Elly in Love (The Elly Series)

by Oakes, Colleen

  Elly’s mind whirled. “I can’t believe you would even suggest that! Who thinks that way?”

  “Someone who is thinking logically.”

  A growl bubbled up from her throat. “It’s not like I have a ton of options, Keith. Would you prefer I let him go back to sleeping on a bench?”

  “Elly, don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t want that, but it’s not your job to save him.”

  Elly narrowed her eyes. “Then who will, Keith? He has nobody. Not a single family member, not a friend, no one. He went across the country looking for me, and now that he’s here, I am not letting go of the only family that I have left. Not all of us are as lucky as you, to have family just over the hill in St. Charles, and a wall full of pictures with family members who have helped them become the person they are today.”

  Keith flinched. “I think we’re getting off track. This isn’t about me, Elly, this is about you and your safety, and where are you going to put him? Did you know he hates dogs?”

  Elly bent down and started gathering the glass from the broken picture in her hands.

  Keith sighed. “Elly, be careful, don’t….”

  “Crap.” Elly lifted a cut finger. “Look, it’s fine. I’m going to put Dennis in the guest bedroom. And I was hoping that maybe Cadbury could stay with you for a while?”

  Keith walked behind the counter and grabbed a broom. “That’s fine, I don’t care about that, but I still think this is a huge mistake. Let me see your finger.” Elly uncurled her pointer finger. Keith wiped it off with a cloth and Elly hastily found a Band-Aid behind the counter. “Does it hurt?” he asked, concerned.

  “It’s just a scratch,” Elly snapped. She stood up. Don’t do this, a voice screamed in her head, don’t fight with him. She took a deep breath, trying to diffuse anger through her pores. “I understand that you’re worried about me. But this is my choice, my brother. He has had a horrible life, he’s emotionally damaged, nervous, and scared. You didn’t see him at dinner. I’ve never seen anyone so down, and trust me, I have been down. It’s a must. And I’m not doing a DNA test. I’ve never even heard of anything so ridiculous. Keith, it’s not a choice to save him. I have to.”

  Keith wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her close. Elly gave a sigh of relief into his warm, strong shoulder. Maybe this conversation was over. “But you can’t save him. He has to save himself.”

  She pulled back, aghast. “I’m done talking about this. Dennis is moving in tomorrow, right after I meet my mystery celebrity bride. The last thing I needed from you tonight was this.”

  Keith turned back to the photographs. “I’m sorry you feel that way. In the future, I’ll try and keep my mouth shut when you are about to make a giant mistake.”

  “That would be great. I’m going home,” declared Elly. Stop me, stop me….

  “Fine,” said Keith, even though his eyes begged her to stay.

  “Good luck with your pictures,” she said, stepping through the doorway. She made it halfway to the store before he caught up with her.

  “Look,” he said pleadingly, “I don’t want to end the day like this. I might not agree with you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t help you. Tomorrow I’ll take my truck over and help Dennis move in.”

  “You have a truck?” Elly frowned. “Why would we need a truck? Dennis doesn’t own anything.”

  “Oh, right.” Keith tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and kissed her lightly under her earlobe. “You know you’re adorable when you’re upset, right? Even when you’re driving me nuts, you’re still driving me crazy.”

  Elly gave his hand a squeeze. She wasn’t quite ready to let go of her righteous anger. Not quite yet. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She pecked his cheek, consciously lingering long enough to let him know that things were okay. She walked up the stairs to her apartment with weary steps. Cadbury barked in alarm, and Elly wearily petted his head. This went terribly, she thought. All I wanted tonight was to have a romantic, relaxing night with Keith, and he had to ruin it with all his … opinions. Looking out the window, she began angrily running her hands through her hair. Her heart was unsettled from their first fight, her perfect inner glow was snuffed out. She felt her chest clutch and release with each wave of self-pity. Why did you snap at him like that? You could have ruined everything! And the Dennis thing. Was she making a mistake? She knew he was her brother, but … what if? What if she was part of some really, really, really elaborate scheme? Well, the joke’s on them, she thought, because I don’t have any money, and neither does Keith. Smiling at the thought, Elly flipped on her computer screen. The geriatric machine hummed to life and Elly hesitantly pulled up the search menu, typing in “DNA testing.” A green glow filled the dark apartment. She quickly found something called a “DNA Sibling Test.” Analysis of the DNA of two separate individuals can provide information as to whether they are full siblings, half siblings, or not related….

