Unscripted

by Swallow, Lisa

  “Yes, but—” I snatch back the glass. “Tate lied. He told me he didn’t arrange anything. I have a small issue with men not telling me the truth right now.”

  “He’s an old friend and helped you out.”

  “Old friend.” I snort. “How do you know his motives? He wanted to win, that’s all!”

  “Win what?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Too complicated.” I sink back and place my bare feet on the table. “Plus, he’s been screwing others girls while he’s married to me!”

  “Before or after you decided to let him touch you?”

  I scowl. “Before.”

  Audrey lets out a suppressed laugh. “Uh? Myf. You didn’t want to be in a relationship with Tate and made that clear to him. You can’t have things both ways.”

  I rub my face. “It’s more complicated than that. We had a deal—”

  Audrey shakes her head. “You two are just weird. One big battle to see who can win. All that’ll happen is everything collapses. Like this.”

  I stare at the wall; there’s a truth in her words I don’t want to acknowledge. “This whole place is bullshit and lies. I’m leaving LA. I want normality.”

  “Do you, Myf? Since when have you conformed to any kind of normality?”

  My phone, which I’ve ignored for the last hour, buzzes again. I glance down. Tate. Audrey cranes her head to read the screen. “Does Tate know you discovered what he did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Briefly. I was mad and we were in public. And I was a bit too shouty. I’ll talk to him later.”

  She shakes her head at me with a smile, then points at the glass. “Don’t call, text, or email while that’s in your system.”

  “Won’t,” I mumble.

  Audrey sighs. “You need to think this through. However you landed the role, you’ve proved yourself.”

  I grunt again. Have I? No reviews poked fun at my acting skills; the fans are sold on my portrayal of Brit and the dynamic with Dev. But how I reached this position sticks in my throat.

  Audrey drains her wine and stands. “I’m supposed to be heading out this evening. Or do you want me to hang around?”

  “I’m okay. And don’t look at me like that, I will be!”

  I’m midway through mentally planning my time away, lost in childhood memories of the British cold and snow, when Audrey reappears.

  “How can you look so beautiful so quickly?” I ask. “I mean, more beautiful.”

  Audrey’s natural look suits her more than when she’s made-up, primped, and onscreen. Audrey modelled as a child and teen, but stopped once she started her acting career. Dark blonde hair falls across her shoulders, her skin flawless with just a hint of make-up. She’s less recognisable than the girl she is in ads or magazines. I can take more than my fair share of time preparing for nights out to achieve the look I want. Audrey can shower, change, and walk out of the door happy.

  “We’re overdue a night out too,” she says and scouts around the room for her purse.

  I shake myself from my wallowing as I take in her appearance. “You’re wearing a dress. Does that mean you’re meeting a guy tonight?” I ask.

  “Yeah, a guy who comes into the restaurant.”

  I straighten. “Tell all.”

  “Nothing to tell, first date after a couple of chats when I’m working. Seems like a nice guy.”

  “Well, yes. Otherwise you wouldn’t be meeting him, Ms Fussy McFussy.”

  She pokes her tongue out.

  “Hot tip, don’t date an actor.”

  Audrey laughs. “Been there, done that, have the scars. Anyway, this is just a coffee date. Nothing important.”

  “I look forward to hearing the gory details.”

  She snaps her head round with wide eyes when somebody raps on the apartment door. Is she nervous about her date? Audrey? Nervous?

  “Oh... he knows where you live!” I place my hand over my mouth in mock shock.

  “No, he doesn’t.” Audrey pulls open the door.

  “Maybe he stalked you!” I say, continuing my fake shock. “Oh no!”

  The apartment’s front door faces straight onto our lounge and kitchen living space, and I crane my head for a glimpse of her guy.

  In the narrow hallway between apartments stands Tate, dressed the same as earlier and wearing the same consternation on his face.

  I grip my wine glass and meet his troubled eyes. Audrey looks between us, as we continue our silent greeting, before pulling on her pretence she knows nothing.

