Resurrection

by Karina Bliss

  Which was why Lily hadn’t told her about the breast surgery, or shared recent pictures. Her mother had created enough fuss when she’d confessed to darkening her hair.

  “Norma Jean would never have become Marilyn Monroe if she’d stayed a brunette, honey.” And might have lived beyond thirty-six if she had, Lily had thought at the time. But you didn’t argue with Mom, who saw herself as a morality tale for her girls—not to work harder or make better choices, but to be more cunning about how they gamed the system.

  “I hate that you’re being exploited like this, honey.”

  The unexpected support made Lily’s throat tighten. “Thank you, Mom, it’s tough.”

  “Is it worth getting an agent? There must be some way to make money off it. I’m thinking of Kim Kadashian…and who was the other one, years back? She had a city name. London, Sydney…Paris!”

  Many people finished calls with family feeling restored and supported. Lily hung up exhausted and demoralized. Her mother hadn’t even suggested coming home. In Dee Dee’s mind, even fame’s poor cousin, notoriety, was an opportunity Lily should be staying in LA to take advantage of.

  * * *

  Three hours after she’d taken Travis’s call, Lily was climbing into the soft leather passenger seat of Dimity’s BMW coupe outside the hotel’s entrance. Waving to the Spencer-Fleming family, she said through a gritted smile, “Drive.”

  Dimity hit the accelerator. The moment they were out of sight, Lily broke down.

  “Sorry.” Removing her glasses, she groped for tissues in her bag.

  “I’d cry too,” Dimity said grimly.

  “Crying solves nothing.” Rubbing her face dry, she blew her nose and glanced at her friend. “Have you watched it?”

  Dimity’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “As much as I could stand.”

  Replacing her glasses, Lily looked out the window. “Well, there goes my last hope that it’s tasteful.” And her brave face was in place again.

  Dimity wasn’t fooled. “We’ll get a lawyer.”

  Fisting her hands in her lap, Lily watched the turrets of Sleeping Beauty’s castle disappear into the distance. “Travis is already on it.”

  “Another one.”

  Her friend was trying to comfort her, but there was no point indulging in false hope. “It’s the wild, wild web. There’ll always be a version out there.”

  Dimity slapped the steering wheel. “Fucking Travis.”

  “Been there, done that, got the sex tape.” A dollop of flippancy mixed into a vat of self disgust did nothing to make her feel better. Damn. She was hoping she’d be the perky bounce-back type. Innate fairness made her add, “He didn’t anticipate his cell being stolen.”

  “That doesn’t make him any less of a creep.”

  “Or me less stupid for dating him.”

  Since Dimity would never allow heartbreak to drive her into poor choices, she didn’t disagree. “Will you go home to Kansas…? Dumb question. It’s the first place the media will look.”

  Lily imagined every adult in her hometown watching her have sex and her stomach lurched. Get used to it. “I told Mom I won’t be visiting for a while.”

  “And there’s your silver lining,” said Dimity, who’d met Dee Dee and was so much better at being snarky.

  Lily stirred. “Have you asked Seth if it’s okay to stay? And Moss?”

  “They’ll be fine.”

  “Ask them,” she insisted. “I want them to choose whether to get involved.”

  While Dimity made the calls Lily’s thoughts circled the same drain. Why didn’t I show keener judgment? I knew Travis was a creep and still I went to Vegas and got high with him. If only I’d had the sense to keep up my modeling career when I was dating Zander, I might have weathered the breakup with my self-esteem intact.

  “Seth sends a hug and says stay as long as you like,” Dimity said when she rang off.

  If she’d learned anything, it was to not mooch off her friends. “A couple of days will be enough. I’m thinking the best thing might be to find a remote bolt-hole, disappear for a while.”

  Dimity tried to talk her out of it as she dialed Moss, but Lily stuck to her guns. “This is my problem, not yours.”

  “As usual, he’s not picking up,” Dimity grumbled, and left the singer a terse message. “Lily needs a place to hide out a couple days. If that’s a problem, call me.”

