The Accidental Movie Star (20 page)

Ashley gasped. “You think someone drugged Lorene when she came to set? I thought she was drunk.”

“She was, but maybe she was something more. Petra thinks so.”

“I didn’t do this, whatever it is you’re accusing me of. Why would you believe Petra over me?”

Caz slid away from her on the seat. “I’ve worked with Petra for years. She’s a pain, but she doesn’t use or lie.”

Ashley leaned closer. “I didn’t. I got you out of that party, away from the press.”

“The press was waiting for us. And why were you with Garrett?”

“I wasn’t. You’re not listening to me. You know me, why are you acting like this?”

“I thought I knew you. Of course, I thought I knew my best friend.”

“Wait.” Ashley put a hand on his arm, “I am not like Garrett; I’m not an actor.”

“You’re a liar like him, and I’m not my mother. I’m not going to keep taking you back no matter how bad the crap gets.”

“Take me back? Your mother? What are you talking about now?” Nothing he said made sense.

“Admit it.”

“You know what I admit?”

He stilled, and she looked directly in his face, her eyes burning. “I admit I knew better than to hang out with Hollywood types. You’re overdramatic. You create problems where they don’t exist. And I’m not having this fight while you’re drunk.”

“I had one drink, and then the one you gave me. Petra said you put something in it.” He repeated the accusation and his accent got heavier and his words slurred the more he talked.

Ashley waved a hand toward the window. “I’d never drug anyone. You must like all the attention. You’re the actor. You probably called the press.”

Caz glared in response.

Ashley shook her head at him. “I’ll make it easy. You’re right. Believe Petra.”

The car drew to a stop in front of her dad’s gate. Ashley unlocked the handle before stepping out. “And by the way, no one’s perfect. You should forgive Garrett. If no one can make a mistake around you, you’re going to be pretty lonely.” Ashley slammed her way out of the limo, shutting off the spew of French.

***

By the next day, she’d calmed down. Ashley awakened thinking about Caz, knowing she should have explained better, and made sure he was okay. She rolled out of bed, went for her purse, and dumped it out. The phone rolled onto the beige carport beside her bare feet.

No messages.

Holding tight to the phone, she dialed Caz. He didn’t pick up and she hung up on his outgoing voice message. Ashley stared at the screen a moment then crawled back into the warm sheets. Hugging a pillow to her chest, she went over everything they’d said. With each replay, she thought of how to explain better and what she should have said. Surely, he’d find out the truth and call. She set the phone on her nightstand, trying to compose the perfect message in her mind before dialing again.

A picture of her parents rested on the bedside table. They looked young, scared, and happy in that photo. She reached for her phone again, but grabbed the silver picture frame instead. The love on Mom’s face was painful. Her parents loved each other, but couldn’t stay married. Mom was like her: normal, happy. Dad was drama. He worked in it and thrived on upheaval. They divorced soon after she was born. Sharing a child was an incredible reason to try to stay together, but they knew better. They weren’t compatible.

On set, the process was interesting and exciting, but she really didn’t get it. She had no desire to share her private thoughts with everyone. Film people made exciting friends, but you didn’t date them.

She should never have tried with Caz. She knew better. Caz didn’t trust her and had created this whole fight out of nothing. This was his life. For heaven’s sake, he was an actor.

Ashley sat up. What was she thinking? Being with Caz would never work. She put the frame down and scrambled out of bed, her heart racing, her mind clear. He didn’t need another explanation. She just needed to finish her postproduction work, get this job on her college applications, and in three weeks, go home to the real world.

***

Twenty people sat in the conference room. The only people she recognized were the actors and the assistants. The rest of the postproduction team was new to her.

She and Olive sat in chairs against the wall, and the key players sat at a conference table. The AD went over scheduling and the postproduction plans. Caz wouldn’t meet her gaze. Olive threw speculative looks between them, but Ashley didn’t volunteer any information.

The director gave his welcome and then turned the meeting back over to the AD When the director slipped from the room in the middle of the AD’s speech, Caz got up and followed him. On his way past her chair, he pointed for Ashley to follow.