  Almost involuntarily, Elly snapped the computer shut. No. She was not that person. Elly suddenly wished she was anywhere but here, so close to Keith and yet so far from his reassuring presence, his sturdy arms. Cadbury gave a huff as he draped across her feet. Soon, he would be gone and Dennis would be here. So strange. She leaned her head against her palms, wondering what the heck she was actually doing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elly watched a camera operator plug in his camera, balancing the behemoth black monster on his narrow shoulder. I would drop that in a hot second. Nervously, she smoothed out the front of her sleek, dark-denim jacket (Kim had dragged her out shopping the day before) and shook out the leg of her black pants, absentmindedly fingering the long star earrings dangling from her normally naked ears.

  “Ma’am?” The dashingly handsome cameraman stood in front of her.

  He called me ma’am. How depressing. Elly gave him a hopeful smile. “Yes?”

  “You’re standing on my cord.”

  “Oh.” Elly took a step back as he uncoiled a long black cord. Snarky Teenager stood in the corner, laughing and twisting her long blond ponytail as she eyed the handsome cameraman, not listening to a word the mousy production assistant was saying. Elly was mostly concentrating on two things: trying not to look like a ma’am and avoiding Gemma Reynolds.

  Ms. Reynolds, who looked as though she was running on two hours of sleep and thirteen coffees, was stomping around the shop and barking orders. “This light is horrible. How anyone works in this light-drenched nightmare is unimaginable. Greg! Block the windows! Make sure that the mangy dog is outta sight, and I don’t want anyone walking past the store and ruining ‘the big moment.’”

  Finally, the day had come when Elly found out who her celebrity bride was. On BlissBride, this was one of the best moments of the show—when the vendors met their famous clients for the first time. It wasn’t a meeting, rather just a shock-and-awe blast of celebrity hoopla that then left the vendors stunned and excited. Elly wasn’t excited, per se. She was nervous and felt like vomiting into her pygmy palm plant. Two television cameras had their lenses focused on her, and another was trained at the door. Her normally clean and bright studio was cluttered with boom mikes, two huge tripods with glaring lights that radiated heat, and a number of people doing technical things that she didn’t understand. She was also wearing a microphone under her shirt, and kept wondering if sweat plus an electronic pulse would end in death by electrocution.

  Gemma snapped her fingers at the camera operator. “You need to get on a chair for the most flattering angle here.” She was obviously talking about Elly.

  This was the worst, she thought. Why did I say I would do this? Because, she replied to herself silently, because you’ll never have to pay to advertise again. Elly closed her eyes and balanced her hand on the chair. She took deep breaths to calm herself down, a technique that her mother had taught her long ago when the torments of girls at school was too much to bear. Breathe deep and calm down. Don’t be a train wreck like yo
u were last time.

  In the corner, she could hear snippets of Snarky Teenager’s conversation with the roguish camera operator. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah,” he replied in a gruff voice. He was obviously a film student from some hovel where goatees were an invitation for casual sex and wrinkled shirts were a marker of success. “I would love to film you sometime. You just have a face and a body for television. I have a private studio….”

  Oh Lord no. Elly stalked over to the corner, grabbing Snarky Teenager by the elbow, yanking her away from the cameraman. She was so light, Elly could have thrown her through the black screens now blocking the light from the front windows. “Do not talk to that guy anymore.”

  Jerking her arm away, the teenager’s smoky eyes flashed angrily at Elly. “He’s cute. What is your problem?” she hissed.

  “That guy wants to film you in his private studio. Private studio means bedroom.”

  Snarky Teenager opened her mouth to argue with Elly, but then thought better of it. “No … well … ewww.” She shrugged. “He might mean it.”

  Elly snorted. “He doesn’t.”

  Gemma glared over at them, her short brown hair a plastered helmet on her head. “We are sound testing right now, so if you could keep it down, that would be much appreciated.”

