by N. N. Britt
“Yep. We’re leaving in an hour. I’m taking a shower first.”
“You always take a shower first.”
“When your hair is longer than mine, we’ll discuss it,” I said, heading for the bathroom.
“Screw you, sis!”
Yep, little asshole was definitely my brother.
On the way to West Hollywood, we blasted Killswitch Engage and sipped home-brewed coffee from Metallica travel mugs, courtesy of my partner in crime, Levi Bernstein.
“How about we check out some cars next weekend?” I offered as my Honda merged with the morning traffic on Franklin.
“Sure.” My brother’s answer seemed very unenthusiastic, considering the fact he’d been constantly giving me grief about having to take the bus to school. Not as much lately, but it had seemed like almost every five minutes right after I returned the BMW. With Dreamcatchers monopolizing pretty much all my time, I couldn’t find any to shop for a new car for Ashton, but it was next on my agenda.
I lowered the volume. “Are you still mad at me? I thought we were over this.”
“My heart is in pain.”
“It’s just a car, Ashton. I said we’ll get you another one and we will.”
“It’s not just a fucking car. It’s a goddamn Z4.” He tossed his hands in the air. “Do you know how many people drive a Z4 in my school?”
“How many?”
“None, dude! None! Cuz I was the only one until you robbed me of it. My pride and joy.” He followed up with a pout.
I shook my head and turned up the music. “What would I do without you, Ashton?”
“You wouldn’t have anyone to yell at, and your couch would smell nicer.” He turned to me and grinned, all teeth on display.
“Uhh, about the couch. You’ll have to buy me a new one when you move out, buddy.”
“You took my car, and now you want me to buy you a couch. What am I? A winning lottery ticket?”
“No, you’re a responsible adult. Well, you will be because I’m going to make one out of you.”
A middle finger flashed in front of my face.
“I take it back.” I laughed at him. “I think you’re going to stay a man-child forever.”
“I like being a man-child. I’m gonna find myself a sugar mama.”
“Jesus, where do you get these ideas?”
“From my sister.”
“Asshole.” I shot him a sideways glance.
“Runs in the family.”
I bit back my smile and concentrated on the road. Having someone around, even if that someone was a total dud like my brother, was nice. His antics made me think of Frank a little less.
A small group of people were hanging out on the sidewalk when we reached the theater forty minutes later. Hall Affinity tees and limited edition Dreamcatchers merch lingered in the crowd while security guards lined the barricaded front entrance. The sun was perched high in the sky and the promotional poster above the marquee was bathed in its bright morning light.
Ashton snapped cell photos as I drove around the building and parked in the back near the trucks. Levi was already inside, talking to the sound engineer. He wore his favorite Doc Martens, and a poorly ironed dress shirt peeked from under his black hoodie. The dark shadows beneath his eyes told me he’d slept just as much as I had in the past twenty-four hours. Theater employees and event staff hurried to get their tasks done. People were everywhere—upstairs on the private deck, downstairs on the main floor, inside the auditorium. Their agitated voices mixed with the rattle of the rolling equipment cases and the buzz of the background music.
In the lobby, Carlos was taking photos of sponsor stands and humming along to the new Green Day tune.
“What are you doing here so early?” I questioned.
He dropped his camera from his face and flashed me a smile. “Documenting.”
I glanced at my phone. “We still have six more hours to go until the doors open.”
“You’re here.” He shrugged. “Levi’s here. Ash-man’s here.”
“Is that what my brother wants to be called now?” I rolled my eyes.
“Everyone needs a cool name.” Carlos shook his head and continued to snap photos.
I pulled up the planner app on my phone and verified all the tables. My heart raced. It was happening! After months of driving myself and everyone around me, including my mother, crazy, our hard work was finally paying off. Today felt like a dream. I just wasn’t sure whether it was a dream come true or a nightmare.
Were people going to like the film? Were critics going to slam us?
Tucking my phone into the front pocket of my fitted dress slacks, I crossed the lobby and walked outside. Carlos followed.
