by Frankie Love
Because when we played our music for Elle last month, she was in tears. Evie’s dad was speechless.
I may be here at the Grammys for my debut album—which won Album of the Year earlier tonight, by the way—but my sophomore album is going to be off the fucking chains when it drops next week.
Evie sits down at the grand piano, a spotlight on her. She looks over at me, where I hold a mic, ready to tell the story I call Gentle Evangeline.
Once she let go of the chains her mother had shackled to her wrists, the ones that led to the piano, she learned that playing doesn’t have to be about her mom at all.
It can be about her. Her alone. The place she finds her strength. Her voice.
The same way my music can be the place I’m set free.
Her fingers press against the ivory keys; the hall is filled with her amplified music.
And then I start singing the song of my heart, looking at her the entire time.
I
Hollywood Holden
Los Angeles Bad Boys
Chapter One
Holden
I knew I'd be a star. It wasn't even a matter of time; it was a matter of graduating high school and getting out of Tolling, the dead-end farming town ninety minutes east of LA where I'd spent my entire childhood.
Four years ago I did just that—and my rise to fame was fast. I'm one of those guys who has always had life handed to them on a silver platter. I showed up at auditions and got the part. Within six months I had a top-notch agent and a lead in a television pilot which was quickly trumped by a role in a blockbuster movie that became a franchise.
Now the entire city is eating out of the palm of my hand ... and I'm eating plenty, too. Pussy, that is.
Because damn, one good thing about being a celebrity is the constant stream of women begging you to fuck them.
I'd say it isn't easy being this rich, this famous, but I'd be lying. It's the easiest fucking thing in the world. I show up, smile, and flex—and it's like women all over the world need to change their panties.
But I just tell them panties are not required when it comes to me. In fact, I made a no-panty rule at my mansion. They're just an unnecessary barrier between their wet cunts and my rock-hard cock.
I like to fuck. And I tell the haters they can fuck off. I get a lot of heat for being the way I am.
Have I been called a man-whore? Sure. Womanizer? Certainly. Player? Of course.
But those names mean nothing, and they're nothing new.
I like pussy. Pussy likes me.
It's a symbiotic relationship, and I don't need anyone hating on me for having good taste.
But my agent, Trenton, thinks my reputation is a problem—most recently because of the front page article in LA Weekly about a fight that broke out at TropiCALI, our favorite bar in the city. Jude and Cassius were there as backup, but the pictures don't exactly shine the best light on me.
My fist is raised, and some asshole is fronting, pissed that he caught me with his woman.
I don't even know either of their names.
"Just consider cooling it," Trenton says, dropping the magazine on my patio table. He showed up here this morning to give me a pep-talk—or a scolding. I can't really tell. "And this ribbon-cutting ceremony tonight is the perfect opportunity for you to play nice. Show up, let the reporters get a few nice shots of you back in your hometown, without a supermodel on you arm."
"The ride home is over an hour. What am I supposed to do that whole time if I don't have a woman with me?"
Trenton raises an eyebrow. "Read a book. Take a nap. Call your mom."
I set down my cappuccino, looking out at the Pacific Ocean. God, I've got it good here in LA. I can't believe I spent so much of my life in a townhouse in Tolling when this was waiting for me. "Actually, I'll be seeing my mom tonight. I'm staying with her."
"Good. Then you don't need some girl sharing your childhood bed."
"I'm paying you to land me jobs, not give me dating advice."
"Dating? That's what you're calling what you do?" Trenton laughs. "A car will get you at three. The ceremony is at six. Wear a suit, say something nice. I emailed you a few speech options. Just make sure you mention that this was your idea, as a way to give back."
"Right. Give back." I give him an easy smile, not wanting him to guess any of the reasons I wish I were going anywhere else today but my old high school.
Tolling High was the place I made all my best memories—memories way better than I've made here, even with my topless pool parties with champagne fountains. Better than my no-strings attached weekends in Barbados with my girl of the week. Better than winning a People's Choice award for each of the last three movies I stared in as action hero Johnny Jumper, firefighter extraordinaire.
But Tolling High is also the place I lost my best friend Bex.
I haven't seen her since the parking lot at graduation—and that's probably a good thing. She let me down, and I let her go.
Some things are better left alone, and Bex was everything.
She's the reason I have the confidence I do today. She pressed me to be the best version of myself, though God knows I never listened. Even the movies I'm doing now, she'd fucking hate. She'd say I’m a better actor than a character like Johnny Jumper will ever allow me to be. She'd tell me to look for scripts that have heart, soul, meaning ... because she thought I was more than a pretty face.
But she also ruined me for relationships.
She burned me. Hard.
And damn, I've never let her go.
But hell if I'm going to say all that to Trenton.
"And I need you to make some decisions," he tells me. "We have two scripts on the table."
"Okay, I'll read them, let you know what I think."
"Hey, here's an idea: you could read them in the limo on the way to Tolling."
"Okay, boss," I tell him, waving him off as my hook-up from last night comes out to the patio in nothing but a towel.
