Flying Gold

by Vanessa North

  The red carpet is always a disorienting clash of noise and camera flashes, photographers shouting names to get attention. Audra gets a few, but to my surprise, my own name is called more than once. I smile gamely at the cameras, offer a wave or two, and turn toward the theater.

  “Matt!” A reporter with a microphone stops me. Cameras flash. Next to me, Audra smiles winningly and tilts her head to one side. “Now that Jeremy Cutler’s out, how do you plan on bringing a scandal-beset production back from the brink?”

  Jesus, what bullshit. I know I’m supposed to say no comment, but I can’t help myself. Words have meaning.

  “The brink of what? We have a great cast, a fantastic crew, and we’re working hard to make unforgettable television. We’ll be just fine.”

  The reporter laughs as if I’ve told a joke. “What do you think, Audra?”

  She glances over at me, then smiles for the cameras again. “Matt’s a visionary in the psychological horror genre—I can’t wait to see what he does next.”

  We escape. “Thank you.” I wipe sweat from my forehead with my pocket square. “I wasn’t expecting an ambush. They don’t usually pay any attention to me.”

  “You’re welcome.” She helps me fold it back into a presentable triangle.

  “Matthew,” a deep voice sounds from behind me. I turn. Ben Horvath is a legendary producer—Hollywood royalty. I first met him when interning on one of his shows in my Columbia days, and he still inspires a mixture of awe and fear years later.

  I clear my throat and extend a hand. “Mr. Horvath, it’s good to see you.”

  “Likewise. Have you met my wife, Karina?”

  “Of course, we met at the wedding. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to see you,” she replies, glancing over my shoulder. I pause for a moment, then realize she’s not distracted, but uncomfortable.

  To put her at ease, I introduce my plus-one. “And this is Audra Turner. She’s starring in a production that just got picked up by NBC. Audra, may I introduce Ben Horvath and Karina Smith?”

  Everyone shakes hands, and Karina, who also stars in a show on NBC, albeit one set and filmed in New York, starts talking to Audra about their work.

  “I got questions about Jeremy on the red carpet,” I admit to Ben. “It took me by surprise.”

  He grimaces. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. They’re out for blood. Cutler got some jerk in one of the highbrow New York magazines to do a sympathetic profile. It published this morning, portraying the production as a hot mess of egos and himself as a victim of cutthroat maneuvering and false accusations.”

  False accusations, my ass. “Let me guess, I’m the bad guy?”

  Ben shrugs. “You weren’t caught making out with a teenager on set, Matthew. You’re not the bad guy. Now, let’s go to the movies.”

  He claps a friendly hand on my shoulder, and I hold out my arm to Audra, who gushes a goodbye to Karina before we follow them up the stairs to the theater.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tiffani

  Gift in hand, I knock on the mint-green door to Tanner’s house, and it opens a moment later to a candy-colored wonderland, decked out in pink ribbons and flowers, balloons everywhere. It’s a hell of a contrast to the subtle earth tones and classic black and white of her usual decor.

  Duke’s sisters are identical twins, and even though I can tell them apart—after all, Tanner’s roommate, Britney, is very pregnant—it’s still a little disorienting matching face and name.

  “Tiffani, thanks for coming.” Makayla takes the gift bag from my hand and replaces it with a Solo cup full of something bubbly.

  “It’s punch,” she says. “There’s a baby in the ice cube. First person to deliver wins a prize.”

  I look down into the red Solo cup, and sure enough, there’s an ice cube with a plastic baby inside bobbing in the punch. Okay then.

  “Great.” I grin at her and take a swig of the punch. Not the weirdest baby shower game I’ve ever seen, and hey, at least this time it doesn’t involve sticking my hand in a diaper while blindfolded.

  I make my way to the living room, where our families have gathered. Britney, definitely glowing and practically bursting, sits in the place of honor—the handmade rocking chair Tanner bought at the fair. Tanner and Tegan are having a conversation in hushed tones, but they look up when I walk in and greet me with smiles and a wave.

