Kiss n Tell

by Suzy McCoppin

  I had the shot. I was kind of far away, but I knew Austin could probably blow it up in Photoshop or something. Nate bopping his head, bored out of his mind, Ashley furious, shouting at him in the middle of Les Deux. I snapped the picture. Perfection. Ashley’s mouth was wide, fangs out, her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. I snapped another. Also pretty priceless: it caught Nate in the midst of a yawn! I felt a large hand clamp heavily on my shoulder. I turned around, confused. There, looming above me was an enormous, bald, bodyguard-type with a major puss on his face.

  “You’re gonna need to hand that over,” he said, motioning to my phone.

  I tried to arrange my face into something innocent. “My phone?” I asked. He nodded. “Why?”

  “Because you’re taking unauthorized pictures of our clients with that thing, so now I’ve gotta confiscate it.”

  “This is private property,” I said, anger rising in my voice. He couldn’t possibly have the authority to steal my phone … could he?

  “Hand it over,” he said. “Hand it over or you’re outta here.”

  I started to panic. It was between the welfare of the site and the welfare of my love life.

  Both had only recently begun to blossom. It was tragic, really.

  “Everything okay?” I heard a low, sultry voice ask coolly. I looked up and there he was: Baron Fucking Caldwell. The bodyguard guy took in Baron’s protective tone, the way he wrapped an arm casually around my waist.

  “You know this broad?” the bodyguard grunted, nodding at me.

  “Yeah,” he said. “There a problem?”

  The bodyguard shook his head. “Not if she’s with you,” he said, backing away. “But beware,” he said, his eyes narrowing in warning. “Girl’s a little trigger happy with the camera phone.” He turned, squeezing his way back through the crowd.

  Baron scoffed, regarding me. “That true?” he asked, incredulous.

  I shook my head, feigning amusement. “Misunderstanding,” I managed, faltering.

  He smiled. “Nah,” he breathed, taking a step closer to me, wrapping his arms around me so our mouths were almost touching. “You’re too cool for that,” he said.

  He kissed me, first softly, then, just like last time, he pried my mouth open with his tongue. It was kind of gross, and I kind of gasped for air at first, but then I kind of got used to it. I gripped his neck in my hands, thrust my pelvis closer to his. After a minute or so, we separated, breathing heavily.

  “Let’s get outta here,” he whispered.

  “Where?”

  “My place.”

  “For the after-party?” I asked, clearly missing the point.

  He grinned. “I sure hope so,” he said, slapping my ass. I jumped, giggling.

  As we snaked through the crowd toward the special, secret, celebrity-only back exit, I wondered if I should tell Anais. Then I wondered how long it would take for her to notice I was gone. That would be an interesting test of friendship. I locked my phone and put it back in my frayed leather shoulder bag. We came to a door, chaperoned by another big, bodyguard- type, who stopped us before we pushed through.

  “There’s a lot of photographers out there, kids. Be careful,” he said. Baron groaned, collapsing against the stone wall.

  “Motherfucker,” he spat under his breath. He looked at me, squinting a little. “You’re bad luck, you know that?” I laughed nervously, my heart skipping a beat. “Last time we were together, our photo was splashed all over the Internet,” he said, smiling suspiciously. He wagged a finger at me. I couldn’t tell if he was kidding around or really pissed. “You tip off the paps?” he asked.

  I shook my head vehemently. “No!” I blurted. “I would never do that to you!” I was such a liar.

  He regarded me, smiling coyly. He chuckled. “You know I’m fucking with you, right?” he snickered. A laugh spilled from my mouth as I exhaled, relieved. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t be shy. All you’ve gotta do is keep your head down and look hot.” He winked at me, taking my hand. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said, smiling. I smiled, too.

  He pushed through the door and the paparazzi immediately shouted his name. Baron! Baron! Over here, Baron! Who’s your girl? I kept my head down like he said, my bangs falling into my eyes. Between the flashes and my hair, I had no idea where I was going. I gripped Baron’s hand, strong and smooth, and he led me through the throng. Once we reached his car, which the valet magically had ready in advance, many of the photographers gave up, but there were a few stragglers who followed us as Baron pulled out of the lot. One might have snagged a picture of my face. I started burning up. Baron blasted Journey from the pimped-out speakers of his silver Ferrari F430, tapping the steering wheel and singing along, totally unfazed by the attention.

