“Jesus. Claudia really is the fucking mistake that just keeps on taking.” I laugh but there is absolutely no humour anywhere in it. “That’s what this is right? The recent pap bullshit, the image shit again?”
“They didn’t say that of course, but that would be my guess, yes. When securing the audition we’d assured them you’d turned over new leaf, and your recent lower pap profile had supported our statement. Until last night. Again, I’m so sorry Seth, I know how much this chance meant to you. How much Piper means to you.”
I’m staring out over the canyon below, over the hills of Hollywood, taking it all in. I’ve called this place home for over ten years now, and while I’ve experienced some good times, thoughts of most of them now leave me feeling empty. Unfulfilled. The fame I had came so fast, and was so fake, I don’t know why I ever thought I could become something else. This town pigeonholes you and it’s only the rare few that break out of the mould. I’m tired of it all. On top of the sadness and disappointment already in my system, I’m hit with a realisation. How many more signs do I need to tell me that if I stay in this town any longer, any semblance of who I really am will be lost forever?
“Seth? Are you still there?” Hearing Rash over the smooth rumble of the engine pulls me from my introspection.
“Yeah, I’m here. Ahh, you still have the name of the fringe theatre production company who contacted you last year? The one doing the classics as pop-culture remakes?”
“London? Seth…honestly? Why don’t you just wa––”
“Ronald.”
I stop his speech just by saying his name, his full name and rarely use. I appreciate what he’s trying to say, I really do, but you know what they say about the definition of insanity right? It’s when you keep doing the same thing over and over, but expect a different result each time. Well, something has to change, something big, because if I stay here...I can’t even go there. I wait quietly until Rash speaks again, and when he does I can hear resignation in his voice.
“Ok. Yeah, ok. I should still have it; I would’ve filed it somewhere. I would think that the offer at the time would’ve expired though. Are you serious with this? What I think you’re saying?”
“I need to face facts Rash, there’s nothing left here for me. Heading home to the U.K. and trying to get work in London, starting from scratch, it’s my best option at this point.”
“Well, they did say to let them know if you were ever going to be back in country for an extended stay. Then there’s the woman at the BBC, the casting director of that long running British soap, she’s always trying to get you to do an eight-episode arc. Maybe that’s still on the table, too? If you tell me to do it, I’ll make the calls Seth. I just want you to be sure this is wh––”
“Rash, make the calls. Please. I need to get the fuck out of here and I’m open to considering anything at this point.”
* * *
Slowing to turn through the gates at the opening to my driveway, I see that there are a handful of paps waiting like vultures for me to arrive home. Jesus, you would think there were better stories out there than mine, particularly since it’s all bullshit anyway.
Speaking of which, there is something I need to set straight.
I’m under no illusion that what I’m about to do is going to make a scrap of difference, but it’s important I do it none the less. Turning off the car, the vultures are shocked when I get out, and stand there waiting for them to fire questions at me. After a moment of eerie silence, where it’s clear they are not sure what the fuck is happening, they break it by yelling out shite they want a comment on.
I let it all wash over me. The inflammatory questions, the incorrect assumptions and all the rumour and innuendo they’d love me to comment on. Everything that is wrong with new millennium celebrity. I have no intention of answering any of one of them and when they’re done demanding what they want from me, I’ll give them what I choose to share. Nothing more.
It takes longer than I thought it would, but it’s still only ten minutes or so before they stop, realising that I’m waiting for them to shut the fuck up so I can speak.
“Claudia Wood and I are not only not back together, we never will be either.”
Their yelling starts up again, asking me the stupidest questions on the planet as if they’ve not heard a word I’ve just said. One fucktard even asks me if I can confirm that “our wedding” was being held in Bora-Bora. Christ, where the fuck do they get this rubbish?
Folding my arms over my chest, I lean back against the car, crossing one leg over the other and wait. A few more minutes pass, before they settle, and I give them the last I’m going to say on the matter.
“That is the last time I comment on my relationship status, because my personal life is just that, it’s personal. And it’s far too important and sacred to be used as fodder to sell gossip. Now if you would please clear the gate, I’d like to go inside.”
Among the questions called to me as I move to get back into my car, I see a tall guy with greasy hair and mustard satins on his shirt, the view of his face partially blocked by his massive camera and telephoto lens. Compensating for something there? I think because we’ve made eye contact, I hear his shout over the top of all the others.
“C’mon Seth, a least throw a punch or try to grab a couple of the cameras. We’ve been here for hours. You’ve gotta give us something man.”
I know I should ignore it, it’s a fucking miracle I’ve held my shit together this long, but I’m doing it for Piper. To show her that while she might think I’m a waste of her time, her time was not wasted on me. I also know that as little as I’ve given them, they’re still going to spin it the way they want to anyway.
Looking right at greasy hair guy, I calmly tell him, “I’ve bloody well given you enough, and even then, what I haven’t given, parasites like you have taken anyway. Now please, get the fuck away from my gate.”
