Absolutely True Lies

by Rachel Stuhler

  Just like in Rome, I realized that if I let him walk out the door, I would never hear from him again. Part of me felt relief at the possibility of that outcome, but I had to concede that the relief could just be my cowardly laziness. As Ben turned to walk away, Camille smacked me—hard—on the back of the head. I also hate when she does that.

  “I can be back for a late dinner,” I said. “If you’re free, that is. Eight o’clock, maybe. Or seven-thirty if we meet somewhere further south, like Santa Monica or Venice.”

  “You don’t have to,” was his answer.

  “I want to. Don’t think this has anything to do with you.” I nodded toward the maggot photographers waiting right outside the door. They were a great scapegoat for my cowardice and indecision. “Have you noticed the swirling shitstorm that is my life right now?”

  Ben cast a dubious glance back toward the paparazzi. “I imagine that is pretty crazy.” He paused, a thought seeming to just occur to him. “Um . . . do they follow you everywhere?”

  “This is a fairly new thing. But so far, yes. I’m actually staying at the Dixsons’ because of it.”

  “Then why don’t you come over and I’ll make you dinner?”

  Camille raised an eyebrow at my lumberjack would-be boyfriend. “You cook?”

  Ben nodded. “After college, I spent two years at Le Cordon Bleu.” Of course he did.

  “Why don’t you just text me your address and I’ll come over as soon as I can.”

  “Okay. Nice to meet you, Camille.” Ben waved and headed back out to the feeding frenzy on the sidewalk.

  “You, too,” Camille called after him. She watched as he disappeared, then snapped her head back toward me. “What in the hell is the matter with you? Marry that man.”

  “A few weeks ago, you said Vaughn was delicious,” I retorted, sulking.

  Camille rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t know what happened in Italy, but you came home with that gorgeous piece of ass as a boyfriend, so Vaughn is dog meat as far as I’m concerned. Or did you manage to screw things up even worse than I think you did?”

  “Vaughn kissed me. After I kissed Ben. And I don’t think Ben knows about it yet.”

  “Not the end of the world. You two have only started dating. If you want to fix things, then tell him the truth before someone else does and ruins everything. As for Vaughn, if you’ve had Ben’s tongue down your throat and enjoyed it, it’s time to move on.” She paused for a second, then exclaimed, “And why the eff didn’t you tell me you were living at Dixson Central? When did that happen?”

  “Eat your salad,” I replied. “I have to get to work.”

  • • •

  My afternoon with Daisy was surprisingly productive. Heroin-­addict Lee was busy with a visit from his sister, Dr. Chace was doing yet another guest spot on CNN, and Faith was off trying to reassert her dominance over Daisy’s career. With no distractions (and seemingly, far fewer mood-altering drugs), Daisy was compliant and—dare I say—even a little bit fun. I gave her the green-tea Kit Kats, and she happily munched on them throughout our session, sharing fun little stories about Axel and Sharla and their tour adventures across the world.

  Now that the tone of the book was changing and her battle with prescriptions was known to the world, it actually gave us something to talk about. And judging by the way Daisy was quick to blast Jamie for getting her hooked on pills as a child, she had already heard about his defection. I knew she and Jamie had had their moments of friction, but I didn’t realize just how much she hated him. I wondered if she knew about his affair with Faith, but we had such a great rapport, I was terrified to bring it up.

  The saddest moment of my afternoon came when Daisy sighed and said, “I can’t sleep in here. Every night, I’m lucky if I get an hour or two.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I don’t like being alone. That’s why I always have my friends sleep over. When I’m alone, I think too much. I think about what an awful person I am and how much I hate myself. But Dr. Chace doesn’t let me have people in my room after ten. So I sit there by myself all night.”

