Jocelyn,
I know it’s been forever, but I’ve missed you. How have you been? I just wanted to know if things were better. I hope so. I love you.
Forever,
Marissa
After not speaking to her for over a year, she showed up at my mom’s house while I was home on summer break from college. That night sitting on my childhood bed, she tearfully confessed she felt trapped. Everything I’d warned her of was happening to her. She said he still spoke of me as the one who got away, and that terrified me. When she said he’d planned a wedding for them, my only advice was to leave him before it was too late.
Last I heard, she went through with the wedding, I’d lost my dearest and best friend to someone who couldn’t legally be within five hundred feet of me.
Tears welled in my eyes as the ache of loneliness intensified. I hit Send and slammed the computer shut. I was going to take a bath and drown the memories out with some loud angry music. I moved my iPod dock into the bathroom and selected a list of songs with heavy guitar riffs and loud voices before relaxing into the hot bathtub.
When the water turned cold, I reluctantly climbed out of the tub and got ready for bed. I was exhausted and the idea of curling up under the covers appealed to me more than ever.
Sleep didn’t come though. I tossed and turned, my mind unable to rest. The wall I erected that was my husband’s infidelities, my loneliness, and fears for the future, crashed down on me at once. I realized sadly there was no one here for me to lean on, except Andrew. The man I had an undeniable attraction to was the only thing holding me together. I yanked a plush pillow over my face and screamed. When that didn’t alleviate my frustration, I drug myself out of bed and picked up my phone.
He answered on the second ring. “Billy, I can’t sleep. Take me sightseeing please.” Now seemed as good of a time as any to go sightseeing.
“Little lady, I can’t drive, I’ve been drinking. But if you want to come pick me up, I’ll go. I’m just down the street from the hotel.”
“Okay, as long as you’re not too drunk to guide me home,” I said, worried.
As we sat in traffic on the famous 101 Freeway, gridlock was worse than I had seen before. These people could have all walked into Hollywood quicker.
One frustrating hour later, we reached my intended destination, Hollywood Boulevard.
“What do you want to do on this filthy, tourist trap of a street?” Billy questioned.
“First, I want to visit the historic Mann’s Chinese Theater, and walk along the avenue of the stars, perusing—”
Billy bolted up in his seat when I almost took a turn into a crowd of people in a crosswalk. “Watch out!” His voice rose several octaves. “Holy mother of God, I’ve met better drunk drivers.”
“I never claimed to be a good driver, but I wasn’t about to hit them.” I laughed at the look of exasperation he shot me.
“I’m driving back to the hotel.”
“Works for me.” I continued to beam at him.
As my car crept down Hollywood, I kept vigil for a parking spot. Handicapped, no parking, red curb, red curb, no parking… I soon realized, unless I paid for a parking garage, I would have a new reason to be frustrated. My drive was supposed to calm me, not infuriate me.
“Public parking five dollar flat rate.” Did I read that right? My hands already turned the car into the lot before I realized what was going on. Compared to Boston’s exorbitant parking structure rates, this was a steal. I felt better already.
The tourists didn’t seem to change from one coast to the next. Hoards of people, families, groups of exchange students, and friends dressed in their shortest and tightest attire, were all crowded on a tiny, dirty strip of Hollywood Boulevard.
People would stop at one of the salmon colored cement stars laid into the sidewalk to take a picture of someone they respected. Some would even place their face on the star and present a thumbs-up for the camera. I blinked disbelieving. Could they not smell the urine and garbage? A rather large man in a caped crusader costume passed by almost running into Billy. Several people stopped him for pictures.
“Why in the world would anyone want a picture with a random stranger in a party store costume?” I gawked.
“Girl, I have no idea.”
It was a great feeling to be around Billy. There was no sexual tension with him. He draped an arm over my shoulder, and we sauntered down the sidewalk.