* * *
I’m down in the basement, not skating, not doing anything really, but I can’t bring myself to go back upstairs. Jackie is a combination of devastated, supportive and furious. In a move very like her, she’s also feeling guilty about having needed to split a whisker before we left the restaurant and unintentionally providing Claudia with her in. She’s been playing the ‘if only’ game but I think I’ve finally convinced her that Claudia was on a path set to ruin and nothing would have stopped her.
Jackie had also wanted to call Piper, to explain to her that I was telling the truth about what had happened last night at dinner. I’d wanted to throw up. I mean, what kind of relationship was I in where my housekeeper needed to convince my girlfriend that I was telling the truth about something? Shouldn’t my word alone be enough? Jesus, that on it’s own has me questioning if anything Piper ever felt for me was real.
I’d told Jackie about my decision to leave the U.S., to sell the mansion and start over back in the U.K. I’d assured her that I would pay her plenty of notice and would continue to pay her until she’d found something else. Naturally, she’d told me to shove it up my arse and then held my eyes as she said she needed to make sure her passport was up to date. We just stared at each other like that for a while, neither of us speaking, her eyes filling up with tears that didn’t fall. All I could do was nod. Jackie was coming with me.
When I’d spoken with my parents I could hear they were relieved, my mum in particular excited at the prospect of having me back home. Well, in the same country at least. Things hadn’t gone as I’d hoped in the U.S. but thank fuck I wasn’t at the point of having to move back in with my parents. Silver linings and all that. I also felt that they were aware of what this decision had cost me, but neither one of them attempted to dig. I can’t tell you how much I’d needed and appreciated that space. I’d talk about it when I wanted to and they trusted that.
All I’d got from my dad was the classic, “All right, Seth?” to which I’d given him, “All right, Dad.” Ah, British man speak, no wonder the world thought we were a
repressed bunch of twats who ate crumpets and drank tea.
Rash called a little while ago to say that he’d had news.
He told me that he’d heard from another agent that Claudia’s current meal-ticket, some hot shot producer who had promised to make her a star, had come home early one day last month to find their pool boy balls deep in her arse while Claudia was licking clit off the pool blokes girlfriend. Kicker was, Claudia’s three months pregnant with the producer’s child, but he’d still thrown her out on her trollopy arse. He’s now wised up and is demanding a paternity test before forking over any kind of support, the results of which she must be nervous about if she’d been desperate enough to try worming her way back into my life.
Then, having apologised for getting off track with bullshit I likely didn’t care about anyway, Rash had let me know the real reason he’d called. I’d figured he must have made contact with some people in London and had news. My stomach had dropped like it was on a rollercoaster at the thought that everything was going to happen so quickly, not even giving me a moment’s pause to maybe change my mind.
I didn’t look too closely at that feeling.
Because of it though, I was only half listening when he’d told me that he’d received a change of contract form from ESM. Asking him to repeat himself, as he did, the rollercoaster didn’t just drop; it’d flipped completely off the rails and crashed to the ground.
Piper was asking me to sign off on a change of liaison for my remaining contract.
Looks like Piper had made another choice, and so had I.
CHAPTER 15
Piper
Texting Sawyer to let her know I needed a couple of personal days; I give myself forty-eight hours to detox from Seth. To cry and be angry, and avoid any mention of him on the Internet. I’d even disabled the alerts I had against his name. I was in a Seth Mitchell-free zone and the most strenuous thing I’d planned to do was watch blue-rays. I’d only managed a few hours before I’d started climbing the walls; just being at my condo made it hard for me not to think of him. I’d even considered going surfing for the afternoon, but again, I’m reminded of him. Who knew once you’d shared something with someone, even when you’d done it a million times on your own before them, it would hold such weight on your heart and mind.
I found myself heading to my parents, because I knew they’d distract me. Without saying anything was bothering me, both of them knew something was going on. And like great parents, they didn’t ask. Dad had me banging on drums and in my mind; I may or may not have pretended they were Seth and Claudia’s stupid faces. Then Mom and I split a bottle of white wine and I crashed in my old bedroom. Even being with my parents, all lovey-dovey, it made my heart hurt and long for that feeling again, again with Seth.
The following day was a repeat of the one before, my emotions frequently shifting between heartbreak and anger. Between DIY facials with my mom and drum solos with my dad, I’d survived another twenty-four hours, even if that night I’d drank one more glass of wine than my mom.
The moment my eyes opened, I was slightly hung over and the thought of him was non-existent since I needed to remedy the banging in my temples before work.
After coffee and headache meds, I returned to my place to shower and get ready for work. Deciding on a new outfit I’d yet to wear, a killer black mini-dress, I was walking into the ESM offices with confidence and ready to start the day. Well, at least I hoped to appear that way. I’d put off getting into anything with the girls, knowing as soon as I’d gotten Reb’s message - that she’d seen the story and Clemmie had told her to tell me she ‘knew a guy’ if I could get ten thousand dollars in cash - that I wasn’t ready to go there with them. It felt nice though to know they had my back, but I fear that at any moment I might crack, so I made it a goal to not be taken into the office by Sawyer to discuss why I dropped a client. I knew she would corner me eventually, but maybe I could push it off for a few days, or a lifetime.