We made our way over to the sidewalk and stood for a silent moment staring at the massive film poster above the marquee, a black and white image of Isabella in her chair shot from behind against a shimmering, smoky background. An old dynamic microphone was erect on the opposite side of the frame. It’d taken Carlos almost five hours to get the angle and the lighting right. Haunting and exquisite, the photo made a statement. Hanging high above the affluent and trendy area of Sunset Boulevard, it challenged the entire industry. It challenged the minds and the eyes of people in luxurious cars taking this road every day.
“My best fucking work,” Carlos said quietly, knocking my shoulder.
“It is,” I agreed. “A picture is worth a thousand words, right?”
“This one is, Cassy.” He spun around and stepped back into the barricaded area. His camera flashed.
I raised my hand to block my face, but it was too late.
“Come on, you can’t take photos of me without permission,” I teased.
“Don’t worry. You look awesome.” He winked and hurried inside.
All the caffeine I’d consumed earlier made me jittery and I imagined others could probably tell by the tremor in my hands and the shake in my voice, but my brain was as sharp as ever.
Gazing back up at the poster, I soaked in the invisible power of the artistic rebellion it represented. The memories of our last week’s rehearsal flashed through my mind. At nineteen, Isabella had everything thousands of other artists spent years perfecting—stage presence, amazing voice, dark charisma. She was destined for greatness and I wasn’t going to let anyone take that greatness away from her.
Emotions tightened my throat. Certain stories had that effect on me. Stories about people who dared to keep going. Even when the odds weren’t in their favor. Isabella’s was the one that had to be heard. Raw, honest, real. A journey that deserved every ounce of attention it was getting and more.
Lately, I’d been wondering if Frank and Isabella had come into my life at the same time for a reason, if these two choices were given to me to help me decide which road to take and how to spend the rest of my life. With a man who’d given up or surrounded by people who didn’t accept failure as an option. It was a tie between love or an opportunity to make a difference, and the inability to have both hurt too much. In the end, I knew I’d made the right call. I’d chosen wisely. I’d stapled the holes in my broken heart and had picked a person who needed me more, a person I strived to become.
The wall of approaching whispers snapped me out of my daze. In my peripheral, I noted a group of teens. Eyes starstruck, phones flung in the air, they looked harmless, but my gut told me to run. So I did. I charged for the door and hid away from the wannabe paparazzi in the lobby.
Isabella and her team arrived later in the afternoon. She had two back-to-back interviews at two and three fifteen, a soundcheck at four thirty, then makeup and hair. The doors were scheduled to open at six, the screening itself was set for seven. After that, a thirty-minute live set and a Q&A session with the producers and artists would take place. I was part of the panel and the idea of other people, specifically the press, asking questions unsettled me.
By five, the crowd outside the theater had grown to apocalyptic proportions. The Jay Brodie PR team was going for a
kill with this campaign, but I never would’ve imagined that this many would actually show up.
I watched bits and pieces of the soundcheck from the lobby while trying to verify last-minute additions to the guest list with Linda.
“You need to take a break,” she whispered, her palm covering the screen of my iPad. “Did you have lunch?”
“Yes.” I reached for the clipboard she was holding. An iced coffee and a handful of almonds isn’t going to cut it, girlfriend, my stomach bellowed. When she gripped it tight, I asked, “Can I see that again?”
Linda didn’t budge. “I know this film is your baby and you want to make sure tonight is perfect, but you need to relax.” She jerked the clipboard away. “Please go upstairs and take a break. We have a long night ahead of us. My girls will handle the red carpet attendees and all the press check-ins. It’s not your job. You’re the producer. Your job is done. Now you get to sit back and watch.”
Producer. The word hung in the air between us, exotic and glamorous.
“If someone had told me eight months ago that I was going to give birth to a nonprofit documentary, I would’ve laughed in that person’s face.”
