Page 5
We shrugged and said, “Boys,” though it annoyed us both.
I text her right before takeoff.
Me: I have news
Em: You changed your mind and aren’t going to move THOUSANDS of miles away from me?
Me: Um. No. That’s still happening. I thought you were okay with it? :(
Em: Of course I’m not ok with you leaving Cali! I’m going to miss the shit out of you! What is this news of which you speak?
Me: We ran into Graham
Em: Get OUT. MILLIONS of people in nyc… and you run into the hunky, mysterious costar with whom you shared a steamy hotel room moment?
Me: You’re reading those trashy romance novels again, aren’t you
Em: I dunno what you’re talking about
Me: ANYWAY. So graham has a daughter.
Em: WHAT?!?!?!?
Me: And also, we’re sort of seeing each other now.
Em: WHAT?!?!?!?
Me: Gotta go. Getting the evil eye from flight attendant. Meet me at home at like 3.
Em: I’m just… WHAT?!?!?!?
***
Two minutes after we land and right after I power it up, my cell is ringing. I’m surprised to see Dan’s name in the display, but he did warn me he’d have School Pride promos set up and we’d discuss them when I returned from my “little college tour. ” I didn’t know he meant we’d talk about them the very minute I got back. My energetic agent is probably on high alert, though I suppose he doesn’t really have any other setting.
“Hi, Dan. ”
“Emma, glad you’re back. I have a tentative schedule of interviews, appearances, etcetera for you—Ellen, by the way—woot!—we can go over that in a moment, though, because first I really have to ask—are you absolutely certain about this whole college slash career-killing slash no-more-movies decision? Because I’m getting tons of calls about parts you’d be perfect for—”
“No, Dan. I’m sure. ”
“Now hear me out just a moment—the call that came in this morning was actually an action flick and you’d need some personal training to get all badass of course, but hey if Linda Hamilton can do it for The Terminator sequel—oh, I guess that’s before your time, though—” he chuckles and I take that opportunity to try to stop him again.
“Dan, seriously, I’m sure that I’m not interested. But thank you. Really. ”
He sighs in his long-suffering agent manner. “You’re killing me, Emma. Killing. Me. ”
This is not an appropriate time to laugh. Not even if I can picture the exact sad-puppy expression on Dan’s face, which is made funnier by the fact that he’s known in industry circles for being more of a piranha and less of a Bassett hound. “I’m sorry, Dan. ”
Dad, removing our luggage from the overhead bins, smiles and shakes his head. He knows Dan as well as I do.
“Yadda yadda,” Dan says, which is Dan-speak for you are saying words I don’t like.
The first interview is in a couple of days, and Graham was right—it’s just Reid and me. This doesn’t really bother me until Dan says, “You probably know there’s still widespread speculation about the nature of the relationship between you and Reid Alexander—”
“But we don’t really have any re—”
“Now, don’t feel as though you have to share anything with me—”
“Dan. There’s nothing to share. We’re barely speaking. I mean, I don’t even know if we are speaking…”
Dad mouths What? and I shrug one shoulder and roll my eyes as we stand in the clogged aisle with our carry-on luggage in hand.
“Let’s just keep that to ourselves, shall we? Here’s the deal. The studio wants you two to make nice. You can tell interviewers that there’s nothing going on between you, or leave it open by saying no comment, but you should look as though something could be going on. It’ll be good publicity for the film release if people already love you as a couple. ”
My mouth hangs slightly ajar and I snap it closed as Dad gives me an arch look. I’m acutely aware of the people crammed into the aisle in front of and behind me, waiting to deplane, so I keep my voice low. “Are you—are you saying we should pretend to be together?” I ask, teeth clenched. Oh, hell no. That is not going to work.