  Elly and Snarky Teenager fell instantly silent, intimidated by this feminine soldier. “Who do you think it is?” her young worker whispered, her breath cool on Elly’s ear.

  “I don’t know,” Elly mumbled. “It’s probably some D-list actress who is a side character on some reality show. I’m still hoping for an athlete of some sort, like an Olympian.”

  “I don’t think Olympians would be on this show.” Elly bit her lip. That was true. She couldn’t really see someone with a gold medal participating on BlissBride. She watched silently as the chaos around her somehow organized itself. The camera operators were in place. The final pieces of black swagging were placed over the windows, and the mics were soundchecked. Suddenly, Gemma Reynolds was in her face, teetering on five-inch stilettos, with her sharp bird nose pointed straight at Elly. “Are you going to change?” she snapped.

  Elly looked down at her outfit, one that she had felt so pretty in, until now. “Um, yes, I guess. Is this not what I should be wearing? I have an apron over there….”

  “Oh God, no. You’re fine.”

  Elly hated it when people told her she was fine. She had a sudden urge to yank Gemma’s short hair. Gemma looked frantically down at her clipboard, speaking fast. “Okay, so here is how this works. Our celebrity comes in the door. You react, we film your reaction. You maybe have five minutes of speaking time, and then we are done and on to the next vendor. There are a couple of lists of rules here. Do not hug the celebrity. Do not touch the celebrity. Do not mention wedding details or contractual agreements. Do not mention any recent gossip about her or any of her ex-boyfriends. Do not mention any of her films. Do not try and take a picture with her, do not ask her to call your relatives.” She looked Snarky Teenager up and down. “And you, do not stand next to her. Got it?”

  Elly’s heart thrummed nervously in her chest as she gave a nod. Gemma leaned in, her face close to Elly’s shoulder. “And whatever you do, do not offer her alcohol, or any other drugs.”

  Elly didn’t even know where she would get ahold of drugs. An alley?

  “Do not mention rehab or anything related to those things. Please.”

  Elly stared back silently. She saw a slice of true panic in Gemma’s eyes. Ah, perhaps she wasn’t a robot after all. “Promise,” Elly mouthed silently.

  Gemma stood up straight. “Are the cameras ready?” she shrieked in her British accent. There was a moment of silence and the cell phone on Gemma’s belt lit up. She looked down at it. “She’s here. I’ll ask again, are we ready?” The camera operators nodded.

  Elly took a deep breath and took a step onto the blue X marked with tape on the floor. Here we go, she thought. I wish Keith was here. She couldn’t even think about their little argument last night. She couldn’t think about Dennis, or Keith, or the new store, or anything else. All she had to think about was … the door swung open, and in walked Lola Plumb.

  Lola Plumb. Lola Plumb. Lola FREAKING Plumb. Elly kept repeating the name over and over in her mind as she stood frozen in place. Lola Plumb was standing in Posies. Lola Plumb, right in front of her. She was surprisingly short, and was just under Elly’s height, even wearing towering pink heels. A tight-fitting dress made of broad rainbow stripes and black ribbon accents clung to her almost emaciated form. Mounds of thick reddish-blond hair cascaded over her shoulders and across her forehead. Gigantic sunglasses sat perched on her upturned nose, and there was a stout white Chihuahua tucked snugly under her arm, where a purse would normally be. Lola Plumb, in all her infamous California beauty, was standing right in front of Elly. Lola Plumb was not a B-list celebrity. Everything she knew about Lola Plumb she had gathered from a number of her tabloid subscriptions and a steady diet of E! News. Once a famed child star, known for her stint as the golden girl on Still Life, a long-running sitcom about divorced parents, she had risen to fame in the indie film Violet Saturday. The film, which went on to win Best Picture at the Oscars, set Lola on what seemed to be ideal trajectory for A-list movie star status. That was, until she had met Chloe Britt, a reality star turned pop musician. A friendship that was at first endearing in the public eye soon turned dangerous—together, the girls circled through endless Hollywood soirees, crashing studio functions and promotional parties in their matching miniskirts and silver flasks. They loved the paparazzi almost as much as the paparazzi loved them. If you Googled “Lola Plumb,” the screen would quickly fill up with wardrobe malfunctions, pictures of the girls kissing random men (or each other), and drinking (and then throwing up) copious amounts of liquor. Lola and Chloe had also shoplifted two designer bags from a store in New York, which had declined to press charges against two of their most-valued customers. Chloe had crashed her car into a children’s clothing store, which landed her in prison, and then finally, rehab. She had emerged a different person: self-assured, beautiful, and put together. She was currently hosting a popular fashion show on Bravo, and had publically dismissed Lola as being a “bad influence upon her life.” Lola hadn’t taken the news well. She had gone on a three-day drinking binge with the members of Rude Doctrine—a popular alternative band—and ended up passed out the under the Hollywood sign, wearing nothing but lacy pink panties. She had been arrested for public intoxication and her mother, who was a vulture-like fame seeker, had taken control of her assets and upbringing.