  What if they got a picture of my face? Shit, what if my mom saw it? My dad. My dad would prosecute Baron for statutory rape. Does majorly frenching even count as statutory rape? I needed a lawyer. Baron placed his hand on my knee. My heart skipped and a sly smile crept onto my face. Something occurred to me as I stared at his manly paw against my scrawny leg: what if the Shrew Crew saw a candid of Baron and me together? How jealous would they be? How much would they totally be obliged to kiss my ass? Baron’s hand wandered up my thigh and I jumped, shifting slightly. He pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes on the road. Maybe fifteen minutes of fame wouldn’t be the worst thing…

  * * *

  We were silent for most of the ten-minute trip to his bachelor pad in the Hills. We pulled into a concrete drive next to a black Escalade. Baron shut off the car and climbed out without a word or so much as a glance at me. I shrugged and climbed out after him, following him up a rickety staircase covered in vines to his bungalow-style apartment. Inside, it was clear that most of Baron’s Bloodletting bank was funneled into his sweet-ass rides, because his place—though equipped with a brand new, seemingly untouched kitchen, a private pool, a Jacuzzi, and a pretty killer view of L.A.—was completely unfurnished. There was a grungy old couch in the middle of the room, a chipped wooden coffee table covered in pizza boxes, and a flat screen mounted above a nouveau fireplace with chords running down the wall into a messy surge protector riddled with wires. A clump of tangled X-Box controllers and multiple, half-drunk beer bottles littered the hardwood floors.

  “Living room,” Baron grunted, motioning to his abode. “Pool outside,” he continued, walking the length of the room along a wall of sliding glass doors. I followed him tentatively as he gave me the tour. He gruffly pushed open a door off the dining area. “My office,” he said, clearly bored. I peered inside and noticed an empty room save for a pile of unread scripts stacked precariously high on an old, Resin card table. He crossed the room, leading me down a short hallway to what could only be his bedroom. “And here we are,” he said, motioning to a sparse room with an unmade bed fitted to a bedspring that clearly came with his purchase at 1- 800-Mattress, a floor covered in rumpled clothes. I nodded, eyes wide, trying to look pleased, but come on. I was no snob, but he was a TV star for Christ’s sake! His place was worse than my parents’ lame-ass pad in the Valley!

  “Awesome,” I managed, smiling a little too much.

  “So,” he murmured, stepping closer to me. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” He started to lift the bottom of my t-shirt, and I instinctually clamped down on his hand, bringing the undressing to a screeching halt. He frowned. “Something the matter?” he asked, slightly peeved.

  “I—” I faltered, blushing. He dropped his hands from my waist, frustrated. “No,” I said finally. “Nothing’s the matter.” He looked me in the eye, clearly scrutinizing me. I started to tremble. Something about this didn’t feel fun anymore. It was scary.

  His expression relaxed. He touched my shoulder lightly. “I get it,” he said. “We haven’t really gotten to know each other.”

  I sighed, grateful. “Right,” I said. “Exactly.”

  He nodded, biting his lip. “Why don’t we get in the hot tub?” he asked. I frowned.
“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I uttered.

  He shrugged. “Go in your t-shirt and underwear,” he said, smiling. “I promise not to peek.” I regarded him warily. He was grinning, bearing his perfect pearly whites, his hazel eyes flickering in the moonlight.

  “Okay,” I said shyly.

  * * *

  He took my hand and led me back through the corridor, across the living room, and through the sliding glass doors to the pool. He instantly tore off his shirt, revealing his flawless, hairless, rippled abs, and dropped his trousers, a glistening god standing before the twinkling lights of Los Angeles. I placed my bag down nervously, illuminating my phone quickly to see if Anais had messaged me. Nothing. I shuddered slightly in the cool night air. Baron lowered himself into the Jacuzzi, wincing. He nestled in front of a jet and exhaled deeply.

  “Come on, get in out of the cold,” he beckoned. I unbuttoned the fly on my cutoffs as he ogled me. It was extremely uncomfortable. Even though Anais always told me how lucky I was to be skinny, I did worry, acutely aware of Baron’s eyes on me, of his masculine, cut arms slung over the edge of the hot tub, that I looked about twelve years old without clothes on. I worried that I wasn’t exactly sexy. I let the shorts drop to the ground and climbed out of them.