  I wasn’t equipped to respond to that admission. More than anyone I’d ever met, Daisy really did need therapy. I just hoped to God that Rehabilication was able to help her. Given my interactions with Chace (and that stupid name), I was a little dubious of his competence. And to tell the truth, that wasn’t my job. I was there to talk Daisy through her life and reorganize it in some sort of coherent, PG-13 way. So I largely kept my mouth shut, listened, and kept my pen to the page.

  • • •

  I never did see Faith that day. I left Rehabilication around six-thirty and climbed back in the Dixsons’ enormous Lincoln Navigator. When I told Daisy which car I was driving, she referred to it as the “grocery store ride” or “Mom car.” This was my second experience driving it and I was still unsettled by the car asking “Where would you like to go today?” every time I started it up. I hadn’t figured out how to park the monstrosity yet, and I was pretty sure valet stands didn’t take my magical black Amex.

  I also tried not to overthink my dinner with Ben. Because I assume every situation will end in a gloomy disaster, I didn’t expect too much. A big part of me was actually hoping he would decide he didn’t really like me and end things himself. Yeah, I’m that much of a wimp.

  When I reached Ben’s apartment in Brentwood, I could smell the meal from the front porch. Ever the traitor, my stomach growled loudly. I was also immediately uncomfortable by how much nicer his neighborhood was than mine. His building had a French Provincial feel to it, and he even had window boxes overflowing with blooming flowers. If I was lucky, maybe I’d started dating a gay guy.

  Ben must have been waiting for me because he answered the door about three seconds after I knocked. I smiled at him, but I’m not sure if I came off as shy or creepy.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” he said.

  “I wasn’t, either,” I replied.

  We had a nice, if slightly strained, dinner, but we’d no sooner settled onto the couch with a glass of wine than I suddenly knew the inner workings of my brain were far less clandestine than I imagined.

  “You can tell me you’re in love with Vaughn. It’s okay. It’s what I thought initially, anyway. I feel stupid for discounting my intuition.”

  I stared back at Ben, the only thought in my head, Why does he have to be so pretty and perfect? “What?” was all I could muster.

  Ben gave me his adorable smirk and looked away. Even his eyelashes curled up in an impossibly unnatural way. I was definitely physically attracted to him, but I still didn’t know about the rest. Hell, I didn’t know him. The Roman fling had happened so fast it bred a false sense of familiarity. Back in the light of day, I still had to figure out how much of it was real. “Holly, be honest with me. I deserve that much.”

  I hesitated for a second, thinking about how angry Camille would be if she discovered I’d blown this relationship to smithereens. I briefly considered pulling out the dumb, flirty persona that works on most men, but I am neither of those things. And it’s exhausting to pretend to be someone you’re not. Not to mention, it’s rude and disrespectful to play games with another person’s emotions.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said. “And I don’t know what I want. But I’m not in love in Vaughn. I’m not sure how I feel about him, exactly, but it’s not love.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But there is a reason I’ve been avoiding you and it isn’t that I don’t like you. I do.” I paused, trying to come up with the right words instead of the swirling, confusing mess of thoughts and syllables that I’d thus far been unable to untangle even in my own brain. “I was honest with you about Vaughn. But the last night in Rome, something happened.”

  “Okay.” Ben didn’t move or show any sign of upset. He really was one of the most reaso
nable people I’d ever met. I almost didn’t know how to deal with that.

  “He and I got into an argument and he kissed me. I didn’t ask for it but I probably took a little too long to stop it.” I forced myself to add the last part. I thought it would be disingenuous to just say that Vaughn kissed me. It wasn’t like I slapped him or immediately shoved him away.

  Ben took a sip of wine, considering what I’d said. “I knew he’d try. Vaughn doesn’t like to lose.” I had been prepared for anger; I wasn’t sure what to make of this reaction. “I really do like you. I want you to have whatever makes you happy.”

  “About that,” I said before I could stop myself. “Why do you like me? I mean, you’re insanely good-looking, ridiculously smart, and I’m pretty sure you could build a house with your bare hands if you wanted. You’re like the Marlboro Man without the cancer.”

