The fact that she doesn’t see that, that she doesn’t understand that this isn’t some kind of fantasy, makes my heart ache. Because it means she doesn’t really understand me. And when I drop them off at the airport later that night, the three of us at the curb, our good-byes are not what they would normally be.
“When will you be back?” Cassandra asks. We’re standing by the car, and Jake is unloading the bags from the trunk.
“Not sure,” I say. “After filming, I guess.”
She shifts her carry-on backpack on her shoulder and nods. “Thanks for having us,” she says.
“Of course.” I pause, look down at my feet. “It was fun.”
I look up, and she’s staring at me. I can see her about to crack, the words spilling out—the admission of everything that is wrong, in this moment, right now—how much she loves me and how nothing has changed—our friendship is forever, don’t I know that? But she doesn’t. Instead she takes Jake’s hand as he comes around.
“Fly safe,” I say. I give them both a quick hug, and then I’m back behind the wheel. I don’t stop to see them go inside. I don’t want to know if they look back.
A call sheet is waiting under my door when I get back to the condos. Five o’clock tomorrow morning in hair and makeup. But this time it’s not for filming. We’re shooting our first feature for Scene magazine. I make myself a cup of tea and fall asleep before the sun is down.
A few hours later I’m sitting on the floor of my bedroom in the condo, magazines covering the carpet. I’ve gotten a subscription to everything: People, Us Weekly, Glamour, InTouch, Cosmopolitan. Even the trashy tabloids. They’re all here.
I haven’t become Cassandra overnight or anything; it’s just that I need some answers and figured this is as good a place as any to start looking for them. I need to know how to give an interview in about two hours, and I don’t have the first clue what to say. It’s time for some DIY media training.
Jordan will be back this morning, and I hope Rainer’s nonchalance continues. Something makes me think that once they’re face-to-face, it may not.
I glance at the clock on my nightstand: 4:30 AM. I pick up the copy of Scene off the floor and hold it out in front of me. Some glossy, white-toothed girl I don’t recognize is smiling back at me, pulling her shirt down so you can see the top of her bra. It’s pink, the same color as the highlighter I have bookmarked in the history textbook I’m reading for Rubina.
I flip to the white-toothed girl’s article, where she’s sucking on a lollipop, wearing a cherry-print dress in the middle of a field. HAYLEY’S HOME, the headline reads. “I’m happy with who I am. I feel like I’m finally completely in my own skin.” I shut the magazine, using my toe to edge it to the far side of the room.
I used to think these plastic pinups were just that: unreal. But now I’m getting ready to do the exact same thing. I’m not sure whether I’m excited or totally embarrassed for myself. Both, probably.
I throw a sweatshirt over my tank top and denim shorts and slide into my flip-flops at the door. It’s chilly outside, and I pop on my hood as I walk to set. Even though it’s dark, I can still see the outline of the ocean, the first hints of sun picking up the rolling waves. I hope I can fit my morning swim in tomorrow. Since we’re doing the magazine today, we’ll probably have an early call time tomorrow, too. Everything on this movie is broken down to the minute. If you lose thirty seconds to sneeze, you have to make it up somewhere else, but this has to be balanced with union overtime.
When I get to base camp, Rainer is already there, wandering around the craft service table. His hair is a little matted down, and he’s got a red dent on his cheek from sleeping. I can’t help but think he looks pretty cute in his faded blue T-shirt and board shorts.
“Hey,” I say.
He turns around, rubbing his eyes. “Hey there. Sleep well?”
I nod, although I did not sleep well. Sure, I passed out for a few hours, but I mostly dreamed about how disconnected and weird my time with Cassandra and Jake was. And then I sat on my floor, looking at perfect celebrities, trying to figure out (1) how people talk in interviews, (2) what I’m doing in this business, and (3) how to censor myself so I don’t start telling Scene about the time I spilled hot chocolate down my jeans in second grade and everyone called me “Wets Her Pants Paige” for the rest of the year.
Jake once told me that it’s hard to sleep when there’s a full moon, and I make a mental note to check the sky tonight. I’d love to chalk my insecurities up to lunar patterns.
