“Well, Tom has access to the list of directors and there’s always been a lot of cronyism in the Directors category especially. You know, buddies nominating each other and whatnot. And then he mentioned the name of one of the worst offenders of that, who also happens to be the president of the Board of Governors for the Academy.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you . . .”
“Steven Long.”
“Wait. What?” I disentangle my feet from Justin’s and rise, then walk indoors. “What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you that there’s a reason why Justin has been going to all the events without you, and it has nothing to do with trying to protect your image. He’s trying to keep YOU away from Steven Long, because face it, if you ever got in the same room with Steven Long, you’d tear him a new one. And Justin? He’s still playing the game.”
“I . . . I . . .I’m sorry. You’re crazy.”
“He wants the statue, Bev. He’s playing the game and playing nice with that asshole because he wants the statue,” she says. “That’s the only reason.”
I swallow. “I’ve got to go.”
I hang up and stare at my phone, trying to think. Steven Long is the president of the board of governors at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Justin had said he knew him. When I’d told him that he was Brandon’s father, he’d walked away without a word.
Had he been thinking he’d made a bad choice, choosing me? The mother of Steven’s kid?
I lean against the kitchen counter, my mind reeling. After that, what had happened? He’d poured it on thick, making me fall for him. Making me willing to do whatever he said, even if it included sitting quiet and hiding. When he’d gotten that binder, he said it was a piece of cake. He said he’d do whatever it took to get the statue. He’d been clear from day one, that was all he wanted.
He’s been acting. Acting for the statue.
And I’m the sucker who fell for it.
“Hey,” I hear, along with the screen door sliding shut. I turn to see Justin, staring at me with concern. “Everything all right?”
I swallow, those eyes of his daring me to believe anything other than that he is telling the truth. When he looks at me like that, how can I doubt him? “Um. Yeah. I was just thinking, now that you’re a big Oscar nominee, what’s next?”
He smiles with pride. In that smile, I can see how much that award means to him. “The nominee luncheon. On Monday. Fun times.”
I suck in a breath. “You’re taking me to that, right?”
His face falls. “Well. Nah. It’s not fun. It’s just a bunch of schmoozing with the industry. You don’t want to be there. Seriously, compared to the Oscars? It’s a drag. It’s crowded and we all have to sit there and listen to the same boring shit on how we need to keep our acceptance speeches short.”
“All right, but I really would like to go,” I press, gauging his expression carefully.
He crosses his arms. His voice is flat. “No. Lee. I’m serious. I don’t want you there. You can come to the Oscars. But not here.”
“Why?” I ask.
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. When he finally does speak, I know it’s a lie. “It’s not glamorous. It’s a lot of business insider stuff. It won’t interest you.”
Then he turns away and starts to leave.
“You’re hiding something from me,” I say after him.
He freezes. Turns. “No, I’m not,” he says at once, and then his voice turns indignant. “What? Why do you think that? Because I want to save you the boredom of this luncheon?”
No. Not just that. Because he’s lying. He’s lying through his teeth.
When I don’t answer, he throws up his hands. “Fine. Come with me. All right? Happy?”
I nod. But no, not really. It would’ve made me happy, if he’d asked me to begin with.
But now he looks angry about it. And like he’s hiding something.
And I feel everything inside me crumpling, because I know, without a doubt, that what Ava said was true.
All of this has just been an act.
All he cares about is the statue.
And he’s keeping me away from the spotlight because he knows I’ll kill those chances if I ever get near Steven Long.
So I do the only thing I know how to do.
I put on my sweetest smile. And I act. I tell him, “Come on. We’ll have fun. I just want to be with you. I want to see you work the room. It excites me.”
I yank on his jeans and pull him to me, and he goes, reluctant at first. He pulls me into a hug, his arms stiff. I can almost hear the gears in his head turning. He’s thinking about what he can do to keep me away from Steven Long.