  Fortunately, I was rocking my one and only thong. Darlene had relented and bought it for me on a recent trip to Target so it was Fruit Of The Loom, with a thick elastic waist band. Not exactly Victoria Secret, but at least it was a big step up from granny panties.

  I scampered to the Jacuzzi, submerging myself quickly before he could get a better look. Baron laughed. “What are you doing? Hiding? Don’t you know you can’t hide from me?”

  He grabbed my leg, yanking me closer to him. I skidded across the bottom, flopping into his arms. He ran his hands over the elastic around my waist, over the uncovered hump of my butt. I pulled his hands off me, but he was too strong. I wrenched myself away from him.

  “Stop!” I shouted.

  He laughed again, “Don’t be a buzzkill, or I’m going to have to punish you.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. The water had made my oversized white t-shirt translucent. My American Apparel sports bra had seemed cool when I’d picked it out, but looking down at it now, I realized how much it looked like a training bra. I sunk further under the water, wanting to drown.

  “Aw,” Baron cooed. “I didn’t mean it! Come here,” he said, taking my hand. I let him pull me into the crook of his arm, my arms still firm across my chest.

  “What do you want?” I asked sullenly.

  He pulled me into his lap. I nearly jumped when I felt his thing poking up right between my thighs. I heard about hard-ons in health class and my mom’s back issues of Cosmo and stuff, but nothing had quite prepared me for the real thing.

  “Your ass is so sexy,” he whispered into my ear, sending a chill down my spine. I shuddered, cowering away from him. I couldn’t shake the sense that this whole thing didn’t feel right. There was a gorgeous, aroused, television hottie at my disposal, and yet I was not turned on at all. In fact, I was completely uneasy. I felt trapped.

  He took my face in his hands and kissed me, hard, thrusting his pelvis into my stomach. I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away, gasping for air. I lifted myself over the edge of the tub, reaching for my purse to check my phone. I needed Anais. But as soon as my butt peeked out of the water, Baron pulled down my undies, plunging his face between my cheeks. I flinched violently, dropping underwater and yanking the elastic band back to its rightful place around my waist.

  Baron looked tortured. “What’s the problem?” he demanded

  My jaw dropped. “You need to stop,” I said firmly. He lifted his hands in surrender, appearing stunned and a little bit spurned. I stepped out of the hot tub angrily, swiping my phone off the ground. This time, thank the Lord, there were messages from Anais:

  Been looking for you everywhere!

  Where the HELL are you?

  It was quarter to 1 a.m. We seriously needed to get home. More importantly, I seriously needed to get away from Baron Fucking Caldwell. I replied:

  At BC’s house in the hills.

  HELP!!!

  Hopefully, she’d get the message and figure out a way to rescue me. I heard Baron get out of the hot tub. Without making eye contact, I scrambled to pull on my cutoffs. My legs were soaked and the shorts got caught on my thighs. I yanked with all my might to no avail. Suddenly, Baron grabbed me from behind, wrapping his arms around me tightly, pushing his crotch into my ass. Caught with my cutoffs around my thighs, I stumbled forward, falling to the ground, skinning my knees and the palms of my hands. Baron laughed.

  “Uh-oh,” he said, dropping to his knees, straddling me. “Someone’s in a compromising position.” I flipped onto my back, pulling the shorts as hard as I could. He crawled on top of me, leaning in to kiss me. I turned away from him. He laughed cruelly and sucked on my neck instead, slurping like a dog. Finally, the cutoffs gave way, shooting over my butt. I buttoned my fly, wrenching away from Caldwell’s face. He put his mouth right up to my ear. “You’re gonna give me some,” he said. “I choose you, I take you home, you give me some. Got it?” He ran his hand down my body and brought it to his shorts, removing his penis. I scowled at him, fuming, my heart pounding out of my chest, trying to avert my eyes from his nasty, purply wang. Baron Fucking Caldwell or not, I refused to lose my virginity to some disgusting pig in the grass at his mediocre Hills bachelor dump.