I reach to grab a coffee cup when I feel a hand on my waist. It startles me so much I spin around, and when I do, Rainer pulls me right up against him. He slides his other hand down my back and interlaces his fingers so he’s holding me, chest to chest. It’s like a quintuple espresso has been injected into my veins. My whole body wakes up. His arms are warm, and his T-shirt is soft. It’s almost enough for me not to notice the reason he’s got me all tangled up like this.
But then I see Jordan standing in the doorway. He’s framed there by the first rays of sunlight, backlit in a way that Camden and Wyatt would probably kill for on film, and he’s looking right at us.
The last thing I want is for Jordan to get the wrong idea. He hates me already, and my loyalty is to Rainer, I know that, but I don’t want to start unnecessary problems between us before we even start working together. We’re professionals. This is a job.
Rainer’s arms, thankfully, slacken around me, and he plants a kiss on my cheek before letting me go.
I crane my head around to look back at the door, but Jordan’s gone. So far we haven’t spoken too much about Jordan being cast, but I know Rainer will suck it up. He’s got to.
Wyatt is headed our way. He sends me a glance I’m plenty familiar with by now. Keep that personal crap in your condos.
I take a step back from Rainer, and Wyatt angles left for the coffee table just as Sandy comes sweeping toward us. You can really only describe it as sweeping because she’s got on these ivory silk pants and a matching blouse that make her look like she’s floating. It’s not even six AM. I wince thinking about the rat’s nest on my head. I still haven’t taken my hood down.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Rainer says. A wide smile breaks out on his face as they hug.
Sandy has spent the last few weeks in L.A.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m back for the sun.” Rainer shakes his head, and Sandy winks at me. “How’s the shoot going, PG?”
“Pretty good,” I say. “Learning a lot.”
“Understatement of the year.” She turns back to Rainer. “You look thin, kid. Are you eating over here?”
“He looks fine with his shirt off,” Wyatt says, handing Sandy a coffee cup.
He smiles at her, an incredibly rare occurrence on his face, and she laughs. “You know I don’t drink this stuff.”
She wiggles her nose, and all at once she reminds me of Cassandra. I wonder what Cassandra’s doing right now. It’s eight thirty in Portland. Their flight got in at four AM, I think. She’s probably at school. First period.
Last year Cassandra and I had art together first period. Early in the semester, we convinced Mrs. Delancey that we were working on installation art for our final project. We would take big canvases out to the lower field and just lie on them, looking up at the sky. It was always cloudy, and mostly we got rained on, but we didn’t mind. We’d just lie there, sometimes talking, sometimes not, until the bell rang. By the end of the semester the canvases had all kinds of grass, dirt, and water stains. I was convinced we were going to fail, but Cassandra made us turn them in. We ended up each getting an A minus. Mrs. Delancey called our work “innovative and thought-provoking.”
Wyatt angles his shoulders to the entrance. “Where’s Jordan?”
Rainer snorts, so loudly I think it might actually have been involuntary, and I see Sandy narrow her eyes at him. A look that seems to say watch it.
Wyatt ignores him and motions to Sand
y. “Walk with me. I want to run something by you.”
Sandy nods, and Wyatt takes out a clipboard. He always has a notebook on him. Shot list, scene list, call sheets, etc. “You guys have until noon for this Scene stuff,” he says, waving the clipboard around. “Then we’re filming.”
“Success hasn’t made you soft, huh?” Sandy says. She smiles, and I see small lines around her eyes, like pencil marks on a page. I wonder how long they’ve known each other, and how they met. There seems to be a story there.
“Not yet.” Wyatt looks at her, and for the first time I realize how little I know about him. I know he’s not married and he doesn’t have any children, but does he have a girlfriend? Does he live in L.A. when he’s not filming? What was his life like before this? I know, and have always known, that he has a reputation for being the way he is—tough. But was he always like that? It’s hard to imagine him any other way, but I saw something in him at that chemistry test with Jordan. I saw how much he loves this. How he’ll do anything to make it what it needs to be.