  I peek at my phone—there’s a hashtag on Twitter and Instagram for Matt’s movie, and I’ve been keeping an eye on it all day—but there’s nothing to see yet. It’s only four on the West Coast.

  I try to be surreptitious about it, but Tanner catches me and grabs my phone. “It’s a party, Tiff. Turn this off.”

  I scowl and sigh but do as she says, taking another sip of the baby-laced punch. It’s fucking weird to see a plastic baby floating in your glass every time you take a sip. I make my way over to Britney. I don’t know her that well—Duke’s sisters had never come around much before Brit got knocked up and moved in with Tanner—but I like her well enough.

  “Hey, Brit, how you feeling?” I sit on the chair next to hers.

  “Like a beached whale,” she cackles. “But I can’t wait to meet my baby girl.” She winces and presses a hand to her side. “I’d bet cash money Lily’s gonna be a star soccer player. Wanna feel?”

  I shake my head, the denial instant. “No, I can’t—”

  “Whatever, it’s the baby shower, the only time I won’t cut someone for this. Come here.” She takes my hand and places it on her belly. It’s harder than I expected, but it gives when Brit presses our hands into it. And then it presses back. Holy shit. My eyes must be big as saucers. I flutter my fingers. Something—the baby, obvs, but what part?—flutters back.

  “Heh, she likes that.” Brit smiles at me. “It’s her favorite game.”

  “Game? You think she’s playing?”

  Britney nods. “Yeah, I think play is one of the first things babies learn. It’s instinct. A call, an answer. It’s not really a very sophisticated game, but neither is Marco Polo.”

  My face feels stretched, and I realize it’s from grinning. “Wow, Britney. Wow.”

  “Right? Hey, you seen my brother? He was supposed to bring me some black licorice.”

  “Is he here? I thought it was girls only.”

  “The party is, but he’s keeping the dogs out of our hair.”

  “I’ll see if I can find him.” I reclaim my hand. “Thanks for letting me play with Lily.”

  I’m about to make my escape when Makayla shouts and starts ringing a bell. “We have a baby! Everyone wish Jonetta a happy delivery!”

  Jonetta is Britney’s boss at work. She’s a slim Black woman in her forties, and she rolls her eyes at Kayla and holds up the little plastic baby. “Easiest baby I ever delivered.”

  I set my baby-punch cup on the coffee table and head upstairs. There’s a dog gate across the doorway of the room with the turret, but the door’s open, so I peek inside. There’s Duke, playing with the two half-grown pit bulls on the floor.

  “Hey, Dookie.”

  He looks up and grins, wrestling a shop towel out from the red pit’s mouth. Both dogs immediately jump for it, crashing into him with wet-sounding grunts.

  “Your sister is jonesing for some black licorice.”

  “You can grab it for her; it’s in my jacket pocket. That girl and her licorice. I wouldn’t be surprised if the baby comes out smelling like anise.”

  “Mind if I hang out for a minute? It’s very pink downstairs.”

  “Be my guest.”

  I pull out my phone and turn it back on as I sit down across from him. There’s a single text from Matt. Hey, hope you’re having a good time at the shower. Miss you.

  I close my eyes and smile.

  “What’s that look?” Duke
tosses the rag at me and the puppies jump after it.

  “Matt Adams loves me.” I cover my face as the dogs climb in my lap.

  “Course he does.” Duke shakes something with a squeaker and the puppies abandon me again.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I love Duke like a brother, but I’m never sure if he’s making fun.

  “Tiff, ever since that boy walked into our shop, he’s been lookin’ at you like you’re his whole world. The gifts. The toy car. Hell, Tanner says he wanted you to come to California with him and the only reason you didn’t is cause of the pink explosion downstairs.”

  I laugh. “That’s not love.”

  “No. But you said once that he broke your heart. You must’ve loved him for him to be able to hurt you like that.”

  I swallow thickly. “I loved him so much I couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t mine and I wasn’t his. And then he fucked Ashley Whitmire.”

  “Joey’s sister?” Duke scoffs. “He didn’t love her.”

