by ANDREA SMITH
Parties like this, for example, whenever he was directing a film in Europe. Yeah, she was married to none other than Truman Romanski, the most sought after director in the business. He was forty years her senior, but what he lacked in looks and apparently…dick, he made up for with his hefty bank account.
We’d caught wind that while Romanski was filming in Europe, Devon was playing hard and loose. Another photographer had caught her leaving the Hard Rock last night on the arm of her latest co-star, Ricky Havana, and had snapped some candid shots of the couple.
Problem was, Havana had broken the paparazzi’s camera, and then his jaw. Whomever Devon was entertaining tonight wasn’t Havana. He’d been locked up for criminal assault, and, as of two hours ago, even though his bond had been posted, the dude was refusing to leave the jail. Said he was going to make a political statement about invasion of privacy or some such shit.
Didn’t celebs realize that with their fame and fortune came public interest—and even scrutiny? Whoever told them that fame was free?
Devon’s soft laugh floated over the hedge line to my ears. They were pretty damn close it seemed, but they surely wouldn’t be jumping the hedge. I peered through the branches and caught a better glimpse of the couple.
Devon was wearing a short, black jean skirt, with a white gauzy peasant blouse with billowy sleeves. Her hair was dark brown, and pulled up in a ponytail. Even in the darkness, I could tell she was wasted.
My eyes moved over to her male friend who had his hands buried in the back pockets of her jean skirt, trying to pull her back against him. She was squirming and giggling, playing coy apparently.
I could see his profile, and didn’t recognize him immediately. He was tall, with a lean build, almost too thin to be what I termed “Hollywood Beefcake.” His hair was jet black and longer than what was the current style. It wasn’t until he spoke that I realized who the hell it was!
Oh My God!
Once I heard the way he talked, the British accent, and the words he used, I knew who it was! Jasper Knight, the front man for Maple Plaid. Maple Plaid was an up and coming combination new wave and rock band that originated in London. Knight’s moves were better than Mick Jagger’s, Steven Tyler’s, and Bono’s all rolled into one.
“Why did you want to wander out here, love? The party’s back there, right?” his accent was enough to make me want to swoon.
I mentally chastised myself. I was on a mission here, and I needed to stop fan-girling, and do what I was being paid to do!
Devon giggled again, pressing herself back into him. “I needed some fresh air and some quiet. It was getting a bit rowdy back there, don’t you think?”
I was careful to get my camera up to eye level without brushing against the hedges, which may have drawn their attention. They were close enough that I could smell the hint of Jasper’s cologne in the night breeze. I started the recording. We could always get the best still shots pulled once we reviewed the film.
“You do have bedrooms in that monstrosity of a house back there, am I right?” Jasper said, his voice now husky, as he lowered his full lips and brushed them against Devon’s hair. That would make a great still, I thought, my adrenaline pumping at just how close I was to this tabloid-breaking story. I was sure it would make the banner headline.
“Too many of Truman’s servants in there with orders to watch me like their jobs depend upon it,” she scoffed. “Give me a cigarette.”
“Say please.”
“Please?” she asked, acting put out by the fact she was showing manners.
“No, love, say it the way I like it.”
She sighed and turned to face him, looking upward because of his tall stature. “Please, Jasper?”
He smirked and reached into the pocket of those tight leather pants and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He put two of them in his mouth and lit them, handing one to her.
“Thank you, Jasper,” she replied dutifully, taking a puff as she pulled away and took a step away from him. It was then I noticed the bulge in his crotch.
Impressive.
Shit. Were they going to get it on out here?
Unfortunately, I would never know as just then her cell phone rang and she quickly tossed her cigarette to the ground. “I have to take this.”
There was a brief pause, but I kept rolling the tape. I was hoping it was her husband on the other end of the phone, and she got into an argument with him right here within filming distance.
I watched as she suddenly stiffened and looked around at Jasper. “What? Are you sure?”
Pause.
“Okay, yeah. I’m heading back now.” She ended the call and stuck her phone back into the pocket of her jean skirt. “Come on, Jasper, that was security. We need to get back up to the house. They’re sweeping the property.”
“What’s going on? Party crashers?” he asked with a laugh. “Who’d you leave off your list, love?”
They started walking away in the direction of the mansion, but I heard her parting response to his question. “Not sure. Something about an uninvited guest being here. Probably paparazzi. I hate those fuckers.”
What?
Shit! Had someone else weaseled onto the estate? Nobody was going to scoop me on these pics. I shut off the camera and placed it back inside my fanny pack and got to my feet. Just as I was about to turn and skedaddle towards the fence at the edge of the property, I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder.
“Hold it there, Miss,” a deep voice growled behind me. “Don’t run off just yet.”
Fuck.
Busted.
Chapter 6
I’d heard all about the fight or flight reflex, but this was the first time I’d experienced it full force. It seemed like minutes had passed instead of just mere seconds since the hand had been placed on my shoulder, and the masculine voice had halted my effort to exit the party.
It was me. I was the party crasher, and in Devon’s terms, I was the fucking paparazzi whose presence had quite possibly interrupted a XXX porn scene between her and a major rock star. I wanted to kick my own ass.