A group of people I don’t recognize have congregated in the corner of the tent. The Scene team. I heard something about them wanting to do a behind-the-scenes visit before our cover shoot. Jordan is standing with them. He says something, and one of the women nods intently. She lets her fingertips rest on his forearm briefly.
Wyatt and Sandy have disappeared, and Rainer is talking to Jessica, who has just arrived, orange juice in hand. “Does Urth Caffé deliver?” I hear him ask her.
She laughs, and Rainer blows her a kiss. God, he’s cute.
Then Lillianna is there. She looks me up and down and declares loudly, “Oh, honey. If I saw you looking like this, I wouldn’t put you on a soup can.”
I’d never admit this publicly, but my favorite movie is not Casablanca. It’s not A Clockwork Orange, either. It’s actually She’s All That. You know, the one with Freddie Prinze Jr. where he falls in love with the school nerd? It’s not Hitchcock or anything, but I love it. My favorite scene is the one where the main guy is waiting for her at her house right before the big school dance, and she walks down the stairs and is totally transformed. All of a sudden, she’s beautiful.
It’s eight AM before I walk through the soundstage doors but when I do, I feel like I’m in a movie. Not acting in one, but actually in one. The way people’s heads turn when I step inside. And the way Rainer and Jordan look at me, like neither one has ever seen me before.
Rainer turns around first, and I see his wide smile, mid laugh. His mouth actually stays open. He’s gaping at me. Something inside me lifts. It feels good to be watched this way, wanted maybe. I can feel his eyes on me. The way his gaze sits—heavy, weighted. The way his eyes travel over my shoulders and up to my eyes like he’s looking for something. Like I have something he wants. Then he whistles, and Jordan turns around.
You know how when you’re taking a photo sometimes the shutter stalls and the picture goes into freeze-frame? My image of Jordan just hangs in the viewfinder. I see him swallow, his Adam’s apple moving down his throat. I look at his hands by his sides. His fists opening and closing. Then his eyes look up into mine, and I recognize the same expression he shot me on the beach. His black eyes look like they’re cut from glass. It feels like if he stared hard enough, long enough, he could slice right through me.
“Hot in here,” I mumble.
No one hears me.
Usually stars bring their own hair and makeup teams to these kinds of photo shoots, but since I’m still new at this game and we’re on set, Lillianna subbed in. And the look couldn’t be further from August’s signature soft, wavy locks and rose-colored makeup. Now my eyes are smoky ash, highlighted with black eyeliner and a light-gold shadow that travels from my eyelids down my cheeks like stardust. She’s somehow got my hair to properly curl, too. It’s got ringlets, and they bounce as I walk. Like they’re dancing, set to music.
And I’m wearing a black dress. It’s lace, with spaghetti straps and a ribbon adorning the waistline. It’s so tight and short, I’m afraid to move my arms.
I have on four-inch platform heels.
My lipstick is red.
I feel… beautiful. Hot, even. The way I always imagined the cheerleaders at Portland High felt when they were opening the football games. Like they were worth people watching. Worth Rainer Devon and Jordan Wilder watching.
“Damn,” Rainer says. I walk over to where he’s standing, the Scene crew separating him from Jordan. In the time it’s taken me to get ready, a massive stage has been set up inside. Big, black paper polka dots are everywhere—pasted onto the floor and walls. Red plastic balls float around vintage pinball machines, and giant Twizzlers are in big pink barrels. I feel like I’m in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. I have to admit—it’s kind of awesome.
“Are those edible?” I ask Sandy, pointing to the Twizzlers.
“Sorta,” she says. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Rainer puts his hand on my back again. I turn to look at him. “Seriously,” he whispers. “You look ridiculously hot.” He drops his lips down to my ear. “You’re kind of making me crazy here.”
“Yeah?” I say. The ends of my fingers feel tingly and numb all at once. I have no idea what is going on between us, but I know we’re flirting. I know this isn’t friendly. Or professional. Not anymore.
“Yes,” he says. He nods his head down to mine. “You’re gorgeous.”