“Oh, dear.” A cunning smile touched Linda’s lips. “Life tends to throw us all sorts of opportunities. I danced ballet for six years until one day, a new door opened. I took a leap of faith and never looked back. There’s nothing else I’d rather do than what I’m doing right now.” She motioned at the people behind the glass doors.
Linda’s confession shocked me. She was wearing a knee-length pencil skirt and a suit jacket, not exactly artsy attire.
“Ballet? Really?” I tried to imagine L.A.’s biggest PR shark in a tutu, doing pliés and pirouettes. The image was downright disturbing. “You never told me.”
“I prefer to keep that part of my life to myself.” She laughed.
The music stopped. Sparse claps rang out from the auditorium. The soundcheck was over, and anxious voices along with some of the newly arrived VIPs moved to the lobby.
Then my heart stuttered and began a slow descent to the floor. Across the way, I spotted Janet’s silver hair among the cluster of bodies. Craning my neck in the direction of the group to make sure my sight wasn’t playing tricks on me, I reached for the clipboard Linda was holding. “Let me see that?”
“Cassy, I told you that you should take a little break,” she protested.
I skimmed through the names of the guests, unsure of whom I was actually searching for. “How come you didn’t tell me Frank’s parents were going to be here?”
“It was a last minute thing.” Linda gave me a tight-lipped smile.
I turned around and noted Billy’s bright colored ruffle shirt. He looked like a watered-down version of Alice Cooper. The only thing missing was the cane and a top hat. The man was obviously a great showmanship role model.
Isabella was in the center of the gathering. A few phone cameras flashed, then everyone started to slowly disperse. I saw her then—the woman from the photo that someone who wished to remain anonymous had emailed me a few weeks ago. She stood next to Janet. Baggy pants and short hair. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.
A blend of panic and disappointment rammed up my throat. I swallowed past the tightness and took a deep breath. As if on cue, Janet separated from the crowd and ushered the woman over to me.
I was a ball of nerves when they approached us.
“Such a wonderful theater,” Janet started in a sweet, breathy voice, her gaze bouncing between me, Linda, and the coffered ceiling.
“Thank you. I didn’t know you were coming.”
She dodged my statement. “I don’t think you’ve met Alisha.”
“No.” I willed myself to smile at the woman. Up close she looked much older than in the photo. Although the quality of the image wasn’t the best. I couldn’t even tell where it’d been taken. The two were sitting somewhere. On a bench? A couch maybe? “I don’t believe so.”
A hand was extended to me. “Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you,” the woman spoke, her tone soft.
“Really? You have?” Taken aback, I slid my palm against hers and shook it. My mother raised me to be a polite person, even during questionable moments. Like the one right now.
The madness unfolding both outside and inside the theater was unfathomable. The noise, the cameras, the staff running around, the fans pushing against the barricade. I couldn’t wrap my head around the chaos or around the fact that a woman who’d apparently been spending time with my ex-boyfriend was here. The question of why danced on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t get a chance to ask it because the screams were suddenly amplified by thousands.
A storm of flashes illuminated the red carpet and the press plunged toward the limo that rolled up to the front.
Heart in my throat, I stepped closer to the doors and stared at the warzone the sidewalk had just become. My fingers felt clammy. My pulse rushed. I’d forgotten about Janet and Alisha.
While our VIP guest list consisted of a few very influential people in the music industry, those weren’t the names that caused people to lose their minds. Outsiders didn’t know or care for Gary Torino.
Roman’s bald head lingering behind the string of security came into my line of sight first. Then Frank emerged from the crowd moments later. He was all light. His presence stole the attention of the entire block. Dressed in black pants, a fitted shirt that highlighted the fine contours of his body, and a plain leather jacket, he looked sophisticated. There was no excessive jewelry or boots with metal studs. Almost as if he wanted to strip himself of all the attributes of his past persona.