  “Oh, hey. Great to see you again, Tate.”

  He nods and smiles at her. “Hi again. I haven’t seen you since Vegas.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “You ran away.”

  “I didn’t run,” I retort. “I had a tiring day.”

  “She spent the afternoon making out with me,” Tate informs Audrey. “Exhausting stuff.”

  “No, Brit made out with Dev.” My blood heats further at his teasing comment.

  “Are you going out?” Tate asks Audrey. “See you again sometime, I guess?”

  “You’re forthright,” she replies, never one to be fazed by attitude.

  “Sorry. I’ve been chasing Myf around, and I’m tetchy.”

  Chasing? I slump down in my chair and pout into my wine glass.

  “I am going out, yes.” Audrey tucks her purse under her arm. “Myf, call me if you need anything.”

  “I’m not going to do anything she doesn’t want. She knows that.” Tate fixes his eyes on mine again.

  I make a derisive sound. “I’m fine, thanks, Audrey.”

  “He’s a lucky guy, Audrey,” says Tate. “Enjoy.” I blink in horror as he ushers her out the door and closes it, his smooth words roughened by his rude behaviour. Does Tate realise he’s doing this, or too used to people allowing the attitude?

  Tate turns to me and before he can speak, I stand. “Wine?”

  “Sure. Nice look by the way.”

  I look down at my loose black sweatpants and men’s grey Henley I favour when slouching. What looks suspiciously like sauce from the Chinese food I ate the other day adorns a sleeve.

  “Thanks.” I walk to the kitchen to find another glass.

  Walking into the kitchen? Bad idea. He corners me, in a move reminiscent of this afternoon. I swear I have a mark on my lower back from repeated pressing against kitchen counters. “Myf. Let’s straighten this out. I can’t go backwards when it’s taken me so long to get to where we are.”

  “I’m going to. All the way back to the UK.”

  “No. You can’t.” Tate puts his hands on my shoulders, and I flinch away. “What does it matter now? People know how good an actress you are.”

  “It’s not about that! It’s you. It’s how you’ve made me feel. For the second time this year lies have torn apart what I believed about myself. Why weren’t you honest with me?”

  “Because I know you and how stubborn you could be. Would you have said no?”

  I chew my lip. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Exactly. You’d be crazy if you’d had any doubts about accepting such a huge role just because you’re stubborn.”

  “We were supposed to be staying away from each other! You’re the crazy one. Or is that why you screwed another girl? To throw people off the scent?”

  Tate’s eyes widen, jaw setting hard. “What the fuck? Wrong. Who told you that?”

  “Your ex,” I half-spit. “Savannah’s pissed about you dumping her for me. Told me I’ll be next. Am I?”

  “Whoa, Myf. Is this the wine talking? Have you listened to anything I’ve said to you the last few days? Even if I’d never met you that night in Vegas, if I’d known you were shortlisted for Brit, I would’ve pushed for you to land the part. You deserve this, Myf. You could’ve elbowed your way into a role like this by now with your connections, but you never did. I thought I was helping.”

  My shoulders slump slightly.
“And the girl?”

  He fixes me with a steely look. “Pour me some wine. I need a drink.”

  “The girl?” I repeat.

  He huffs and studies the bottle’s label. “I thought you’d buy better wine than this now we’re paying you a decent amount.”

  I stare at the side of his head, at the man I’m convinced tricked me as revenge for years ago. Acid builds in my stomach as he doesn’t answer my question. Tate hands me a glass of white wine and rests against the counter.

  “I kept that side of our agreement. I haven’t screwed anybody else.” He sips. “But I’m an attention-whore, Myf. You know that. I like having girls around me, ones who would say yes if I snapped my fingers. I can’t help that. Doesn’t mean I did anything. Much.”

  “Much?”

  “I think I touched one of their asses and danced with them when I was drunk. But apart from that...” He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to lose my chance with you.”

  I stare into my glass and make a humph noise. “I think I need to sit down to talk,” I say and sidle around him to head back to the sofa.