Great, so this was how it’s going to be? He didn’t even call her
PA
. He was going to point from now on?

When she reached the corridor, Caz was speaking in a low, intense voice to the director. His arms were crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart. The director held his hands out, palms up.

She reached them in time to hear the last bit of Caz’s sentence.

“It’s either her or me.”

Ashley’s face flooded with heat and her stomach churned.

“Caz, she’s one of the interns who goes back to school in a few weeks. We’ll assign her to another department.”

“I work with all the departments, but I won’t if she’s there.”

Ashley backed up a step. Her mouth opened then closed without words, and she swallowed against her knotting stomach.

The director sighed and looked at her. “You’ve done a good job, but we can’t replace Caz. We’ll put you on another production for the rest of your time.”

Ashley backed up another step and her voice came out high. “No need, I’m going home. Eyes burning, she turned away from them. She wanted to walk out with her head held high, walking slow and proud, but her pace quickened with each step.

Caz got her fired. Now she couldn’t put this job on her college applications. She’d have to tell her mom she got fired, and she’d have to tell Marissa, then she’d have to get a job at the Fry Hut. By the time she reached Dad’s building, she was running. She took the elevator up, rushed straight past his secretary, and reached for his doorknob.

“Ashley, sorry, dear,” his secretary said, “Your dad won’t be back from Zurich until Friday. He’s already left for the airport.”

Ashley stared at the dark wood of the door for several seconds. Dad hadn’t said he was going out of town. He’d left the country and hadn’t bothered to tell her.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Choked up, she couldn’t speak, so she waved off his secretary’s concern and left for the ladies’ room. She ran her hands under the cool water in the faucet, trying to calm down. Her eyes stared back at her in the mirror red, her cheeks red. The cold water didn’t help.

Ashley gave up trying to go unnoticed and ran out. It was time to go home.

Chapter 18

Caz spent the next month in postproduction meetings, cleaning up technical issues from filming and generally jumping down the throat of anyone who mentioned his parents, Garrett, or Ashley. Today he was meeting the sound team to rerecord some dialogue. Most of the other actors would be there too.

Petra leaned against the wall near him, wearing too much of her god-awful perfume. She used him as a captive audience, to chat. For ten minutes, she talked about herself, her wardrobe, and her idea for a line of fragrances to match jewelry. Caz’s eyelids lowered and he jerked back awake when Olive jumped in with one of her exclamations of agreement. She agreed with everything Petra said by repeating most of Petra’s phrases.

Standing with the two of them was like being stuck in the most boring echo chamber in the world.

He pinched his fingers between his eyes; he needed more sleep. They were shooting an action film on the lot near his trailer and the sound effects went straight through the thin walls. He should have picked a new place to stay by now, but he hadn’t yet replaced the Realtor he’d fired.

Powder turned the corner and joined them. Makeup people rarely visited sound booths. Frankly, he welcomed the break from Petra and Olive. “Hiya.”

Powder ignored his greeting. “Have you seen Ashley’s notebook?”

“No,” Caz said, clipping off the word. He did not want to have this discussion.

“She called and said she left it behind, you know, when she was fired, but I can’t find it.”

Silence.

Olive said, “She must’ve sold the notes when she sold her story.”

“Sold her notebook?” Powder turned to Olive with her hands on her hips, her flamboyant fuchsia dress extra bright when faced with Olive’s drab jumpsuit.

Women were so weird about their clothes.

“Yeah.” Olive spoke fast. “She used to write down stuff we said. I thought she was writing a diary, all those words. Now I understand, she probably sold her memoir to the highest bidder at the tabloids.”

Caz rubbed his temple, a headache starting to pound as Olive continued barking out accusations. He breathed in, trying one of the techniques the martial arts instructor had showed him during their daily workouts.

“Oh wow,” Petra said. “I can’t wait to see what they picked to print of the things I said. I said some really funny stuff during the shoot. You remember when Cutter tried to put me in the green shoes and I was all like, I can’t wear green shoes. That’s the color the alligator was originally. I mean if you can’t even have enough fashion sense to dye your shoes, well what’s the point. Right? I hope that goes in, or maybe like that day they asked me to hold that pose like forever, and I was all stiff, and no one could find the masseuse.”

