipped my dress and touched my breasts. It felt nice.

“Maybe you want to?” I asked.

He stopped me. “After just now? Byron? There's not a chance.”

He backed up from me and folded his hands across his chest. He bellowed, “You did want to?”

“No way, gross.” I shook my head and approached him to resume kissing. “I don't want any part of Byron's life.”

He refused the kiss and glowered at me reproachfully. “And I don't want any part of your actress life!”

Disarmed, I walked to the living room not knowing what to do with that statement. It infuriated me to such an extent that I suppressed my desire to slap him.

The light from the kitchen was enough to illuminate the room but not too much to ruin the view of the canyon from the glass wall of living room windows. The darker the room, the better the view was at night. I could see the lights from a yacht on the Pacific Ocean, probably a birthday party for someone I knew. I got several invitations to yacht parties but declined because I didn't want to be trapped on some boat when I was ready to leave early. I always left early. I sat down on the couch and calmed down.

I heard Manuel get a bag from the kitchen and go to my room. Then I heard him stop at the entrance to the living room. He held a bag of stuff and seemed completely confused. I had hurt his feelings.

“Come sit with me, please,” I said, not having the energy or the will to smile.

He didn't want to come over to me. He was frustrated. He hated me being an actress. I had ruined my birthday.

He was an eighteen-year-old with the best heart of any boy I knew, who shouldn't have to endure such a sex-focused culture. I knew I was broken somehow but still wanted to be with him. I had no idea how I could ever explain how I felt to him. I had no idea how he would ever comprehend what I felt.

Manuel was my best friend. He deserved to be happy. I looked back out the window. I was not sad, not weepy. I was glum, hollow, bummed.

“Tell me something—the truth,” Manuel insisted.

“I only want you—not Byron, not Evan, just you.”

“No. The way Byron looked at you. He knows he can have you. What the hell did you guys do the night before prom?”