I stood in my spot by the door and stared at him through the thick tinted glass with my restless heart pounding so hard, its furious beats didn’t allow the oxygen to reach my lungs. The air around me grew tight. I could feel its weight on my shoulders and against my chest. Frank stopped in front of the barricade and went through the throng of hands that were thrust at him, shaking them one by one. Linda followed him like a hawk, occasionally whispering something in his ear as if they were conspiring to do something outrageous. I was so distracted that I hadn’t even noticed her leaving my side.
He didn’t walk the red carpet nor did he pause for a photo op. Roman led him past the reporters and straight into the theater. The noise sneaked inside at the quick swing of the door. Screams, thuds, and clicks drowned out the wild thunder within my chest for a brief moment.
I had to remind myself to breathe when Frank entered the lobby. Anxiety swirled in my stomach. Then his sharp gaze wandered over to me.
Avoidance and fear clutched my gut. I wasn’t prepared to face him like this after three months of silence, with rabid fans right outside and event staff breathing down my neck. My mind tripped and blanked with panic.
Our eyes met. His were disarming, sober, and full of determination. Chin hitched, I accepted the challenge. Crowds were his specialty, but he was also a great teacher.
He started his approach and the closer he got, the blurrier everything else became. I was in a bubble. His bubble, where the sound of our surroundings didn’t exist and the space between our bodies was filled with tenacious heat and wanton memories.
“Cassy,” his voice said as he neared. “Hi.” Then came a smile. Gentle, intimate, sexy. The kind that made my ovaries melt and my brain short circuit.
Here it was again. The full Frankie Blade effect. The electricity, the fireworks, the zippity-zap that tumbled down my spine. My knees shook and my high-heeled shoes felt like two bricks encasing my feet. The entire world fell away, leaving me one-on-one with the man I thought I’d managed to forget.
The rapid thrum of my pulse told me I was wrong.
Totally useless inside my mouth, my tongue finally moved. “Hello, Frank.”
A slew of voices drifted at me from across the room. Isabella’s was the loudest. Then suddenly, we were encompassed by a group of raging teenagers. Andy wore a Texas-sized grin. Ashton’s
goofy smile peeked out from behind Kit’s dark mop of hair. Slightly intimidated by Frank’s presence and the madhouse on the opposite side of the glass, Story stood back. Their conspiring gazes didn’t escape me.
This felt a lot like treason. Hands were shaken. Embraces were exchanged. Janet was hovering.
“What’s going on?” I cast a threatening glance at everyone. My heart bounced against my ribcage like a tennis ball.
“I’m sorry. I planned on telling you earlier, but things got crazy.” Isabella looked at me innocently through her lashes, then gave me a subtle shrug. “He wasn’t supposed to arrive until after six.” She half-laughed, half-grimaced at Frank.
Something passed between them. Understanding? Familiarity? I didn’t quite catch it, but it was there. In the air. Invisible yet tangible.
“I didn’t want to be late.” He winked at her and returned his attention to me. “Traffic.”
His features remained lax, but his eyes gave away the turbulence of his thoughts.
“Traffic, huh?” I shot him a dubious look and pulled out my phone. “How come he’s not on my list?” My question wasn’t addressed at anyone in particular. First, I didn’t understand why Frank was here. Second, I didn’t understand why no one had informed me about his arrival. Third, I didn’t understand why others knew and I didn’t.
But then we were interrupted.
“The doors are about to open!” Linda hurried us away from the entrance. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.” She patted Frank’s shoulder and smiled at me.
I needed answers, but there was no time for explanations. The lobby came alive as Roman steered us into the hallway, away from the general admission ticket holders. Frank and I marched shoulder to shoulder, our bodies almost touching. I felt his heat. I caught his scent. I heard his breath. It was the strangest thing, to be able to separate him from everyone and everything else in this ruckus.
We meshed with another group of people. More handshaking, more smiling, more I’ll catch you laters. Everyone wanted a piece of Frankie Blade. No one cared he’d wreaked drunk havoc at Dante’s party three months ago. He was wanted, adored, and forgiven. Just not by me. I still hurt from all the ugly words he’d said at that party.