  The house Moss and Seth shared was hidden along one of the semi-arid canyon roads between the coast and Calabasas. Accessed via a hidden, winding driveway, it materialized as a single-level concrete slab of modern architecture curving around a rocky hill, landscaped with natives—sagebrush and agaves, sedges and Pacific wax myrtle.

  “I thought everyone was downsizing until the new band starts making money,” Lily commented as she hauled her bag from the trunk and started toward the massive front door.

  “The lease was prepaid for two years and unfortunately there’s no early release clause.” Dimity helped her drag the suitcase over the smooth pebbles separating the giant concrete pavers. “Moss is usually rattling around in it on his own because Seth and I spend half our time at Zander’s. It’s easier to stay there while I’m working part-time for him and Elizabeth.” She keyed in the security code beside the giant front door. “And even when they’re in New Zealand, like now, there are staff around to dog-sit Madeleine.”

  Lily wasn’t listening. “Are you sure Moss will be okay with this?” she asked nervously. She’d always avoided him, and sharing a house…

  “Fine. But he’s not home right now. He’s—” Dimity stopped with her hand on the door’s keypad. “Oh, hell. In all this, I forgot I agreed to pick him up from the gym.” She rang his cell, cursing when it went to message again. “Will you be okay if I leave you for a half hour?”

  “Yes, of course.” She already felt guilty about dragging her friend away from her many responsibilities.

  Dimity swung open the front door and disarmed the security system. “Make yourself at home. And if you’re hungry there are a lot of ready meals in the freezer. Consuela keeps us supplied.” Consuela was Zander’s cook. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  “No hurry, honestly.” She was suddenly desperate for some alone time.

  Dimity turned halfway down the path. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve met my quota.”

  But when the sound of the car’s engine faded, she did do something stupid. Really stupid.

  She went into the vast, open-concept living area, barely glancing at the shimmering lap pool visible through one glass wall. Sitting on one of the L-shaped white leather couches, she moved a floral arrangement of tortured wood and dyed grasses to the other end of the clear acrylic coffee table, powered up her laptop, and hunted down the sex tape.

  Chapter Six

  Heat shimmered off the road. Moss’s gym bag slapped between his shoulder blades and his eyes stung with the sweat dripping off his forehead. He stopped to wipe them dry, and drain the last precious drops from his water bottle. It wasn’t his nature to accept favors, and having to wait for a ride like some toddler at daycare…. He’d waited half an hour for Dimity to arrive before frustration kicked in.

  A side effect of rushing to other people’s timetables was that he’d left his cell at home, and he didn’t have his manager’s number memorized. When a gym acquaintance walked by, he’d had the bright idea of hitching a lift as far as the turnoff and running the final ten kilometers.

  Now he wished he’d factored in his brutal two-hour weights session. His legs felt shackled to dead weights.

  Replacing his drink bottle in the backpack, he walked off the road to relieve himself, re-emerging in time to see Dimity’s BMW coupe disappear over the crest of the hill. She’d forgotten, then. Maybe it was better she wasn’t home. He wasn’t in any mood to hold his tongue.

  Losing his license had seriously curtailed his freedom. Today was the final straw. Catching lifts from his friend
s and relying on Uber and cabs wasn’t working for him. He hated waiting and small talk with strangers. He needed to employ a driver.

  The thought of the pool was the only thing that got him through the last mile, and he was tossing up whether to fall in it or drink it as he keyed in the code for the front door.

  He’d talked Seth into the lease on this place, paying top dollar for Moss’s first permanent address. Wanting the best, the very best. But it wasn’t homey, it was a designer’s idea of homey. And like everything else in his new improved life, the place had proved more style than substance. A mirage in the barren landscape that was now hindering him with its inaccessibility.

  Shrugging off his gym bag, he yanked off his damp T-shirt and kicked off his gym shoes, toe against heel, leaving them on the hardwood floor behind him. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of his shorts, he walked through the living room, intent on the pool. And stopped.

  A strange brunette in wrap shorts, a purple tee and glasses sat on his couch staring through her fingers at shadowy figures on a laptop. It took him a few seconds to register those figures were naked.