“Of course not! Just don’t pretend not to be together. ”
“That’s no different from pretending we are. Dan, we aren’t—”
“What I mean to say is, just don’t make that an obvious thing. ”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, eyes closed. This is a nightmare. “As in, the studio wants us to pretend we’re together. ”
“Well, okay, if you need to put it that way. ” At my silence, he adds, “Just give enough of the illusion of the possibility that you could be in love or involved in some delicious little clandestine liaison. ” It’s easy to visualize Dan leaning back in his huge leather chair behind his massive desk (which I’ve always suspected had been carved from illegally-obtained rainforest lumber). Headset in place, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair with fingers steepled, he’s swiveled to face the giant plate-glass window overlooking LA. Too many times, I’ve been on the opposite side of his desk, listening in on these short conversations with other actors. “Oh and BT-dubs, they just let me know that there’s a photo shoot for People in a week and a half. Whole cast. So clear time for that. ”
My brain skids to a stop. Whole cast. Graham. “Where?”
“Here in LA. They’re flying everyone in. ”
The upcoming sham relationship with Reid forgotten for the moment, I focus on the fact that I’ll see Graham next week. As soon as I hang up with Dan, I’m texting him to see if his agent has already given him the news.
Chapter 4
Brooke
I haven’t talked to Graham in a week. Maybe two. His graduation is in three or four weeks. I wonder if I should offer to attend. If he’d want me to. We’ve been friends for four years, and I’ve only interacted with his family a couple of times, when I was in New York. His sisters were kind of snotty. One works on Wall Street, and the other is a classical musician of some sort—a violinist or something else with strings… She plays in the Philharmonic. Or is it the New York Symphony? Same difference.
I just got word from my manager that there’s going to be a photo shoot for People next week, here in LA. Graham has to come for that. He’s the best-looking guy in the cast, which people might not know if they only see the movie—his character is a flaming nerd. Nothing like the real Graham. Well, I take that back. Graham can be nerdy, but it’s endearing, in that he-still-seems-innocent sort of way. Until you get a load of those gorgeous brown eyes staring into yours and you forget what you were just thinking. Because those eyes are not innocent.
Shit. Shake it off, Brooke.
Me: Hey handsome. Heard about the photo shoot next week?
Graham: Yeah, just heard from emma, and then my agent called and told me.
Me: I didn’t know you were still in contact with emma.
Son. Of. A. Bitch. He’s talking to Emma? When the hell did that happen? I’d hoped he’d gotten that little thing he had for her out of his system months ago. He hasn’t mentioned a damned thing about her lately. Plus, there have been intermittent rumors about Emma and Reid hooking up ever since we quit filming, though I suspect that’s all crap—none of them included any new photos.
Graham: I ran into her yesterday
Me: Ran into her, like in nyc?
Graham: Yeah. I had cara with me.
Me: Oh shit. Did she suspect?
Graham: I told her. Well actually cara told her, by calling me daddy.
My brain feels like it’s on speed. He ran into Emma. In New York. When does that ever happen? Okay, time to reassess. Emma finding out about Cara could be a good thing—just another wall between them—her on one side, me on the other. With him. I understand Graham in a way no one else can. I’ve been patient, waiting for him to see what could be between us, an
d he’s been playing typical clueless guy. Time to step it up. I am not letting Emma back in there.
Me: Wow, how did that go?
Graham: Pretty well, actually.
I wait for more and of course there’s nothing, because in addition to the tall, dark and hot thing Graham’s got going on, he’s also infuriatingly close-mouthed. About everything. I’ve had dozens of conversations with him where I feel like we really communicated. Then later, I realize that nearly everything he contributed was a question or an observation on something I said. That he’d not actually revealed much, if anything.
Like I said—infuriating. And so frustrating. In that mouth-watering sort of way.
Me: I guess I’ll see you in less than two weeks, then bed—>photo—>not speaking to him???
Me: Misunderstanding
Em: What about joe? ARGH. Calling you when I get off.
With a sigh, I cram the phone into my front pocket and reach for Graham’s hand as we stroll the last half-block to the park.