After I’d left Seth grovelling at my closed door, I immediately went into my bedroom and sent the letter to Rash that I could no longer represent Seth. I knew if I didn’t do it right away, I’d have a change of heart. Pressing send was the hardest thing I think I ever had to do. But that was it; he was out of my life.
As soon as I get to my desk, I turn on my computer, send Izzy an email to check up on her and am consciously avoiding the alerts I see pinging on the right side of my screen. If any of them happened to have his name in it, I will definitely lose it and I just got here, I need to at least make it to lunch before any of that.
“Oh, you are here,” Whitney, a publicist for ESM says, almost passing my office before returning and standing in the doorway.
“Here I am,” I smile at the bubbly blonde in her black power suit.
“I was wondering if we could chat business, I think we have client cross-over going on,” she says, coming into the room and taking a seat at one of the silver and grey chairs in front of my desk.
“How do you mean?” I ask, sipping cucumber water from the straw of my water bottle.
“Claudia and Seth, I figure we could put the fire out, I already have enough with her alone, figured you could get a comment from him about the baby and her most recent break-up with the producer…”
“I don’t represent him anymore - wait, what do you mean?” I ask, furrowing my brow as her words sink in.
“Haven’t you seen it, like, everywhere? She’s claiming to her boyfriend that she’s pregnant with his child, which between you and me, I’m not sure is true, but then he walks in on her in some tacky three-way at his house. Ever the little trooper, wanting to land on her feet, well, back really, she set’s it up with some paps to try and get some photos with Seth. The producer guy, clearly sick of her shit, blew her ass up on social media and aired all her dirty laundry.”
Oh my God, Seth was telling me the truth. I realize this as my inner monologue is yelling at me NO SHIT YOU MORON! I begin to feel panicky and pukey and take a deep breath.
“Piper, are you all right?” she asks, looking at me with concern.
I nod, “Yeah, okay, so you want a statement from Seth,” I say through breathing that can only resemble Lamaze in my mind.
“I tried, but his agent told me he was leaving for Britain and wouldn’t be able to comment.”
“Leaving?” I gasp, my breath catching in my lungs as I hang on her next words.
“I think moving, he might’ve said moving,” she says with narrowed eyes like that’s going to help her remember.
“I have to go,” I burst out and grab my bag from my bottom desk drawer.
“So, are you gonna get me the statement?” Whitney calls after me, but I keep going toward the elevator and start smacking the button.
My heart is racing, the rhythm pushing me to get to him, to tell him I believe him and grovel at his doorstep myself if I have to.
* * *
Paps line the street, just like the first time I visited and I pull up to press the button, but the gates are opening before I can. I’d called Rash on my way over but having gone straight through to his voicemail, I had decided to not leave a message. Besides, the only one I’m impatient to speak with is Seth anyway.
There’s a moving truck out front, men loading it with the things from the mansion. He was moving.
My heels crunch on the gravel as I run to the front door, almost slipping a few times, but it doesn’t stop me and I kick my shoes off just before I reach the porch. Continuing the run up them and into the opened front doors.
My eyes scan, seeing more men taking down art and walking past with boxes. Male voices are coming from the kitchen, but after only a few seconds I know Seth’s isn’t one of them. My instincts have me moving toward the basement, praying he’s down there, because if he isn’t and I have to search, I might lose my nerve.
The sound of Weezer becoming clearer as I descend the steps brings relief and a burst of fear. He might not even look at me, let alone hear me out. Wheels on c
ement then enter my ears and I inhale deeply before taking that last step and turning the corner to the massive space.
The sight before me has my heart seizing in my chest. The sudden shift in what had been it’s staccato rhythm makes me gasp, my hand flying up to cover my wide-open mouth. The smell that was only faint while my brain was catching up is now cloying, the usually fresh air of the basement non-existent.
Making eye contact with me, the board slows as its rider drops a foot down, dragging it along the floor before coming to a stop not far from where I’m standing. After two unsuccessful attempts at kicking the tail of the board to catch the nose in his hand, he bends over and picks it up before securing it at his side.
“Can I help you?” he asks, his thick southern accent confirming what my eyes had been telling me. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Stoned.
Not Seth.
“Who are you?” I ask, which in hindsight is pretty unnecessary given I can now see the logo stitched to his shirt. The same one that’s on the dark blue cap he’s now flipped back around over his eyes.
He takes a deep drag on the fat joint between his fleshy lips, holding the sickly-sweet smelling smoke in his lungs as he forces out, “I’m with the movi––”
“Moving company, right,” I finish for him so I can hurry this along. “Real professional,” I add, indicating his smoke with a nod.
“Legal in California, baby, and I’m on my break,” he smiles cheekily, and I know instantly I’m looking at yet another guy who was the reigning king of which ever bumfuck town he grew up in, who’d come to LA convinced he’d be the next big thing. After all, not all of them end up waiters. Some of them are movers.
“Yeah, don’t care. Do you know where I can find Seth? Is he upstairs?” I move to head back out the way I came, the urgency to find him climbing again despite the slow, prickling feeling that’s started to creep along my spine.
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