  After vanishing from the spotlight for a few months, Lola had emerged triumphant from rehab, looking confident and rested. Her beautiful face graced the cover of dozens of magazines touting the miracle of rehab and faith. Critics appeared hopeful that Lola would take up acting once again, perhaps in a small romantic comedy. For a few weeks, it appeared that the nation and the public eye had forgiven Lola, and that she would once again rise to the top of the list for in-demand actors. Then she was caught coming out of a hotel with Caesar Speena, a very well-known thespian and respected actor on the British stage. He was more famous, however for being married to America’s sweetheart, Juliet Speena. The fallout was instant and ruthless. The papers declared Lola a home wrecker, as did Mrs. Speena, who even went on Oprah to talk about how their affair had ruined her life. Juliet promptly divorced Caesar, and with the entire world hating him, Caesar had swiftly broken up with Lola. She was left alone by the ruthless Hollywood machine—blacklisted by the big film companies who wanted to make sure they didn’t offend Ms. Speena—and romanced by cheap, unscrupulous studios who just wanted to make a buck off her notoriety. She had starred in back-to-back horror films in the last year, and was a constant disaster on the red carpet. Lola Plumb was a paparazzi and gossip magnet—pure sales gold— and there was nothing she wouldn’t endorse. Just last month, Elly had read that she had worn a bikini made only of Blue Mo
on caps to a movie premiere.

  Say something! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the camera operator gesture wildly for her to do something. “Uhhh … yay!” Elly let out an excited cheer, raising her hands above her head and jumping lamely. She saw Snarky Teenage in the corner, leaning against the wall, the color draining from her face. Get it together, Elly thought. “Yaaayyy….” Her cheering died out, hands half-raised in the air. “Oh my gosh! I’m so excited to meet you.” There, that was better. Elly tried not to look directly into the camera. She saw Gemma Reynolds give a painful grimace.

  Lola Plumb raised one perfectly arched eyebrow behind her huge sunglasses. “Uh, hello. Hi, I’m Lola Plumb.” She shuffled her tiny white Chihuahua to her hip and stuck out her tiny hand, which was covered with huge costume rings.

  Elly took Lola’s hand nervously (why hadn’t she thought to shake hands, oh, idiot!), her own damp with sweat. She looked down. On second glance, those weren’t costume rings. Those were real, huge diamonds. Elly took a step back.

  “Cut!” screamed Gemma. She stomped to the middle of room. “Ugh. That was horribly awkward, but it will have to do. We have a time constraint here. We’ll do some silent filming to get background shots of you talking, and then we’re off. Lola, is everything okay?”

  Lola gave an uncomfortable sniff. “Yes, that sounds fine. Could I use the bathroom first?”

  Gemma narrowed her eyes. “Sure. Elly, where is the bathroom?”

  Elly was still looking at Lola, stunned that this illustrious celebrity was going to use her bathroom. Did she even have toilet paper in there? “Uh, hold on.” She raced back to the store bathroom, speed walking past Snarky Teenager and Anthony, who hovered in the corner. She poked her head in the bathroom. Toilet paper? Check. Stains on the wall? Ugh. Check. “Yes, yes, it’s right here. You can certainly use it.”

  Lola gave a nod. She placed her dog on the floor. “Boogie, stay.” Tottering on her heels, she shakily made her way to the bathroom, shutting and locking herself inside of it.