  “No. Fucking. Way.” I sneered, kicking him in the crotch three times, punctuating each word. He shouted in pain, gripping his balls, and collapsed onto his back. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my bag, and ran as fast as I could. I made my way around the house, jumped the banister of the rickety stairs and flew down, two, three steps at a time. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I ran, barefoot, down the hill at full speed. I had to leave my precious gladiator sandals behind as collateral damage. Baron didn’t bother to chase me, though I heard him shouting from the railing of the stairs.

  “Fuck you, you dumb slut! Stupid Hollywood skank!”

  I cringed as his voice echoed in the canyon. As soon as I cleared the house, I stooped behind a crooked palm tree to catch my breath. My hands shook violently as I patted around the lining of my shoulder bag for my phone. Once retrieved, I frantically dialed Anais’s number. One ring. Two rings. On the third ring, I swear to God, I peed a little.

  “Vaughn, what the fuck?” Anais shrieked into the receiver, the sounds of drunken chatter swelling in the background. Tears sprung to my eyes. I shivered, my teeth clacking together.

  “Hi,” I whimpered. Anais was silent for a second. “Vaughn? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “I’m hiding in a canyon.”

  “What? Where?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked around for a street sign. “Macapa Drive,” I murmured, managing to keep my voice steady. “I think I’m near Mulholland.” I could hear the cars swishing below me.

  “Okay, we’re coming,” she said, urgency rising in her voice. I crumbled, disconnecting the call. I didn’t want her to hear me cry. I was sick of burdening her with the stupid consequences of my stupid decisions. I slid down the trunk of the tree, pulling my knees into my chest. I wiped my eyes. I needed to look on the bright side, get in a better humor before Anais arrived with Austin, her adoring male sidekick.

  I always knew guys were assholes. Love songs, movies, and TV kind of hammered that sad fact home. But after that night, I knew from experience, which was a hell of a lot more valuable. I might as well have been like one of those damaged glamorous girls, all aloof and brooding. I sniffled hard, taking a deep breath. I couldn’t let that piece of shit make me cry any more than I already had.

  I was over it.

  I was over it all.

  14.

  RESCUE SQUAD

  Anais

  It wasn’t easy getting a straight story out of her. We pulled up to the corner of Mulholland and Mac
apa, and Vaughn was nowhere to be found. I got out of the car and whisper-shouted her name. It was dark. I could barely make out the road. I tiptoed up Macapa shakily, freezing at the sound of every snapped twig or scuffed patch of gravel. On the phone, she had sounded distressed, but I couldn’t tell if she was truly in danger or just being a drama queen. Familiar with her track record, I assumed it was probably the latter, but something about the tenor of her voice set me on edge, like maybe it was the real deal this time.

  “Hey,” said a grim voice, clear in the near-silence of the canyon.

  I jumped, gasping, clutching my chest. “Vaughn? Is that you?” I exclaimed.

  She sighed. “No. It’s Lee Harvey Oswald. Of course it’s me,” she snapped. I exhaled, relieved, but didn’t appreciate her sarcasm. I was the sarcastic one, not her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Where’s the car?”

  I shook my head, confused. “It’s down there,” I said, pointing a few yards down the road. She headed toward it, her chin held high. “Vaughn,” I pressed, “on the phone, you sounded terrified. Was that just bullshit?”

  Vaughn stopped and turned to face me. “I’m fine,” she said.

  But she wasn’t fine. Something was up. I trudged after her, frustrated, pondering the root of her anger. Because that was how she was acting: angry. I realized, to her, it probably looked like I had abandoned her to hang out with Austin, but that wasn’t entirely true. For one, I was defensively trying to avoid getting abandoned by her for Baron Caldwell. I couldn’t compete with a TV star, even if I was her best friend. And I was fine with that, at least in theory, but I knew if I actually subjected myself to it and she ditched me for that d-bag, I would have been seriously peeved and maybe a little bit wounded. So I stayed with Austin. And as much as I’d like to say we were hanging out and flirting and getting to know one another, the truth was, it was all business. We got some shots of Rihanna in a wacky outfit only she could pull off, we caught Liam Hemsworth looking way worse for the wear, and we threw in a few shots of the Playboy bunnies just in case they proved to be worth something.