Good. I’ll let him worry now. Worry about the big scene I’m going to make during the Oscars luncheon on Monday.
But for now, I’ll just act, like the good little wife he hired me to be.
If that’s what he wants, I’ll fucking act.
Chapter 20
Monday morning, I adjust my blazer and pencil skirt, frowning at myself.
No wonder my mother didn’t even recognize me.
I’ve lost weight since Nebraska. I’ve gotten highlighted and primped and poured into the perfect Hollywood mold. I’ve become one of them.
And I hate it.
I look like a fucking plastic model, a Hollywood Barbie. I look like those millions of Hollywood assholes who lie through their teeth to get what they want.
I’ve planned out everything I’ll say to Steven when I see him. I’ll shove the photo of Brandon in his face and tell him that I called, wrote, showed up at his studio to tell him he had a son, only to be ignored and turned away. I’ll make sure the cameras are rolling when I do. If he doesn’t listen, I’ll get the media on my side. After all, he destroyed my dreams while rising to a top, respected name in this industry. This is my one and only chance to put him in his place and maybe tarnish a little of his all-important image.
I take a breath. I can do this.
I’m not sure what will happen after today.
I know Justin will let me go, once I blow our cover. That’s not a question. I’ve felt bad about it, but I shouldn’t. He’s just been acting, all this time, and acting his way into my pants and my heart, too. So he deserves whatever he gets. The nominations are already in, and the voting is in the hands of the academy, so he’ll probably still get his coveted statue. But he’ll also have to answer to a public that will want to know why he deceived them.
And maybe I’ll spill about that, too. Maybe I’ll tell the world that Justin Avignon is so ruthless and will do anything to win a statue that he made it look like he wasn’t the completely spoiled, ruthless, egocentric, pathetic human being that he is.
But I’ve made some decisions. I’m not going back to my apartment in L.A., and I’m not going to Hollywood, either. I’m taking Brandon and going somewhere far away, somewhere quiet, where no one knows me, but where the people are real. I’ve had my eye on little towns in Texas. I think I might be able to get lost there for a while.
The door to my room opens, and June pokes her head in. “Hi. You look nice. Logan is ready with the limo.”
I smile, stuff the photo of Brandon into my purse, and thank June like it’s the last time I’m ever going to see her . . . because it very well could be.
I think June gets the picture because she gives me a raised eyebrow. “You okay?”
I nod. Even though I feel so much the opposite. I can barely breathe.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I see Justin waiting for me in his crisp suit, no tie. He looks so handsome, it makes my knees weak and makes me want to sob and rail at him, all at once.
“Hey, Beautiful,” he says to me when I reach the bottom of the steps. He puts a thumb under my chin and tilts my face up. “Everything okay?”
I nod, unable to meet his eyes.
I know he must be thinking that I wanted to go to this thing. Why do I look so sa
d? But the second I meet his gaze, doubt overcomes me.
Things have been so good. Maybe I can just live in the act.
But that can’t happen. The second he gets his award, he’ll let me go.
It’s like going off to the firing squad, getting into the limo. When we’re in there, on the way to the Beverly Hilton, he only does one simple thing. He puts his hand on my knee. And that’s all.
I start to bawl.
“Okay. What is it?” he says to me, rolling up the partition between us and the driver.
Here, alone, in a limo, with Justin Avignon, I’m reminded of all the times we’ve had, happier times. And I want desperately to forget this and just go back to it. Even if it lasts only another month. But I can’t. It’s too much, like a weight pressing into my chest. “I know why you’ve been keeping me away from anything having to do with the Oscars. I know Steven Long is the President of the Board at the Academy,” I sob into my hands.
He sucks in a breath, and lets it out. His voice is even, if a little wounded. “Yeah. All right. I wanted to protect you from him.”
“Don’t lie. You didn’t want to risk him recognizing me or calling him out because you knew he’d be just another director who’d blackball you from ever winning an Oscar.”