He looks her up and down before shaking his head and leaving.
"What's his problem?" I ask her, not remembering her name.
"I have no idea, baby," she purrs, "but there's someone at the door—"
Just then Jude and Cash walk out to where I'm trying to enjoy my coffee.
"What the fuck, man? We were supposed to meet for breakfast," Jude says, smacking me on the back of my head.
I look over at what's-her-name. "Hey, you can see yourself out, okay, doll?"
She knows the drill. She smiles, not at all fazed by my lack of interest in keeping her around. "Call me?" she asks.
"Sure thing, honey."
She blows me a kiss and heads inside.
"Are you for reals with that?" Cash asks, sitting down and grabbing a croissant from the tray. My on-call cook hooks me up.
"What?" I scowl. "She was nice."
"What’s her name?" Without waiting for an answer—he knows I won’t have one—Jude laughs and pours himself coffee, then piles a plate with bacon and eggs.
"Help yourselves, chumps."
"You're the one who stood us up," Jude shoots back.
But I'm not having it. Instead, I grin. "You would have, too, if you had that sweet piece of ass in your face this morning."
Cash snorts. "I can attest that Evangeline is much sweeter to wake up to than that girl you don't even know."
Jude shrugs. "Well, I'd rather have had that than Rachel bitching at me all night."
"What now?" I ask, knowing Jude's girlfriend is 1) pregnant, and 2) a complete train wreck. And not in a manic-pixie-dream-girl way, but in a straight-up, crazy-town way.
"She flipped out, threatened to go stay with her mom for a few months. Of course, her mom’s less stable than she is."
Cash and I exchange a look. We feel for our friend, but it's like, how can you even help him? The best we can do is stick by him while Rachel figures her shit out.
"You okay with her leaving?" I ask.
"It's not the first time sh
e's left. It's just … fuck, I want the baby to be okay."
Cash nods. "I'll ask Evangeline to give her a call. Maybe they could get lunch or something? That might help?"
"Yeah, that'd be cool. She needs stability, and God knows Evie won't let her get into trouble under her watch."
It's good of Cash to think of that. Evie and Jude are cousins, and now that Cash is basically family, he does a good job of looking out for his people.
"So what are you fuckers up to today?" I ask them.
"I've got some studio time lined up with Jack again. Our album is going to be pretty tight."
I shake my head in disbelief. Cash came out of nowhere and started killing it as fast as I did in this town. Now he’s making an album with Jack fucking Harris.
"And you?" I ask Jude. "Besides worrying about your girl?"
"I've gotta try and get some investors for my movie."
"I told you, bro, I got your back." I've offered him money so many times. It's the least I can do for the guy who’s always there for everyone else.
He refuses again. "Nah. I appreciate it, but some things you gotta do on your own."
"Damn straight." I nod. "Like returning to your hometown for a fucking ribbon cutting ceremony all in the name of some good PR."
"Ribbon cutting of what?" Cash asks.
"A new theater, at my old high school."
"You gonna see an old crew?"
I shake my head, thinking only of Bex, and how she left for Northern California University at the same time I left for Hollywood. She's probably still there, finishing up her four-year degree right about now.
Probably? Of course she is, because Bex never quits anything.
Well, except for me ... and our plans.
"No. I didn't have many friends in school, to be honest."
"Really?" Jude raises his eyebrows. "I can't picture you anywhere not playing the field."
"Oh, I played the field all right. But that wasn't the question. Friends are different than hook-ups."
"So you were a player back then, too?" Cash asks.
I nod. Getting girls was never the problem.
The problem was always getting Bex.
Chapter Two
Bexley
Being a student teacher should be the pinnacle of my college career—and it was going to be, especially since I landed a student teacher gig as the drama teacher at my old high school. It’s basically everything I've worked towards the past four years.
I'm back home, at the same school my parents teach at, and totally nervous. The issue isn’t the student teaching—I'm already more than halfway through with that gig, and it’s going great.
The issue is Holden.
But, to be fair ... when has it not been?
Still, I didn't think coming to my hometown would mean seeing Holden again so soon. I knew through the grapevine that he only comes back here for the major holidays when his mom requires his presence ... but this is May. Easter is over. Nothing is happening until the Fourth of July. I mean, possibly Memorial Day weekend, but as far as holiday appearances go, no one is gonna be mad if their kid doesn't show up for a BBQ.
I figured I was safe.
I don't trust myself around Holden. I never have.
And according to the Google Alerts I receive on him (because no, I can't let him go, no matter how hard I try), nothing has changed with him in all this time. In fact, it seems like he's only gotten worse—more reckless, more dangerous.
More ridiculously hot.
And today he's coming back here to cut the ribbon on the new theater he built.
I hope like hell he doesn't show up with a supermodel on his arm … though I'm sure he will. That would be so Holden. So typical.
Charming, sexy, never-lifted-a-finger Holden.
I turn on all the lights in the school theater as my first-period students file in. It's gonna be a long day, and I know the butterflies will never fly away. The new theater dedication happens tonight at six p.m.