  “Who the hell are you and why the fuck are you watching porn in my house?”

  She gasped and slammed the lid of the laptop shut, swiveling to face him.

  “Stormy?” he said, stunned. Then registered her pallor. “I scared you, sorry.”

  “Dimity just left to pick you up.”

  “We missed one another,” he said grimly. “I ran home.” His gaze drifted to her laptop. He had to have been mistaken. Maybe it was hot yoga or an interpretive dance video.

  Color flooded her cheeks as she rose to her feet. “I…was researching buying a car.”

  “Okay.” There had certainly been a ride involved but the chassis he’d glimpsed wasn’t metal. She was still avoiding eye contact, and he became aware of his half-naked body and his low-riding shorts. “I expected the house to be empty.” He hitched them up to be decent and held out his hand in welcome. “You changed your hair, Stormy.” In the dimly lit bar the color had been nondescript, but in daylight the dark blonde made her eyes appear even bluer behind the tortoiseshell frames of her glasses. He felt almost shy, which was fucking ridiculous.

  “It’s Lily now. Lily Stuart.” Her hand was a block of ice, her smile a half grimace. “Feel free to mention the conscious uncoupling of the double Ds.”

  Instinctively he covered that cold hand with his own to warm it. “I expect you got tired of the attention.”

  Now she really looked at him. “Yes.”

  Did she think as a guy he couldn’t appreciate the downside of being Stormy Hagen? Or judge her for watching porn? But then he had been tongue-tied for a lot of their acquaintance. He realized he’d been holding her hand too long and dropped it. “You didn’t say hello at The Comfort Zone.”

  She tucked her hands under her armpits to warm them in an oddly childlike gesture. “I…ah…didn’t want to cramp your style.”

  “Yeah?” Her self-consciousness was infectious. “I got the impression you thought my style could have been improved.” She’d never relaxed around him. He didn’t have Zander’s charisma, Seth’s friendliness, or Jared’s laidback charm. Giving both of them space, he headed to the built-in kitchen which banked one wall of the enormous living space, separated from the living and dining rooms by a granite-topped island. “I need water. Can I get you one?”

  “No. Thank you. Why aren’t you driving?”

  “Dimity didn’t complain about me?”

  She shook her head.

  “My car was rear-ended at a stoplight by a teenager who was sexting his girlfriend instead of watching the road.” He found a glass, and turned on the faucet to fill it. “The cop who’d attended the accident discovered my car registration had expired.” With everything that’s been going on with Rage and Zander, he’d missed the DMV reminder. “I’m stuck with a three-month license suspension for driving without a valid license.” The Maserati was sitting dented but defiant in the garage workshop while parts were being imported from Italy. He’d sell it the minute it was repaired. It was a crazy car to be making payments on given the current uncertainty around his career. As he drank the water he noticed a suitcase beside the kitchen island. “Are you staying?”

  She squirmed. “Dimity was phoning you to check it was okay.”

  “Since when would my manager think she needs permission?”

  “I insisted. It’s only for a couple of nights.” She twisted her hands together. “I don’t want to put you out, so if this is an inconvenience—”

  “It’s fine. Pick any empty bedroom. We have six, I think.” She was still looking anxious so he added, “Just be sure to turn off lights to save power.”

  It took her a moment to realize he was kidding and her answering smile was as weak as his joke. Had she discovered that he’d once had a thing for her? There was only one way to find out.

  “You’re weirding out around me,” he said bluntly. “Why?”

  “It’s not you, it’s…” Her voice trailed off. She glanced at her laptop.

  “Because I caught you watching porn?”

  “Oh, God.” Abruptly, she sat down again. “How much did you see?”

  And it hit him. Dazed…cold hands. This woman wasn’t embarrassed; she was in shock.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

  * * *

  You know that nightmare you have where you’re out in public and suddenly realize you’re naked? Only the nightmare is real.

  “Funny story,” Lily began. “Remember how I dated Travis for approximately one week? We made a sex tape and it’s…” To her horror, her voice broke. “…been posted online.”