  Ben laughed, and instantly that strange tension that had hung in the air all night shattered into a million pieces. I swear, it was even easier to breathe. “That’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “No, it’s not. I get why Vaughn likes me, but you. . . .”

  “You’re beautiful. And talented, and witty . . . What’s not to like?”

  “I’m not Daisy. I don’t get guys like you.”

  He paused for a moment, watching my face with a precision that made me nervous. “By which you mean you don’t deserve a guy like me.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “If the shoe fits, I guess. . . .”

  Ben shook his head. “If it’s just that you’re more attracted to Vaughn than you are to me, then I won’t say anything to try and stop you. But if you’re attracted to him because he’s what you feel you deserve, then I’m not just going to stand aside. You deserve a hell of a lot better than someone who keeps dangling the possibility of relationship over you.”

  In all of my hours of tossing and turning over this issue, I’d never been able to pinpoint the problem as easily and succinctly as Ben just had. It was also becoming clear just how much he disliked Vaughn. “I thought you’d be mad.”

  “We’re adults, Holly. You and I spent a very little bit of time around each other and not that much happened between us. I’m not furious that you hadn’t yet made up your mind about me.”

  “I’ve been terrible to you.”

  “A little bit, yes,” he agreed quickly. “And to make it up to me, you need to give me a month. Just one month. And if Rome was just a showmance, then fine. But you owe it to me to find out for sure. Then if you still want Vaughn instead of me, I won’t argue.”

  “A showmance?” I laughed.

  “Yes. A showmance, a locationship, everybody on a film crew has one once in a while.” Ben winked at me. “But I’m a keeper.”

  Unless he was a secret wife beater or member of the Ku Klux Klan, he was right. “A month, huh?” When he nodded, I smiled and shrugged. “I think I can do that.”

  CHAPTER 19

  This town makes it very difficult to have real friends. I’ve talked about how hard it is to know if someone cares about you or if they just think you can get them a job, but there’s more to it than that. You lose the ability to trust people, and that’s the most dangerous thing of all. You start to see ulterior motives, liars, and cheaters everywhere, even when they’re not there. And the moment you question a true friend, the moment you start to wonder if that person called the tabs or took a picture of you at your worst, that friendship is doomed. Not because you can’t trust them, but because they can’t trust you.

  Ben turned out to be right—despite their seedy intrusiveness, the gossip blogs were absolutely the best place to get information about Daisy’s career. Those bastards at TMZ knew more about her life than she did. They gave me a heads-up as to what questions would be hurled at me the next time I stepped outside. No one managed to get close to Daisy’s house, but once I reached Sunset Boulevard, I was fair game. The blogs also gave all of us a pretty clear view of Jamie’s political maneuverings. According to Perez Hilton, Jamie had used every one of Daisy’s studio connections to get Ariceli’s demo recorded, and now he was going after Nickelodeon to secure her a TV show. It was like watching the circle of life in a piranha tank.

  • • •

  I spent the next week working with Daisy every day in Dana Point, driving back and forth in Faith’s Navigator. Most nights, I drove back and had dinner with Ben at his apartment. We tried to go out to a restaurant a few times, but it was difficult to eat with all of the flashes going off in our faces. I very deliberately kept him away from the Dixson compound, mostly because I didn’t feel comfortable having guests over without permission. I knew I wasn’t some babysitter sneaking in her boyfriend after hours, but it still felt wrong. It wasn’t my house, so it wasn’t my place to entertain anyone but my invited cat. So we huddled up in his French Provincial apartment, and most nights Ben read through my day’s work with Daisy, giving me notes. It was also nice to know that someone—anyone—cared what I was writing.

  My nights with Ben were sweet and calm, but I still felt like my relationship with him was lacking a certain fire. And it wasn’t about sexual chemistry, I totally wanted to rip his clothes off. It’s just that I never experienced that static shock when seeing him walk into a room. Maybe that was nothing more than a childish fantasy. I couldn’t help but think that if I hadn’t experienced that intensity with Vaughn, I would have been happy as a clam with Ben.