I gathered my wits and turned to face my captor. The first thing I noticed was the embroidered shield on his black shirt that read “Security.” There was no official law enforcement badge. He was private security. He had no jurisdiction over me, and I was about to blurt that very thing out when he spoke again.
“Neely? Are you…Neely…from the beach?”
I studied him closer, but he had a security cap perched on his head, and nothing really seemed familiar…until he pulled off the cap, and I saw the shock of red hair that tumbled out. “Remember now?” he asked cockily.
“Give me a sec,” I replied, running a hand through my own hair. “Nelson? From Seth’s party?”
“Right on, home girl,” he said with a laugh, holding out his hand for me to high-five him, which I did enthusiastically with a sigh of relief.
“So, you’re a security guard?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead, “I thought you were going into the business?”
He frowned, “Yeah, well that didn’t work out so well. I’m back in college. I do this part-time to pay the bills. And speaking of careers, what the fuck are you doing here?”
I swallowed nervously. “Look, I was just fixing to leave, I promise.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes moving down my body, landing on my fanny pack. “You know, I can’t let you leave with that camera, doll. If and when those pictures hit the print, I’ll be unemployed.”
I stalled for time, my mind was working furiously. Could I outrun him? I dismissed that idea quickly when I saw his long, lean legs. “Listen, Nelson, this is my job now. My first solo assignment. Besides that, the camera set me back some serious cash. I can’t leave it here. I need this job too. Can’t you just say you didn’t find me?”
He remained silent. “Tell you what. Some old busy body called over here about an hour ago and said she saw somebody
climbing the fence when she took her dog out for a walk. I’m the only one on duty outside, so I’ll report back that it was a kid that was already on the other side of the fence when I got here. But you have to make tracks, and you have to promise to never tell anyone I did this, got it?”
I smiled and nodded, extremely grateful for the break he was giving me. “Sure thing, Nelson,” I replied. “And thanks.”
“No, don’t thank me, Neely. You owe me.”
I looked back up at him. “I do?”
He nodded. “Seth Drake and Julia Cantrell did us both dirty. Did you know they hooked up? The son of a bitch stole her right from under me. Friends don’t do that to one another.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I heard.”
“The way I see it is that it’s really your fight, not Chloe’s.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, extremely curious as to how Nelson had come to that conclusion.
“It’s like this. Seth had no interest whatsoever in Chloe. We all knew that he was into you. He might be a fine actor, but for those of us who saw him on a daily basis back then, we knew he was hung up on you. He used to mention your name enough, and how pissed he was about the way you dissed him. That whole scene at the beach was nothing more than a scene they did together for your benefit.”
“My benefit? I…I don’t understand.”
“I mean they each were playing a part. To get to you, to exact some sort of payback for whatever the fuck you did to Seth that made him feel like he needed revenge I guess. I mean, shit, I don’t know the particulars of it all, I guess you know that without me telling you. But I don’t care what you did to him. It doesn’t excuse the fact that a few months later he and Julia are doing a show together. And then, a couple of months later, she breaks it off with me. Tells me she’s in love with Seth. What kind of a mother fucker would do that to a buddy?”
“You mean Julia and Seth are…back together?” I asked. “I thought they were done, I mean he’s always being photographed with other chicks, I presumed that relationship was history.”
He laughed bitterly. “They aren’t back together, Neely, they’re still together.”
I shook my head and remained silent. My head was spinning with what Nelson had told me. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what exactly I had done to Seth that would make him exact revenge, if that’s truly what it was. Was this all about that stupid note I left for him? Or was it the fact that he thought I’d ignored the letters he sent to me afterwards which obviously, I hadn’t seen until a couple of years later in a box in my grandmother’s basement.
“So then, he’s running around on her with all those other girls he’s pictured with?” I asked, still confused.
“That’s called publicity, Neely. Those are staged for the paparazzi. You’re pretty new at this shit, aren’t you?”
I sighed again. I couldn’t deny that one little bit, but at least I was learning along the way. So those weren’t girlfriends that I’d seen him with; that I’d changed my hair color for at all. Fuck me. So, it appeared a new hair color was in my immediate future. Back to blonde. “Apparently so,” I finally answered him.
He let out a chuckle. “Don’t feel bad. You know, I loved that girl, I really did. Even when she was in that car accident, I was right there by her side in the hospital. But it just didn’t mean shit to her. I can guarantee you, Neely, the bitch will be cheating on Seth, too. Or maybe he will be cheating on her. Either way, when the time comes, I hope you’re there to capture it on your camera. That’s how you can return the favor.”
I nodded to him, and I really felt sorry that not only had his heart been broken but one of his best friends had betrayed him in the process. That had to suck big time. “Don’t worry, Nelson, if given the chance, I’ll do you right.”
“Good. Now get going so I can get back up to the house and report in. Be careful, girl. You’re in a dangerous business.”
Chapter 7
A few weeks later...