The popular tourist destination was littered with head shops, and repetitive, terrible cheap-looking souvenir shops sandwiched between abandoned stores, selling plastic Emmy awards for best dog walker, house sitter, or whatever else you could come up with—it could be yours for the very low price of $49.99.
A vagrant missing both hands sat atop one of the stars. He was chanting and caressing the ground with the stubs of his arms. Curiosity had me wondering what name he was sitting on, but not enough to interact with him.
“At least you don’t want to take a tour of stars’ homes,” Billy commented as we passed by a line of people waiting to board a white van with its top cut off. “You are such a tourist. Look at you all wide-eyed.”
“I’m not wide-eyed.” I slapped his arm. “I’m mortified this is called a tourist destination. Come on, let’s go home.”
****
At home, most nights, I was sandwiched between a dog and the big bear arms of my husband, both snoring. Only painful memories of him remained. What used to provide comfort now served to remind me of my failures and loneliness. On the other hand, waking next to Andrew felt natural and provided the most relaxing sleep I have gotten since I landed in this state.
Truth be told, it was the most relaxed I had been in months. Knowing I didn’t have to fight for my marriage any more or pretend everything was okay was remarkable and freeing.
Monday came and I arrived on set at the crack of dawn yet again for a meeting to go over the details from Saturday. I mean, really, they could trust their cast to understand what was said at the pervious one, let us sleep a precious extra hour, but nope. Here I was pulling into the parking garage at six thirty in the morning. The security guard remembered me and waved me on with a passing “Break a leg today, Mrs. Pearson.”
Chapter Eight
As I was getting laced up in wardrobe, I overheard a few of the crew speaking about Andrew. Not wanting to look like I was eavesdropping, I turned my back to them. There was a wail of laughter before a man’s voice responded, “Haven’t you noticed, there are extras on set now?”
“Yes?”
The guy sighed and tried again. “There are female extras on the set… They will work a couple of days and then be gone. It’s quite a racket really.” He chuckled.
Still no response from the girl who’d asked the question, and I didn’t understand what he was getting at. I snuck a glance at him in time to catch the eye roll.
“Christ Ally, you really haven’t heard the rumors? They’re all true. He’s like a kid in a candy store when there are new cast involved. He can sleep with as many as he wants and not have to worry about calling them again because they’ll be gone. They can’t even get on the lot to bother him afterward. It’s hilarious, just watch for him when he comes on set. You can always tell whom he woke up next to that day. They are both always late. We even have a pool going. So far I’m up thirty bucks.”
I froze holding my breath hoping my near-panic attack wasn’t drawing attention. Were they talking about me? Had I developed a reputation on the set and not even deserved it?
My breathing hitched erratically as I forced air into my deprived lungs. The pounding in my ears grew so loud it was deafening. I tried desperately to control it so I could listen for a more clear indication as to whom they were talking about. I had to think of a way to quash whatever rumors might be starting.
“He’ll walk in with whomever the unlucky girl is following him panting like a dog in heat. Then he’ll smack her on the ass, and that will be the last communication she ever has with h
im. He will treat her like a pariah from then on.”
I was so confused and disgusted. He was proving to be the exact person I first imagined him to be. A womanizing pig! But why had he never acted like that around me? We spent quite a bit of time together without him even attempting a move on me. It seemed like he tried everything in his power to keep anyone from knowing where he was the night before last.
I tried to justify his actions. Maybe they were wrong, some jealous ex gave him a bad reputation and ever since, when he was friendly with a girl, the false rumors flew. I walked away and twisted my body around so I could watch the room out of the corner of my eye.
When Andrew sauntered in moments later, it was the exact picture the guy described. He was un-shaven and his hair was awry atop his head. A few strands rested in neat little curls across his forehead.
Right behind him was a long-legged blonde with a glazed look in her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a knotted ponytail like she overslept and tossed it up to conceal the tangled mess he’d caused. She was on his heels reaching out to wrap her hands around his arm when he turned around and smacked her on the ass. I heard what he said to her as clear as day.