He shakes his head slowly. “That’s not true.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” I say, sniffling. “This has all been an act, hasn’t it? The second you got that binder, you did just what you said you would. You became the Oscar contender. And every single thing you’ve done since then was part of the act to win your award. Even fucking me.”
He presses his lips together, his hands clasped between his legs. He’s staring down at the carpet beneath his feet.
Finally, he nods.
And my heart breaks apart.
The tears are flowing freely now. “So all those things you said to, to Brandon, to make us love you? They were all an act?”
He’s breathing hard, his jaw working. The answer is everywhere in his face, his posture, the way he won’t look at me and just keeps burning holes into the ground.
And he still doesn’t say a fucking word.
The fucking coward.
“You know, I came here because I wanted to call Steven Long out while you stood there, because I wanted to bring you down. I wanted to make both of you pay, for what you did to me,” I say through my tears, wiping the nose with the back of my hand. “But I couldn’t do it. I can’t be that big of a Hollywood slimeball. And even after what you did, even though you created this deception and it is all your fault if you get caught. . . I still don’t want to see that happen to you. Because you know what? You’d fall apart. You can’t even listen to a little negative remark about your movie without getting hysterical. But I can get back up. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. I’m stronger than you, Justin.”
He lets out a shaky breath. Then he reaches over, pulls out a glass tumbler, and pours himself a big glass of amber liquid. He lifts it to his lips and sucks it down. I just stare at him, waiting for an answer which doesn’t come. He’s ignoring me.
So I shove him. “Who are you really, Justin?” He turns to me, and I shove his chest, hard, again and again. “Who the fuck are you?”
Without warning, he drops the glass and grabs both of my wrists. “I don’t know. A big fucking phony, I guess. Just like you said. Yes, I lied. I didn’t lie about what I said. Things did feel different with you.”
I swallow and loosen myself from his grip. “That’s because I’m not from here. I’m not a peacock.”
“Yeah. You’re not.” He drops his hands to his sides, wiping them on his slacks. “I am sorry, Lee. You deserve much better than anyone in this town can give you.”
A disembodied voice comes on the speaker: “We’re here, guys.”
I look out the window. Sure enough, we’re at the Beverly Hilton. “Go yourself,” I tell him. “I should go home and pack.”
“Pack?” He looks surprised, but why should he be? He can’t seriously expect me to stay around, after this? “Okay. Fine. But don’t go anywhere yet. Let’s talk about this.”
Logan opens the door as Justin gives me the pleading eyes that have pulled on my heartstrings so many times.
But I refuse to let them work that way on me, anymore. Besides, there is nothing left to say.
When he steps out, and closes the door behind him, leaving me alone in the cab on the limo, I know what I have to do.
I go to the house and pack everything Brandon and I have. I call an Uber. And I make sure that my son and I are nowhere in sight by the time the luncheon ends.
Because this swan? It’s time for her to fly away.
Chapter 21
“Yes, thank you,” I say into the phone, smiling at Brandon as he finishes up his grilled cheese, shaped with a cookie-cutter into a heart. “I’m excited to meet you.”
I hang up and make a note in my calendar: Tuesday morning at nine.
Then I look for the thousandth time at the plane tickets I printed out.
It’s been several days of working hard, sending out resumes, and scouring the internet for ideas. I’ve cleaned up Maude’s apartment as best I can. It came furnished, so none of this stuff is mine. Tonight, at six o’clock, I’m taking a flight to Honolulu.
It was a bit of a surprise. But all I had to do was Google the most honest city in America, and Honolulu came up. At first, I thought it was crazy; I’d never move to an island! But then, I started thinking it wasn’t so bad. Hawaii is beautiful, with the warm weather that had originally attracted me to Southern California. I have the money now, to at least make a start there.
Then I started thinking about how to make it work. I started applying to jobs and found a reasonable bungalow to rent, right on the beach.