I don’t know whether it’s the makeup or the hair or the fact that I actually feel like a movie star today, on the set of what People just called “the hottest thing since summer,” but I want to throw my arms around his neck. I want to kiss him right here.
Rainer is wearing a red-and-white-checkered shirt, open at the collar, and dark jeans. He looks dapper, and as I move back, I take a moment to appreciate how absurdly good-looking he is.
He smiles at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I say with a nod. It’s true, too.
“First official magazine feature,” he says.
“Not yours.”
I let my hand wander up to his collar. I pretend to pick a piece of lint off it, but there is nothing there. I just want to be close to him.
Rainer covers my hand with his. It’s warm. It makes the rest of the soundstage get a little fuzzy.
“We’re just filler,” he says. “This entire thing is about you.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. He’s looking at me with this expression that makes me feel nervous and excited and totally taken care of all at once. Like he’s not going to let anything happen to me. On this photo shoot, on this set, or anywhere else.
The Scene crew parts, and then Jordan is there, right next to us. He’s wearing black pants and a black shirt with a purple tie that’s come undone. He has the slight evidence of a five o’clock shadow.
My heart trips, like it’s fallen over a beat, and that familiar feeling of nerves comes rushing back. I force myself not to focus on Jordan. Every time I do, my stomach turns over. He makes me feel unstable. This is only the second time we’ve met and already his presence disrupts. And I don’t want to be distracted right now. I want to keep standing this close to Rainer. I want him to keep telling me the way he sees me.
I blow some air out through my lips. I shake Jordan off. His issues are not going to ruin today. I’m here, right now, living this incredible fantasy. And the best part is that it’s not a fantasy, it’s real. I’m starring in a huge movie and about to be photographed for a magazine. And feeling anything but excited, joyous, downright thrilled feels like a betrayal of that dream. I won’t let Jordan take this moment away.
Someone turns music on, and then the entire soundstage, all three thousand square feet, is filled with the Smiths, then Kanye, then Katy. The playlist pounds on as we start shooting. Me on Rainer’s shoulders, Jordan watching us. Rainer with his arms around me, Jordan off to the side. They keep yelling things at us, and it starts to… work. Things click. This is the first
thing we’ve done, the three of us, and I can feel the chemistry. It’s not just me and Rainer or me and Jordan, but all of us. I feel it the same way I did with Rainer in Portland and Jordan here at his audition. Except this time we’re all together.
It’s enough to make me forget, momentarily, that Rainer and Jordan can’t stand each other. Rainer grabs a large Twizzler and rips off the end with his teeth. He swings it at Jordan, and the two mock-fight with the candy like they’re wielding swords.
I pick up a red ball and toss it in the air, and when the camera snaps, just before the ball starts descending, I realize I’m having fun. Actual fun. I’m not self-conscious right now. I’m not worried that I’m not doing a good enough job or that I should be more this or that. I’m just enjoying being me, here, now. This world is crazy and strange, but also pretty spectacular. And I can tell Rainer and Jordan are feeling it, too. I can tell by the way they aren’t sending each other looks or trying to rip each other apart. Suddenly the past and everything it holds—Cassandra and Jake and even Britney, whatever she means to these boys—feels a million miles away. Like it’s not just an ocean that separates us but something else, too. Something solid.
The song changes, and Rainer lifts me up. He twirls me around, fast, and as the soundstage spins, I focus on his face. He’s smiling and saying something, but between the speed and music I can’t hear him. He sets me down and keeps talking, but I still can’t hear him. I’m too hopped up on adrenaline and Madonna. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jordan leaning against a wall, his hand on his jaw, looking at the camera. Someone hovers over him with a comb.
Rainer gets closer, and just as the music fades out, flipping songs, he says something to me again: “I want to kiss you.” This time I hear him.
The bad news is, so does everyone else.
The Scene crew members look at one another like they’re not sure what to do, and Sandy and Wyatt immediately leap to damage-control duty, watching the video replay and making sure you can’t catch Rainer’s words.
“The producers would love this,” Sandy says to Wyatt.
Famous in Love Page 10