“Run along and join the others, I’ve got important things to do now.” He had a smirk on his face but otherwise appeared indifferent. She stared blankly back at him before snaking off in shame to the designated holding area. The way he said it made my blood boil. It sounded like he was telling her what they did was unimportant. It was condescending, and I was disturbed that it made me think of Dan.
My mouth popped open as I stared in disgust at him, not bothering to hide my shock. He turned around to one of his friends with the obvious intention of male bragging, but his gaze trailed to mine. His expression changed to one of mortification. He stood there when his friend prodded for details of his night. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and walked away without answering.
Who in the world was this person? This wasn’t the same Andrew who held doors for me, who grabbed breakfast for me, and carried it out to my car when my hands were full. This was somebody I should hate and avoid like the plague.
I ran off then to find Billy, the wholesome nice guy who would never think to treat his boyfriend like that.
****
The director trudged through the action-packed fight scenes and positioned Andrew and I closer together than I would have liked. His now-clean appearance either indicated the makeup artist got hold of his beard or he had been to his trailer to clean up sometime during the morning.
His gaze lingered on me, trying to catch my attention. I managed to ignore him, but he was relentless with the pressure. If he continued this way, he’d burn a hole in the back of my head. Without a word, I turned toward him. He had a look on his face like I’d never seen before. His jaw was set, eyebrows were tight together, and there was a deep wrinkle in his forehead.
“Hey—” he whispered.
I shook my head, still disgusted. It was difficult to decide if I was angry with him because he’d pretended to be someone he wasn’t around me, or because he treated women with such disregard. Both explanations seemed reasonable to me.
“Action!” the director shouted. I was grateful Andrew had to move and didn’t have a chance to say anything else to me. We got the picture in one take. I rushed off set, determined not to speak to the asshole again.
****
Each day felt like déjà vu over and over again. Tuesday, Andrew strolled in with a longhaired Asian girl following behind, a big grin on her face. The flavor of Wednesday was a voluptuous brunette. Once again he was wearing the same clothes he left the set in the day before, hair a mess all over his head. I didn’t even stick around to see the show today, I already saw more than my stomach could handle.
Later, while joking with Whitney, a firm hand cupped my shoulder from behind. I spun around expecting to see Billy but met Andrew’s worried face instead. “Can I talk with you a minute?” he mumbled in a low voice.
“Yes. What is it Andrew?”
He looked from me to Whitney and back again, obviously not wanting to speak in front of her. She got the hint. “I should go find Billy. I still owe him some money that I borrowed,” Whitney stuttered.
I sighed and closed my eyes before turning back to face Andrew. I hoped when I opened them again he would have vanished like a ghost, and this would have all been just a bad dream. Unfortunately, he was still there. I raised one eyebrow motioning for him to speak his piece.
“Somewhere a little more private, please.” He nodded toward groups of people standing all around us. He placed his hand in the small of my back and led me to the sound stage where his instrument still sat.
“Okay,” I said curtly. I walked faster to break the connection between our bodies. He dropped his hand, showing no signs of persistence.
When the door to the sound stage swung shut behind us, I spoke first. “What’s the point of this, Andrew? What is so important you had to drag me off set? You do realize now people are going to think we’re sleeping together. How dare you? You ignore me during the day and then drag me off set. You’re a pig!” My face flushed red as the words came out in a fury.
“What are you upset about, the fact I’m not sleeping with you, or that I don’t just give the rest of the cast the impression?” he retorted in the same tone.
“You’re disgusting. You think I want you? You really are full of yourself, aren’t you? Why the hell would I want to give anyone the impression I’d fuck you? You’re not the person I thought you were, that’s what I’m upset about.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he shouted though clenched jaws, before closing his eyes and placing his hand on the door to steady himself. He remained quiet for a moment until his breathing steadied. “I feel more like myself around you than anyone. Please let me explain my actions,” he pleaded, his face so close to mine that I could feel each breath.