I'm finally getting the hang of teaching, and I’m now flying solo from first period to third period every day. But today, as I take attendance, I can't focus. Because I'm doing that obnoxious thing where I'm constantly second-guessing every life decision I've made in my twenty-two years.
Holden is seriously messing with my head.
But hasn't he always?
"Okay, everyone, let's start by doing vocal warm-ups." I lead the class of twenty-three students in a series of rhymes and facial stretches to get them ready for an improv lesson.
While one part of me is telling the kids to repeat Guh ten times, I'm thinking that it's dumb to look over my shoulder, at the past. But it's also pretty impossible not to, when I'm standing in my old high school, confronted with my past every single day.
Even these vocal warm-ups are a vortex to my past. Memories flash through my mind of Holden and I here, every day, doing this exact same thing.
Him smiling at me as we face one another in a circle, getting ready for class. Him telling me I’m so cute when I contort my face in these stretches. Me shaking my head, embarrassed by the heat rising in my cheeks when he compliments me.
Wanting him to compliment me more. Longer.
Forever.
But also knowing that I was firmly known as the goody two-shoes, a kid with two parents employed as teachers at this very building, and he was firmly known as the man-whore who didn't take anyone or anything seriously.
Definitely not the person I should have been so completely in love with.
But back then, I thought I was. Shameful as it felt, Holden had my heart—but neither of us knew what to do with information.
Today I'll be confronted with the person who made high school both bearable and unbearable.
I know saying that could come off as dramatic, but I am a drama teacher, so it's pretty much in my DNA.
Holden is coming back.
I let out a groan, then blink rapidly, shaking out my hands and feet, pretending it's all a part of my warm-up. As I karate chop the air for no reason other than it feels good, I remind myself that I can do this.
Of course I can. I'm Bex. I can handle seeing the one guy who pretty much ruined all men for me. I can handle coming face-to-face with the one man I've always regretted not getting skin-on-skin with.
I can handle confronting the one person I wish I could have a do-over with. At least, or at least most importantly, a do-over good-bye with.
I can handle Holden.
I tell the class to sit in a row, then ask for two volunteers for a round of improv.
Trina's hand shoots in the air. Of course it does. Trina is short, curvy, and the opposite of my high-school self. She's all confidence and conviction.
"Okay, Trina," I tell her. "Thanks for volunteering. Anyone else want to start?"
Luke, the smoldering dark-haired junior, raises a hand. I smile warmly, grateful that I didn't have to pick someone on my own.
Luke and Trina take center stage, and I tell them to pretend they're making lasagna until someone in class wants to take one of their places. It's going well until Kady taps out Trina and immediately blurts out that, in this scene, she and Luke are on a first date.
And then she goes in for a kiss.
"Kady, not cool," I tell her, trying not to roll my eyes at her over-the-top appeal for Luke's attention.
Of course, a classic drama class move: go for the kill shot. And I feel bad for Luke, who pulls away awkwardly to avoid the kiss. I help him out by calling for Jill to take his spot.
I mean, Kady didn't invent that move. I remember plenty of people using it on Holden back in high school. They’d sign up for drama just so they could get close to him, so they could look for a chance to kiss him in the name of acting.
But the thing is, those girls could never get Holden to make a move on stage, because the theater was the space that he and I shared.
Even if I wasn't giving him kisses, the unspoken agreement between us was that the cheerleaders
who went down on him in the locker room, or the girls who gave him hand-jobs under the desk as they tutored him in library, would never be my competition.
Not when we were in the theater.
And Holden made good on that unspoken agreement, even though I never once followed through on the other spoken and unspoken things between us.
Spoken: move to LA after high school, together.
Unspoken: give him my virginity.
Spoken: take over Hollywood, one movie at a time.
Unspoken: be a couple, a real couple, once we left Tolling.
And while some things never change—girls like Kady will always be looking for a way to hook up with the drama-class hottie—I’m not the Bex of four years ago.
I'm no longer just the girl who denied Holden everything he wanted. The girl who denied herself everything she wanted.
That insecure, scaredy-cat girl is gone, because I am a grown up. I have my life totally figured out. And sure, maybe I'm still a virgin, but I'm certainly glad I went to college instead of trying to do something as ridiculous as be an actress.
The world only has space for one Hollywood Holden.
And tonight? It's going to be fine. Holden probably won't even notice me, now that he has a different Victoria’s Secret model every night of the week.
Even though I do want him to see me.
If he did, I'd ask him to take what I chickened out of giving him so long ago. And I'd like to offer him an apology, hoping like hell that he would accept it even though I'm the one who ruined every good thing between us.
For four years I've imagined what our good-bye should have been, what he deserved. He and I saying farewell, but not with a screaming match, which is what actually happened. We should have said good-bye in one another's arms, with me giving him my virginity, and with him understanding why I had to back out of our other plans.
I've just got to get through this day at school, then walk over to the new theater and be, like, totally chill. Totally cool and calm Bex.
"Ms. Maddon?" Luke asks. "Are you okay? You stopped talking ... err, teaching?"