  “I know he didn’t love her, that’s not the point. The point is he loved me, and he did her.”

  “Ten years ago.”

  I nod.

  “And you still hate him for that? ’Cause you were looking pretty cozy the other night.”

  Cozy is as good a word as any for two people who want to bone each other’s brains out, I guess.

  “I don’t hate him. I enjoy spending time with him.” I try again. “We have common interests.”

  “You’re fucking,” Duke observes quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “And you have feelings.”

  “Of course I have feelings.”

  “So why are you surprised that he loves you? He’s the one who didn’t get hurt all those years ago. He was the bad guy.”

  “He’s not a bad guy. He did a bad thing. And he regrets it.”

  “So you’re defending him. Because you love him too.”

  I want to smack the ever-loving shit out of Duke right now. I glare at him across the room. “I care about him. I like being with him. We’re taking things slow.”

  Duke grins a wicked, crooked grin. “Fucking someone you hate is a great way to fall in love.”

  It takes me a cold minute to figure out he’s talking about my sister. Ew.

  “Okay, that’s actually gross, so I’m going back to the party now.”

  I stand up and dig in his jacket pocket for the licorice, then stick my tongue out at him and head back downstairs. I hand the plastic sweets bag to Britney. “Your brother’s an asshole.”

  She laughs. “But he’s our asshole, Tiffani. He’s our asshole.”

  So I don’t actually hate the baby shower. It’s a lot of pink, yeah. And the games are stupid. I would kick someone for a beer. Still, there’s something to be said for being in the company of other women, and it’s something I’ve missed out on over years working in the shop. Long after the guests have gone, I help Tanner take down the streamers and balloons.

  “You and Duke gonna do this any time soon?” I toss a tiny plastic baby at her. “Clock’s ticking.”

  She grimaces. “Maybe in a couple years. I’m not ready for all this.”

  I nod, even though I can’t relate. I think back to standing on the steps at the house, looking at the hickey in my senior year picture and thinking about kids and Matt, and the hunger I felt for the future we had planned as kids.

  “I want kids,” I tell Tanner. “Even if they’re bratty assholes who let their boyfriends give them hickeys the night before school photos.”

  Tanner laughs. “Dad was so pissed at you.”

  “Yeah. And he loved us so much. I want to love someone like that. And I want someone to love me the way we loved Dad.”

  “This isn’t theoretical for you, is it?” Tanner folds a stack of burp cloths. “You’ve thought about this.”

  I nod. “I’ve thought about it. I’m only twenty-seven, so there’s time. But yeah.”

  After we stack the last of the gifts in a laundry basket to carry upstairs for Britney, I say my goodbyes.

  In the front seat of my car, I open up my phone and peek at Twitter. There are loads of photos from the premiere under the hashtag, and I start scrolling through, hoping for a glimpse of Matt.

  And then I see him, and it’s a video so I click to hear the sound.

  “And I can’t wait to see what he does next.” A pretty blonde in a green dress is hanging on his arm, smiling sweetly at the camera. It hits me like a punch to the gut.

  Jealousy—and disappointment.

  Why would he bring someone else to the premiere? Didn’t he say he’d go solo since I couldn’t go? Why wouldn’t he tell me?

  I scroll through my texts, looking to see if I missed something, but no. Nothing. Just the text saying he missed me.

  I toss the phone on the passenger seat and put the car in Reverse. Fucking hell. How can this hurt so much? Did I really think keeping him at arm’s length and trying not to let myself get invested would make any difference? Did I really believe I wasn’t already head over heels for him just like I was ten years ago?

  The pain echoes through me, then and now, the anger and humiliation feeding off the past hurt, amplified by it.

  I want to scream.

  I want to drive out into the mountains and throw the BMW around the curves so fast I don’t feel any pain. But all that would get me is another speeding ticket or a crashed car; I’d still be an idiot.

  I’m so fucking stupid, I let him hurt me twice.

  Shame on me.