Powder rolled her eyes, made a disgusted noise, and left.

Chapter 19

Senior year. Everything looked the same but felt different. It amazed Ashley that she could spend the summers running around million-dollar movie sets, but one month later and she couldn’t be trusted to stand in the hall after the bell rang.

Ashley turned to her best friend. “Can senioritis hit as early as September?”

Marissa’s groan of “yes” held all the weight of twelve years of oppression. She unlatched her locker and snagged an emerald sweater off the hook. The sweater was her favorite and the bright color matched her eyes.

Ashley said. “Did you wear that sweater to work?”

Marissa sniffed the sleeve. “Why? Does it smell like fries?”

“Yep.”

Marissa shrugged. “French class is too cold.” She continued muttering, but switched to French and went on about fries and the weather.

Hearing French made her think of Caz. Missing him, and being angry with him, was taking up a ridiculous amount of her time and she couldn’t seem to make her thoughts stop. Last night at the grocery store, she’d caught herself scouring the tabloids. That was how far she’d fallen and how desperate she was for news about him. Even knowing the stories were probably untrue, Ashley hated the pictures of him with other girls. And there was lots to hate because there were lots of pictures, fans, models, and actresses.

Ashley didn’t talk much about her own summer, but Marissa’s nemesis and part-time Fry Hut Manager, Irina, did, not the Fry Hut Manager part, but about her August in Italy. All her conversations started with, “In Italia we,” or “The Italians would,’ or “That’s wrong because in Roma…”

Marissa usually followed with, “Well, at the Fry Hut we…” or “Did you go to Italy?” but she must’ve taken some of Irina’s mean comments to heart if she wanted to change her hair color.

Ashley’s cell phone beeped, a text message from Dad: “Back from trip. Have you headed back to school?”

Ashley pressed her lips together, wishing she could find the words funny, but she knew her eyes were burning when she put her phone away without replying. She’d been in Texas for a couple of weeks now.

***

By November, Ashley didn’t want any news or any reminder of Caz. He could forget her? Fine. She could forget him. Of course, that was the week the movie’s theme song,
“Love’s Romantic Ruin,” became popular on the radio. Ashley couldn’t go down the halls or turn on her stereo without hearing someone sing the lyrics.

Marissa appeared beside her, interrupting her thoughts, which was good since she should’ve been working on her college application essays. She needed one more referral.

Marissa poked her in the arm until she looked up. Her face was flushed, her emerald eyes bright.

“What?”

“You’ve got to see this.”

Marissa held up her phone and said, “The movie preview. You’re totally in it.”

Ashley dropped her gaze to the screen and the trailer for
Eternal Loss, Eternal Revenge
came on. The clip was short and the narration made her heart stop. Caz’s voice came through the speakers. It had been so long since she’d heard him. She even knew the words his character was saying since she’d been in the recording studio when he’d recorded them.

The trailer opened with a visual of Caz’s haunted eyes staring out, and his British voice continued through the speakers.

“Drinking, women, risks, I tried them all and nothing made me forget the pain.” The camera angle widened, and behind Caz was Ashley, dressed in a pale sundress, her hand reaching for a car door handle. Before touching it, she looked back and gifted him a sweet smile. Then an explosion lit the screen, and you knew she was gone.

Caz’s voice went husky. “I can’t forget.” The clip ended, and Caz said the final words: “It’s time to give them something to remember.”

Ashley’s breath left her lungs. Wow. That was her smile. She’d washed that car on the set. She’d done Caz’s eyeliner. That was her in the wig. Her total screen time was probably one second, but it was her.

“So what, do you want to be an actress now?” Marissa said with enthusiasm.

“No, architecture’s still it for me.”

Marissa squeezed her arm. “One day, I’ll text you a picture of a building you designed.”

***

Ashley and her mom searched the racks at the department store, looking for a dress. Ashley held up an ice-blue one. “What do you think?”

A frown slid off Mom’s face. “You’ll look beautiful in anything.”