“Andrew, I’m not deaf or blind. I’ve heard how you treat women. I’ve seen it now several days in a row. I don’t think there’s any explanation needed. I’ve got a very clear picture.” I turned around and yanked at the door. His hand was still on it, and he pushed the door shut, holding me in the room. “Let me out!” I barked.
“Please,” he begged softly, not at all the smug, confident, pompous fool who’d walked on set this morning. He looked like someone who just watched his puppy get run over. He was too good of an actor; he could turn on the guilt and pity in an instant.
I wouldn’t fall for his games. I glared at him, daring him to hold me against my will. “Open this door now, Andrew.” I kept a calm assertive voice. Looking him directly in the eyes wasn’t an easy task with his height and with the intensity he stared down at me. He surrendered and dropped his hand from the door. I whirled around, wrenched the door open, and stormed out.
When I got back to the set, I was still fuming. It didn’t make me feel better that everyone seemed to be whispering and staring at me. Whitney and Billy approached, but stammered, unsure what to say.
One of the production assistants followed them and spoke first. “What was that all about?” the nosy little mouse asked.
“I killed Andrew and dumped his body in the desert behind set. You’ll have to find a new lead.” I walked away. I grabbed a chair next to the live action and watched the filming for the rest of the day. No one bothered me. But I could still hear the whispers and felt the furtive stares as the gossip ran rampant across the set.
Rumors swirled. Had we been sleeping together all along? Was this a lover’s spat? Or did we run off to have a five-minute quickie? I shook my head; this was worse than high school gossip.
Andrew returned to the set later to finish filming his scenes. His mood was as dark as mine, and he didn’t speak with anyone either. He often glanced at me sitting behind the director’s chair, but I diverted my eyes each time.
The horrendous day finally dragged to an end. Billy and Whitney invited me out for dinner with a fe
w of the cast members, but I turned them down. I wasn’t in the mood to explain myself, and I knew it would be tonight’s primary topic of conversation. If I gave everyone a few days to forget about the incident, maybe I wouldn’t have to talk about it again.
****
On my way back to the hotel, I stopped at a liquor store to grab myself a bottle of cheap merlot and a corkscrew before driving into the hotel parking lot. I dare anyone to bother me tonight.
After I popped the cork on the wine, I realized the maid hadn’t left fresh cups. Oh well, looks like tonight I’m drinking straight from the bottle, alcoholic style. I pressed the bottle to my lips and drank heavily. The taste was bitter, but it was exactly what I wanted. I took another swig and plopped on the bed flipping open a book I brought with me. I planned to lose myself in the story and wake refreshed in the morning.
At the beginning of chapter three, my cell phone interrupted my concentration. It vibrated in my purse making my keys rattle, signaling I had a text message I fully intended to ignore. I grabbed the wine bottle and took another big gulp of the ruby liquid before returning to the pages. I was almost done with the third chapter when the annoying buzz sounded again. I pursed my lips, and reluctantly rose from the bed to check the impatient messages.
Both texts were from the same number, but I didn’t recognize it, or even the area code, for that matter. I scrolled through the messages, the latest one first. I gave you fair warning. I read the thing twice before deducing someone had the wrong number. Who in the world would be threatening me? This annoyed me more knowing I put my book down in the middle of a great part for nothing. Then I scrolled to the first text I’d received. ‘I’m coming over.’ My eyes bulged as my mind put the two together and made sense of the message. Andrew sent them, and he was on his way to my hotel. He wouldn’t get away with this. When he came, I wouldn’t be here.
Chapter Nine
I fumbled with my tennis shoes trying to get my heel in without unlacing them first. In great haste I threw my wallet and phone inside my purse and opened the door. My keys managed to elude me hiding in my purse. I franticly rummaged around for the damn things.
Forever in Hollywood Page 7