  Matt

  Tiffani doesn’t answer her phone when I get out of the premiere, but it’s late there—maybe she’s gone to bed. Audra and I take an Uber over to the comedy club where Trent has his weekly headlining gig. He’s still onstage, so we pay the cover and go inside.

  I haven’t seen him do stand-up in years. He’s better now, his timing honed by his acting gigs. His jokes are funnier than I remember—and he was hilarious before. Audra laughs with delight as he delivers punch line after punch line, even though she must have heard them before.

  “He’s really good,” I say over the roar of the audience around us.

  “He’s fantastic.” She sighs happily. “I love him so much I can’t hardly breathe when I see him doing this. He was born to be onstage.”

  Her enthusiasm is contagious. I order us a couple of beers and settle in to watch the show. Her phone beeps, and a notification flashes on the screen, then disappears. Then another one. Then another.

  “What the heck?” She picks it up and unlocks it, her eyes going wide. She laughs, but not the open, amused laughter of before. This laughter is nervous and cagey. She puts a hand on my arm. “Brace yourself.”

  I take her phone. “You have a Google alert on your name? Really?”

  “I’m new.” She glares at me. “But look at the headlines.”

  Newcomer Audra Turner Cozies Up with Auteur Matt Adams.

  Who Is Audra Turner? Director Matt Adams Seen at Premiere with the Fresh-Faced Ingénue Sporting a Massive Diamond.

  WATCH: “We’ll be fine!” Matt Adams and a Smiling Audra Turner Respond to Jeremy Cutler’s Accusations of a Witch Hunt.

  “Well, that’s all very dumb. Clearly the press is bored.”

  “Matt.” Audra picks up her beer and takes a long drink. “They think we’re a couple.”

  I shrug. “So what? It’ll be forgotten tomorrow.”

  She shakes her head. “Trent said you have a girlfriend now. Did you tell her you were taking me to the premiere?”

  Oh shit.

  I try to call Tiffani again. No answer. I can get out ahead of this, right? As long as I talk to her—as long as I explain—before she sees any headlines. I should have mentioned that I was taking Audra. I should have told her about Trent’s request.<
br />
  Call me? I send a quick text. I don’t care what time, even if it’s the middle of the night. I love you.

  Goddamn it.

  Anxiety eats at me. How could I have been so stupid? I’ve fucked this up. In the pit of my stomach, I know I’ve fucked this up. I should have said something.

  I try to call her again as we leave the comedy club, but I know it’s hopeless. Her do not disturb will be on by now for sure. I text again.

  When she calls, it’s three in the morning, and I’ve been up all night. I’m sad, and I’m angry—not at her, at myself—and my hands shake with relief and regret.

  “Hi,” I say, hating the roughness in my voice.

  “Hi.” Her voice is terse, still rough with sleep. “I have a lot going on today. The house inspector is coming by this morning. So if we can make this quick, I’d appreciate it.”

  “What did you see?” I stare down at my feet, stomach turning.

  “Enough.”

  “She’s just a friend.”

  “Why are all your friends women?”

  “They aren’t! She’s my best friend’s wife. He’s a comedian, he had a show last night, so she came with me. Ani, you have to believe me.”

  She sighs heavily. “I do believe you. Believing you was never the problem, because every time you hurt me, you can’t fucking wait to tell me about it.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Ani—”

  “Shut up.”

  I shut up.

  “I can’t do this, Matt. I can’t get all invested in these feelings. I don’t trust you. And I can’t love someone I don’t trust.”

  “Can’t love or don’t love?” I ask, mouthy in my misery, even though I know it’s what I deserve.

  “Don’t ask me that,” she whispers. “Please.”

  “I’ve never lied to you. She’s my best friend’s wife. I didn’t tell you I was taking her because I didn’t know. It was a last-minute thing. Ani, I love you. I would never hurt you on purpose.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose or not!” she shouts. “Don’t you get it? This isn’t about you at all. This is about me. I can’t do this. Me. I can’t. I thought I had developed some thick shell, and I don’t want that. I don’t want a shell. So I let myself start having feelings for you, and I don’t want those either.”