  And in that entire week, I didn’t hear a single word from Vaughn. I tried to call him back in response to the mumbling apology he’d left on my voice mail, but he didn’t answer. Each time my phone rang, it was someone else. Now that Daisy’s show had been shut down, I didn’t even know where I could find him. I wondered if maybe it was better this way.

  My life moved forward at an anxious, steady pace until the following Wednesday. I’d taken to checking the blogs before I left for work every morning, but that particular day, I saw something that made me spit hot coffee all over my laptop. There was a story about Jamie stealing the half million dollars and Daisy considering a “baby powder” defense for her cocaine bust . . . and I was credited as the source.

  I was so upset that I didn’t even notice as my laptop began to sizzle. I heard it in some corner of my mind, but my heart was thumping so loudly that it drowned out the dying wail of my computer. It had to have been Camille—or Donnie—who had ratted me out. It had to. I hadn’t said those things to anyone but my best friend. Furious, I pulled out my cell phone and called her.

  “Heya, mama,” she answered.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shouted into the speaker.

  There was a momentary stunned silence on the other end of the line before Camille regrouped and said, “Please don’t speak to me like that.”

  “I’ll talk to you any way I damn well please! How could you sell things to TMZ behind my back?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Holly.”

  I started to cry. “I asked you not to tell Donnie anything. That fat, slimy bastard will do anything for a buck. I begged you and you did it anyway. He sold me out, Camille. It’s all over the Internet.”

  “Wow,” she said. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of that. And thanks for calling my boyfriend a slimy bastard.”

  “What else am I supposed to say about him? He sits on your couch all day and spends your hard-earned money, but thinks it’s beneath him to marry you. The guy’s a loser,” I said. “How do you get a hold of the people at these blogs? Do they have a tip line? Hell, do they even pay that well? I hope it was a damn lot of money because I’m going to lose my job over this.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. “I didn’t repeat any of that to Donnie. Not a word. You asked me not to.”

  “Oh, really?” I cried in disbelief. “Then how am I quoted as saying that Daisy was going to tell the Ital
ian government she thought the cocaine was baby powder?”

  “I would assume they got it from you.”

  “I’m not a goddamn idiot, I haven’t talked to the paparazzi,” I practically screamed. In all the years I’d known her, I’d never been this upset with her before.

  “No, but you’ve sure as hell talked in front of them,” Camille replied. “Do you really think those scumbags are above coming into a restaurant and eavesdropping on other people’s conversations? You weren’t exactly quiet.”

  I thought back to everything I’d been “quoted” as saying. Had I really been dumb enough to talk about all of those things in public? I racked my brain and quickly realized that Camille had to be right. I’d sat right there in A Votre Sante and a couple of days later in a Peet’s Coffee and told her everything that had happened in the last few weeks. I could have leaked it to the paps myself, or one of the patrons could have smelled an easy payday. I was the asshole.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Apology not accepted,” Camille replied. “You can’t just accuse me of all of this shit and think a simple sorry will cut it. You really believed it was me. And again, you called my boyfriend a slimy bastard. You can’t take that back.”

  “But I am sorry.” I started crying again, but this was an entirely new moment of terror. I was going to lose my job and my best friend in the same morning. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, you did,” Camille answered. She let out a deep sigh and then added, “I can’t talk to you right now.”

  “But—” I didn’t get to say anything else because the line abruptly disconnected. It was just as well, as I had no real follow-up to my but. Camille was right, I did think Donnie was a waste of DNA. There was no coming back from my assessment of him.

  Figuring I might as well take all of the bad news at once, I called Faith. She answered on the second ring, and I instantly felt guilty when she said, “Are you all right, sugar? I saw TMZ this morning.”