  “Yes. You’re swaying.”

  “I’m okay,” I say as I head away.

  I hope he didn’t just see me trip over the imaginary bump in the carpet.

  “Have you eaten?” he calls after me.

  “No. Well. Chips.” I eye the half-empty bag on the table.

  Tate doesn’t follow me, and I woozily stare at the wall. The situation confuses the heck out of me. It’s true, the Tate I’ve spent time around over the last few weeks could’ve influenced my landing Brit’s part because of my talent and not my connection to him. But that’s still using unwanted methods to further my career.

  And the girl? Do I believe him? Everything he’s said recently opens up a new Tate. For him to remember and hold onto our past, to be passionate about creating a future, surprises me but digs down to the truth inside me. I feel the same. How many people have I forgotten from college, including others I’ve acted opposite and kissed in stage plays? Most. Tate—never.

  The reason why clarified over the last months. I can’t be around the man and not want him, or be frightened he’ll hurt me. I want to believe he genuinely feels we have a future, now I’ve accepted how much we can’t leave ourselves in the past.

  A plate hits the table in front of me, and Tate sits opposite, then licks his fingers. “Eat. Don’t get sick again.”

  I stare down at the roughly created sandwich he made. “Oh. Thank you.”

  “You didn’t have much to eat in your fridge or I’d cook you something decent.” He pushes the plate closer. “Soak up the alcohol before things go south again.”

  Stunned by the gesture, I bite into the bread, aware his eyes are on me the whole time.

  “Do you always drink when things upset you?” he asks.

  “No. Sometimes. Sort of.”

  Tate gives a soft laugh. “I guess we all do sometimes.” He watches me as I devour the sandwich. “I was going to tell you about my influence over your role, Myf, but I was looking for the right time. I didn’t want this fallout between us to happen.”

  I push crumbs onto my fingertips and stare at the plate. “I do understand your intentions behind what you did, but I wish you’d spoken to me first. For me, what others say is the big issue here, Tate.” I flick a look to him. “You said yourself I don’t use my connections to further my career.”

  He smiles. “That annoys me a little because you should take any advantage you have. This whole industry is who you know, and you know a lot of famous people. You proved yourself anyway. Everybody loves your Brit.”

  I chew on the sandwich. My stubbornness held me back before. The Blue Phoenix guys had influence, friendly with directors from movie clips and ties to networks who want behind the scenes. Back when Liam dated Honey, he offered to find me a role too. But I didn’t like Honey or trust her.

  Then my fierce determination to make a name for myself alone failed as the reality joined the disappointment.

  Now I have what I always wanted.

  “Sorry I reacted how I did. I think it’s the deceit that upset me. You have to understand why I don’t want to be caught in a relationship with somebody who hides things from me.”

  He sits forward, elbows on his knees, hands beneath his chin. “Look, we should just come clean about us being together, and sooner rather than later. I think it will help because the rumours already exist. We need to own this situation and call the shots, before somebody takes the story and runs with it.”

  The bread sticks in my mouth. “I’m scared about the public reaction, Tate. I lied about that part.”

  “I don’t think we’ll get the same attention as your rock star friends. Our relationship won’t be unexpected, will it? Sure, there’ll be curiosity and...”

  “Digging up dirt.”

  Tate’s look shifts from mine for a second and then back again. “Unavoidable, but I can’t imagine you have any.”

  “Oh, not really. Apart from stories about my drunken escapades at college. Oh, and my bisexual fiancé dumping me on my wedding day, before I married a Hollywood star in Vegas a few hours later.” I set down the plate with my sarcasm. “That might draw some interest.”

  He huffs. “Fuck them all, Myf. Seriously, screw them. If you want to be successful in this industry, shit like this will happen. If that includes dating a co-star, well...”

  “And I’m not ready for the fallout from my family and friends. What type of person does something like I did? The blame over my failed wedding will point at me—and you.”