“She’s not happy, huh? If you want to go without me tonight—”
“No, I’m not going without you. ” I stop walking and pull my hand from his, crossing my arms over my chest and scowling at him.
He turns back, his eyes that rich caramel they become in the sunlight. God, he’s beautiful. But I wish he’d stop being so… complacent. Taking in my posture, he grins towards his feet and releases a pent-up breath. His expression is hypnotic when he raises his eyes to mine. “Emma. ” He steps close, tracing his fingers from my shoulders to my elbows. “Are you upset that I’m not more… possessive?”
“What? No—that’s the last thing I’d want. ” My arms loosen. The memory of Meredith and Robby last fall makes me shudder. When I talked to her a couple of weeks ago, things weren’t going well. The enraged phone calls and accusations had started up again, and her emotions were a mess. I can only hope that Robby’s angry verbal outbursts never become physical.
“Really?”
I roll my eyes a little—Graham’s notion of possessive would probably consist of a sharp glare and terse answers. “Well. Maybe not the last thing…”
He laughs. “Oh yeah? What would be last?”
I chew my lip, not meeting his eyes, until he tips my chin up. He’s wearing a cocky grin that I’m about to make cockier. “Disinterest. Goodbye. ” I shrug. “Those would be last. ”
Instead of a smug look, he shakes his head and slides his arms around me, resting his forehead against mine. My hands come to rest on his chest. “Never, Emma. ”
*** *** ***
GRAHAM
“I forgot to ask—when did you get here, and how long can you stay, and are you staying with me?” Her questions are rapid-fire, shading her cheeks a little pink.
We’ve been sitting on a park bench, people-watching. Emma’s neighborhood park boasts a man-made pond with a fountain in the center. It’s about half the size of Turtle Pond in Central Park, and it contains a collection of fat, lazy ducks. When small children toss bits of bread on the water, the ducks only gobble it up if it’s within a close enough range. Anything thrown outside of a four-foot sphere surrounding any duck just gets soggy and sinks.
“I landed in Sacramento late last night. I leave tomorrow at noon—which gets me to JFK around eight New York time. And I’m staying in a hotel downtown. ”
Her eyes follow an elderly couple who amble by on the paved sidewalk, holding hands. “Why didn’t you call when you got in town last night?” I give her a hooded look and wait for her to remember her powered-down phone. “Oh. Right. But you can’t stay later tomorrow, or another night?”
Chuckling at a small boy whose goal appears to be nailing the ducks in the head with hunks of bagel, I allow myself a private smile at the barely-discernible sulk in her tone.
“Cassie has to take Caleb for a checkup, and everyone else is working Monday, so I’ll have Cara. And I promised her a trip to the zoo since I’ve been gone or studying so much lately. ”
“Oh, of course. ” I watch her face as she pretends to watch the ducks and roller-bladers while she contemplates my responsibility to my daughter. I sense, too, the other question she isn’t asking.
“I’d love for you to stay with me tonight,” I say, and her eyes shift up to mine. “But I’d rather have your dad like me. ”
“He does. ”
“I’d rather him to continue to like me. ”
Emma stares at the ducks again, which have all paddled just out of bagel-hurling range. “I talked to him about getting an apartment instead of a dorm. ” The wind kicks up and sends a strand of hair across her face, and I automatically reach to tuck it back behind her ear. She turns to me, her forehead creased, her eyes searching mine. “I know you think living in a dorm would be more normal-girl or whatever, but I want an apartment. I’ve wanted a cat ever since Chloe made me give Hector up, and no dorm will allow that. And I want the plants Chloe said would suck up all the oxygen. ”
I narrow my eyes, sure she’s making that up. “She did not. ”
She nods, laughing. “She did. She also said they would ruin the floor, which might be true, but I don’t care. I want to try to grow things. I want to cook. And make non-flavored coffee. And leave my shoes in the living room, and bowls in the sink. And never, ever, ever use Pine Sol. ”
I pull another strand of hair from her face. Her skin is soft, and she’s so beautiful. My fingers are restless, pushing into her hair, stroking behind her ear. “And Graham, I told him I wanted more privacy than I’d get in a dorm… because of you. ”
My hand freezes. Her father hadn’t punched me in the face or tried to kill me this morning when I showed up at his door, unannounced. He hadn’t even been rude. My thumb strokes across her lower lip. “What I said before about moving into a dorm, I said because I don’t want to be one more person who hinders you living your life as it should be. I want you to be free to make the choices that are best for you, without regard to me. ”
Her small hands close over my forearm, and she leans her face into my palm. “Then you have to trust me to make those decisions. Even if some of them have everything to do with you. ” When she speaks, the vibrations of her voice travel through my hand. “Just because I consider you when I’m deciding doesn’t make it any less my choice. ”
I close my eyes. I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve her, and yet here she is.