  Moss’s glass clattered onto the counter. “By Travis?”

  “No, it was stolen. It’s pretty…raw.” She could feel cracks opening under a swelling of shame and self-revulsion. She’d buried Stormy Hagen and the corpse had been dug up for the whole world to see.

  Moss was staring at her with an inscrutable expression. “Is that what you were watching?”

  No longer trusting herself to speak, she nodded. She shouldn’t have looked. The images were seared on her brain.

  “Do you need ignoring or alcohol, right now?”

  “Ignoring first,” she gasped.

  Without a word, he walked through the French doors to the outside deck. A few seconds later she heard a splash as he dived into the lap pool running alongside the glass wall of the living room.

  Grief sliced and hacked its way out of her chest. Pulling a throw from the couch, she hunched over her knees, buried her face in the mohair and sobbed inconsolably. She’d always thought of herself as a survivor. Dee Dee’s daughter had learned young to ignore the eye rolls and muttered comments that followed in her mother’s disruptive wake. She would be especially nice and polite to make up for it.

  Can I carry your groceries, Mrs Mason? How’s your arthritis, Mr Finch? Even ‘living the dream’ as Stormy Hagen, she tried to stay kind, to notice and thank parking attendants, sales assistants…even the waitresses hitting on Zander. Everyone deserved to have their dignity respected. But this…how would she ever get past this?

  It was five minutes before she was cried out, ten before she was calm enough to watch Moss slicing through the water, length after length in a fast crawl.

  Her new life, her education…the work she’d put into herself, wasted. Despair swamped her and weakly, she fought her way clear, more through habit than with any conviction. You’re not falling into a victim mentality. Not ever again. In the last twelve months she’d discovered she had a good brain and she’d use it to get out of this mess. Somehow.

  Throwing off the blanket, she stumbled into the kitchen to splash water onto her face, then replaced her glasses, blew her nose and tried to think like a brave woman.

  By the time Moss returned, a striped towel wrapped around his waist, she was randomly jotting ideas on the back of a receipt. Unsurprisingly, he stopped at the open
French doors, keeping a wary distance. Water dripped onto his shoulders from his hair, diamonds beading on tanned skin. Somewhere she found a small smile. “It’s safe.” She was driving the poor guy out of his own home.

  “It’s not that.” He stepped inside. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

  “You mentioned alcohol.” There was one upside to emotional annihilation. She could have a conversation with a half-naked man whose magnetic physicality had always intimidated her and feel nothing.

  “We have bourbon, beer, red wine—”

  “Bourbon, please.”

  He went to the kitchen and started opening cupboards. Will he watch the tape? Her soul shriveled even thinking about it. Glassy-eyed, stumbling, and sad, the woman in the tape had no dignity, none. Moss’s back was beautiful, and she tried to concentrate on it but all she could see was Travis moving her naked body around as if she was a blow-up doll, tits bouncing, legs spread… Oh, God.

  “We’ve lived here a year and I still can’t find anything.”

  Giving her an opening for small talk. But she couldn’t take it. “I also researched celebrity sex tapes.” She picked up the mohair throw and brushed away the tears still trapped in the wool, avoiding his gaze. “The Hulk Hogan video was apparently viewed more than two and a half million times with fifty-seven percent watching the entire clip. And he won his case.”

  He said nothing until he’d mixed her a bourbon and coke. “A couple of months and this will be forgotten. Travis isn’t as famous as he thinks he is, and without Zander you’re not A-list anymore either.” He handed her the tumbler, waiting until she met his eyes before he released it. “It’ll be short, sharp, and painful, and then it will be over. And you’ve got a major advantage in terms of staying anonymous. You look completely different.”

  His assessment of her current status wasn’t exactly flattering but it was probably accurate. And strangely comforting. She didn’t need empty reassurances, she needed the truth from someone who understood harsh reality. No one knew what she looked— She stopped with the tumbler halfway to her lips. “When you came home you called me Stormy, which means you did recognize me in the bar. So other people—”