  “Tell them the truth. You were drunk, and it didn’t mean anything. The whole thing was fake.” He bites his lip. “We don’t need to mention the marriage. I’m sure we can keep that hidden a while longer. We’ve succeeded this far.”

  I rub my hands down my face and fight back tears that come readily when I’m drunk. “I don’t want to get hurt again. I can’t trust people who aren’t truthful with me. This will end, Tate, and if that’s publicly I won’t cope.”

  “No. It won’t.” He shifts to sit on the sofa next to me, the movement sending the fragrance I associate with Vegas, and the weekend filled with passion, into the space between us. “Hell, I wanted to win the bet, but it’s more than that now. I want you.”

  My breath comes short and fast, the conflicting emotions swirling around my head. “And I want that to be true, but you still scare me. “

  “Myf, I wanted you six years ago, and that’s never left me. I care a hell of a lot about you. I told you before. I’m in love with the girl Myf is, who somehow stayed around despite living and working amongst the madness.” He tucks hair behind my ear. “Your refusal to be drawn into fake bullshit helped, and I think I can learn a lot from you.”

  “You can learn from me? Ha. You’re the one with the industry at your feet. They love the scandalous Tate. He sells more magazines.”

  “Yeah, but now I have a relationship and I’m about to pay fuckloads to charity.” He rubs my damp cheek with his thumb. “I’m a changed man.”

  I half laugh at him.

  “What I said by the fountains? That’s true. Every time I saw you again, I was dragged back to our time in London, and each time I hoped we’d reconnect. I wanted that again, Myf.”

  The intensity radiates from Tate, and I’m locked into him, heart and soul. Nobody ever looked at me the way he does, not then and now. The intensity frightened my nineteen-year-old self, but I never let go of how he made me feel. Instead, I buried him in my past, hoping he’d never challenge my heart again.

  “When I met you that last time, two years before we met in Vegas, I wanted to run.”

  “Yeah, I seem to have that effect on you.”

  “No, because I was engaged to Miles and seeing you again swamped me with confusion,” I say in a quiet voice. “A reaction like that to other men when I loved Miles scared me; it wasn’t right. I should’ve listened to myself instead of ending up in the mess
I did.”

  “But I was never just ‘other men’, was I?”

  The words I’ve held back push forward; this man’s determination and unwavering belief we should be together matches the one I’ve hidden over the years. “No. You’ve always been extraordinary to me, Tate. But you were out of reach and an impossible fantasy back then. We moved on.”

  “Except we didn’t.”

  “True. And now you’ve come around again.”

  “Exactly. Our paths crossed again exactly when they should. Even if your path was blurred by alcohol at the time.” I pout, and he holds my head in his hands. “I didn’t want us to take different directions this time, and I think that’s why I married you.”

  The alcohol taps into the recesses holding Vegas memories. Hidden in the corner of a bar, after we married, kissing and laughing about what we’d done. The raw look he gives me now was there too. Tate told me then. He shared with me the anger he felt because the man I’d chosen to give myself to had thrown me aside and left me in a bigger mess than he ever could. Tate told me he’d always loved me and had never let go. He spoke of his jealousy from years ago over how I looked at other guys when he craved for me to look at him the same way.

  And in that moment, I opened my eyes and saw him. I touched Tate’s face and stared back into eyes holding my past and future.

  I smile as I remember my words, cosied up against the man whose warm strength supported me. “I fell in love with you too, but you were an asshole, so I decided I didn’t want to let you near me. Are you still an asshole?”

  And Tate grinned, held up my hand and touched the finger encircled by our makeshift ring. “Yeah, but now I’m your asshole.”

  I twirled the paper around my finger. “When you stop being an asshole, I’ll love you again.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  Now, encompassed by him even though we don’t touch, I place a finger on Tate’s mouth. “You halfway stopped being an asshole.”

  Tate’s eyes glint as he shares the memory. “Does that mean you halfway love me?”

  “I guess.”

  “And if I let go of all my assholery, do you think you could more than halfway love me?”