My first job interview is on Tuesday. It’s for an administrative assistant position, but it’s something. And there’s an amazing preschool for Brandon right across the street from it, too.
I find my pulse skittering as I text Ava: Leaving in a couple hours. You coming over to say goodbye?
She comes back a moment later with: Yes! Just after class!
I smile. It’s been two weeks since I left Justin’s house, and I haven’t heard a word from him. Not a text, a phone call, or anything. Ava sent me a picture of him and the rest of the Oscar nominees, a sort of Class Photo they do every year, and from the death-stare he’s giving the camera, he doesn’t look happy. Well, it was just after our fight. Then, a week later, she sent me another article: Is Justin Avignon’s fairytale marriage on the rocks? Sources say that Molly Avignon may have moved out of his Hollywood Hills mansion last week.
Then, just a day ago: New reports have surfaced indicating that Justin Avignon’s whirlwind romance with his wife Molly Avignon may have been a sham to get the statue! After attempts to contact Molly Avignon to question her about her breakup with the film producer failed and this mysterious woman disappeared forever, it’s thought she might not actually exist. Justin Avignon’s office had no comment at press time.
And today there was this massive article in People: Who is Molly Avignon? It seems that everyone in the country is trying to find her.
No wonder they’re having a problem. I dyed my hair back, haven’t really left the house except to take Brandon to the park or store, and when I do, I always wear my ratty cut-offs, no make-up, and a ponytail.
I settle Brandon in for a nap. As I’m packing the rest of my stuff into a suitcase, the doorbell rings. I groan. Ava knows better than to do that, especially when Brandon could be sleeping. “Just come on in, bitch,” I hiss pulling open the door.
I step back.
It’s Logan. “Hello, Mrs. A—Miss . . .”
“Wilson. I mean, just call me Beverly,” I say, shocked. I move aside to let him come in, but he stays in the doorway. “Hi. How are you?”
He fidgets from side to side nervously. “Good. We sure do miss having you around. Justin, especially.”
&nb
sp; I snort. That’s why he called me, telling me all that.
He says, “Seriously. He’s been beside himself without you. He may talk a good game but he’s terrible about saying how he really feels. And whatever he said to you, about what he felt for you being an act? That’s the act.”
I touch my temples, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “First of all . . . were you listening to our conversation in the limo?”
He starts to pull on his collar and apologize, but I hold up a hand.
“I mean, it’s okay. But forget about that. Back up. You’re saying he was acting when he said he’d been acting?” When he nods, I laugh bitterly. “That’s warped. That’s . . .”
Hollywood. That’s just what I’d probably expect from someone in this town.
“Listen,” Logan says. “I’ve known him since he was a kid. He’s terrible about saying how he really feels. And I swear, I’ve never seen him like this. You’ve done a number on him, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be the same.”
Something like hope flickers in my chest, but I tamp it down. I can’t invest anything more in him, in this town. In Justin. I shake my head. “I can—“
“Don’t listen to me. Listen to him,” he says, pulling a small envelope from his jacket pocket. He hands it to me. It says, simply, Lee, on the front.
I narrow my eyes. “This is from him?” When Logan nods, I say, “Why didn’t he bring it himself?”
“Well. He wanted to. But he’s getting ready.” He checks his watch. “I’m due to be back there any minute to pick him up.”
I stare at him, confused.
“You don’t know? There’s a little matter of an awards show, happening tonight. You may have heard of it?”
I gasp. The Academy Awards. They’re on tonight at five. How could I forget?
I take the envelope and lift the flap. When I pull it open, the first thing I see is a check for five-hundred thousand dollars.
The other half of the money.
I don’t deserve that. I didn’t stay until the end of the agreement. But then again, he has the nomination. And he’s about to become the Academy’s next Best Director. That, I have no doubt of. So maybe I do deserve it. He got exactly what he wanted, and in some way, I might have helped him in that.
Just Fake It Page 17