July 25, 1999
“Neely!” Jazzy screamed, as she barged out onto our deck at the condo, her eyes wide and a fresh copy of The Tattler in her hands, “Did you see this shit? Somebody scooped you, girl, and it made the front damn page! Look at the picture underneath the headline that says ‘Knight Play while Hubby Away’!”
“What?” I sat up abruptly and feigned shock for her benefit. “Lemme see that!”
I pulled the paper from her hands and held it up to cover my face, because I knew it was going to be hard to hide my amusement from my best friend.
“Yeah, look underneath the picture. It credits some bitch named Grace Evangelista!”
I slowly lowered the paper downward towards my lap to expose the smile that was burgeoning on my face. She caught it immediately.
“What? You’re not pissed?” she asked incredulously.
“Nope. Let me show you something.” I reached over to the patio table and grabbed my purse. I pulled out a small silver case, and popped the lid open, pulling one of my new business cards from the top and handing it to her.
She read the card, and then snapped her head up to look at me. “You’re…her?” she asked, confused.
“Surprise!” I yelled, laughing at her bewilderment. “You see, Jerry said I needed a cover name. This is a tough business, you know?”
“So, his name isn’t really Jerry Montego?”
“That’s right.”
“Am I supposed to start calling you ‘Grace?’”
“You better not,” I warned. "This is a best friend secret. But in the press, I will be known as that and I’d prefer it if we don’t make the connection public knowledge. In other words, Jazz, nobody can know what I’m doing for a living now. This is way different than when I worked for Malcolm even.”
“And I kept my mouth shut then, did I not?” she asked, her hands perched on her hips. “No worries, my lips are sealed, girlfriend,” she said chuckling. “But damn, you might’ve warned me! I was ready to put a hit on the bitch thinking she stole your thunder.”
“Hey, you know this hit four major tabloids? Three in the States, and one in the U.K.”
“Major bucks!” she squealed. “And I like the catchy headline there, Knight Play,” she said laughing.
“Yeah, well I can’t take credit for that,” I replied, “Just the pic. But this is my step into the big leagues. I’m going to frame every pic of mine that gets published, along with the story. Is that too vain, though?”
“No way! This is your art, Neely. Why not display it at least for yourself since you have to keep it under wraps and all.”
“I think so too,” I decided. “Oh, and I’m going to be covering that after party next week after the Celebrity Golf Gala. Hope some kind of kink or drama goes down there.”
“Honey, wherever there are celebs, alcohol, and drugs, you know damn well there’s going to be some kink or drama.”
She was right, and that was exactly why I was getting a real passion for my work. “I’m going as one of the catering party.”
“Perfect. You’ll be fine, but listen; I need to mention something here. You’ve gone blonde…like again?”
“Yeah, I did. You know, Jerry said it does help keep my true identity from being revealed. He encourages disguises, so I bought a shitload of wigs and hats. Wanna see?”
She nodded her head, and gave me a dazzling smile. “Sure, show me the goods. Hey, maybe I could do you up sometime?”
“Now that would be awesome,” I replied returning her grin. “Maybe for my next gig, even?”
I so loved Jazzy.
I was sprawled out on our sofa, watching one of the Bangor reruns when the house phone rang. Jazzy had gone out to meet some of her friends from work, so I couldn’t holler for her to get it and take a message. Yes, I realized I could pause the tape, but that simply interrupted my viewing pleasure.
“Hello,” I halfway snapped into the receiver.
“Neilah Grace, is that
you?” My mama’s voice said through the other end tentatively.
“Mama?”
“Yes, it’s me, Neely. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
That was a fucking understatement if ever there was one. After not returning my letters, or phone calls to the rehab center, and then to her own apartment once she was released and got her own place, I’d given up.
“I’d given up on ever hearing from you, Mama.”
“I can’t blame you for that, Neely. I wasn’t a very good mama to you, I know that, but I can do better, I promise.”
How could I possibly respond to that? After almost three years since I visited her in that sanitarium, what did she expect me to say? “Are you doing well, Mama?”
“Oh, I am. I am doing just fine. How are you?”
“I’m good. Working. Living with my best friend, Jazzy.”
“Well, that’s nice, honey. I’ve got some great news for you, Neilah Grace. I’m getting married again!”
BOOM.
“What?”
“I’m getting married again to a wonderful man I met during one of my weekly Christian AA meetings. His name is Merle Jeeter. He’s a widower. Four years sober, too.”
I didn’t have a clue as to how I should respond to that. My grandmother hadn’t mentioned a thing about Mama having a boyfriend when we talked a month or so ago.
“How long have you known him?” I asked.
“Oh, you’re just like your grandma,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve known him from AA group for more than a year. But we just started seeing each other about a month ago. He’s a good man, Neely. I want you to please come out for our wedding. I want him to meet my baby girl!”
I was still trying to absorb the shock of what she’d told me. How should I feel about this? It wasn’t that Mama didn’t deserve happiness, but it all seemed so fast. I wondered what Grandma’s take was on all of it.
“Neely? Did you hear me, hon?”
“Yeah…yeah, Mama. I heard. Well, uh…when is the wedding? I have to see if I can get time off from my job. I can’t promise anything yet.”