She kisses me once—a swift, shy brush of her lips. “I’d like to come have breakfast with you tomorrow, before you fly home, if that’s okay. ”
“Yes. ”
“And tonight, you’ll meet my best friend, and she will love you, or she will rue the day. ”
I laugh softly and she does, too. “I guess I’d better make sure she loves me, then. I don’t want to be responsible for you losing your best friend. ”
***
When Emily calls, Emma walks into the hall with her cell, leaving me sitting on her bed perusing old photo albums her mom put together before she died. Emma’s side of the hallway conversation is still perfectly audible, even if executed almost completely in coarsely hissed tones.
“No, you can’t bring Joe for comparison. ”
“I know, and I’m sorry. ”
“Emily, I turned my phone off. He had no other choice—”
“No, you don’t get a vote. ”
“He’s nothing like him at all. ”
“Okay. See you in an hour. ”
She walks back into the room, her mouth screwed into a grimace. “You could probably hear all of that, huh?”
I subdue a grin and pat the space next to me. “Come here. ”
Her eyes shadowed with worry, she tosses her phone on the bedside table and comes to stand next to me. I pull her onto the bed and kiss her until she relaxes into me. “Stop worrying. It will all work out. ”
A slight pucker remains on her forehead. “How?”
“To be determined. But it will. ” Picking up the photo album, I point
to a series of photos she’d told me about—the ones taken in Griffith Park. “You look like your mom. ”
“Except for her eyes. ” She leans her head back against my shoulder. “Mom’s eyes were very dark brown, like yours. Mine are like my dad’s. ”
I use this excuse to examine her eyes again. If I was painting them, I would use a base of stormy gray, with flecks of green layered on top, and miniscule slivers of gold. “I remember thinking that when we met in the café—how you look nothing like him, except for your eyes. I’ve never met anyone with eyes like yours, and they’re the exact likeness of his—the beautiful color, the slightly tilted shape. Based on eyes alone, anyone would know you’re his. ”
“Cara has your eyes. ”
I nod. “She does. ”
“And her mother’s hair?” I nod again, watching her confusion build. “But she’s never met Cara, or called, or requested a picture, anything?”
I shake my head.
“Is Cara okay with that? Does she ask about her mother?”
“She’s fine. She’s great, in fact. Mom, Cassie and Brynn more than fill that vacancy. ”
Emma stares at the photos of the mother she lost at six. “That’s good. I’m glad. ” I watch her face from above, the way her cheeks raise a fraction with her smile. “My grandma and Emily’s mom did an okay job filling in, I think. Teaching me how to be a girl. ”
My fingers trail down the side of her face. “They did an incredible job. ” I tilt her chin up and bend my face to hers, silently praising every woman who’s had a hand in making her who she is. Even Chloe… though I’ll never tell Emma that. A truth learned from four years of literary study: nothing beats an antagonist for character-building.
***
Emily is so directly opposite of Emma in looks that I have to give myself a mental shake. Pink hair. Combat boots. Darkly-lined eyes. Emo girl with an anime bent. And a preppy boyfriend?