Under the Lights

by Dahlia Adler

  He sighs and drops back down to his seat. I don’t really know what to say him now—none of us do—but it doesn’t matter. He pulls out his phone, and I know we’ve lost him to Ally for the night.

  “Chester, this place looks absurd,” Liam observes as he walks around the pool area, taking in the last few weeks’ worth of planning. “Hasn’t Ally told you a million times, no fire?”

  “She said no fireworks. Or fire dancers. She’s never said anything about setting the hot tub on fire.” I watch one of the burlesque dancers touch up another’s makeup, and I wonder how badly it’ll stain my pillowcase later.

  “And don’t you think a Gray’s Papaya cart is a little excessive? I didn’t even know they had carts.”

  “It’s vintage.” I was particularly proud of that find. “And this party’s for your girlfriend. You’d think you’d be a little more appreciative. Especially since you insisted on being painfully boring for your birthday. Which, by the way, if you think you’re getting away with for your twenty-first…”

  He rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry—you’ve already made it plenty clear that next year we’ll be acting out the Grand Theft Auto edition of your choice.”

  “Excellent.” We head over to the bar and help ourselves to a couple of bottles of Stella while the guys set up. “How’d the Lassiter audition go?”

  “Not sure.” He takes a long drink, and I realize this might be the first time Liam’s actually looked nervous over a movie role. Even last year, when he scored the James Gallagher part Jeremy Hill had a total hard-on for, he didn’t really give a shit. “They said I’d need to gain like ten, fifteen pounds of muscle.” He side-eyes the bottle. “This probably isn’t helping.”

  “They always say that shit. Anyway, a little protein powder and you’re golden.”

  “Patchett was there, though. And Gray. And Valenti. Valenti almost beat me out last year for History.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t. Dude, you’ve gotta get a little more of an ego, or little dicks like Valenti and Hudson are gonna walk all over you. You’ve got this shit. Trust.”

  “Doesn’t even matter if I do. There’s no way I can work it out with the show.”

  “Man, you really love excuses. Isn’t it filming mostly in Imperial Valley? If you got a reduced storyline on the show and basically busted your ass, you could do it. You get a callback?”

  “Yeah.” He takes another long drink. “Friday.”

  Ah, fuck. So that’s the real problem; he’s gotta act his ass off the day after he sends Ally off to New York. “So, that could be cool, right? Channel your pain into some sort of war-torn PTSD shit?”

  He snorts. “Yeah, maybe.” Then he pulls out his phone. “Still no text from Van. Guess they’re still shopping.”

  “Hey, Josh Chester!” a voice calls out from behind us. We turn, but I don’t recognize the guy coming toward us.

  “Who are you?” I raise my sunglasses, but I’ve definitely never seen this guy before in my life. “Are you one of the bartenders?”

  He laughs and holds out a hand. “I’m Chuck. Joe Perotti sent me.”

  Joe Perotti… Why does that name sound so familiar?

  “The reality show guy?” asks Liam.

  Motherf—

  “I didn’t realize you decided to do it,” Liam says slowly.

  “That’s because I didn’t.” I turn back to Chuck, who’s finally figured out I won’t be touching his slimy hand. “This is a private party. Invited guests only.”

  “Your mother did invite me,” says Chuck, his stupid sleazy smile not wavering for a second. “Said this would be a great opportunity for some preliminary footage. Joe loved the idea.”

  “How did my mother even know about it?” I ask Liam, ignoring Chuck completely.

  “Um, look at this place, Chester. They can probably see that light-up ice sculpture of the Empire State Building from space. Doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out you’re doing something here tonight.”

  “Well, what I’m doing,” I spit, half-looking at Chuck now, half-hoping he’ll just disappear if I ignore him long enough, “is throwing a party for a friend, and I’d really like for everyone who shouldn’t have gotten past security to get the hell out.”

  “Like I said”—Chuck grins like an asshole—“your mom set this up. And seeing as apparently this is her house…”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Chucky. I earn more in a fucking day of modeling than my mother earns in six months as a has-been drama queen. If she weren’t holding on to this place as tightly as humanly possible in her little ferret paws—”

  “Oooookay.” I feel a hand on my arm and look down to see Liam pulling me away. “Chester, how many times have we discussed the fact that you cannot just say whatever the hell you feel like?” he mutters under his breath. “Guys like him live to rile you up to get footage like this.”

  “Well, I’m not signing a damn thing, so good luck to him if he’s got a creep filming me from somewhere.” I realize right then that I’m still holding a half-full bottle of Stella, and I chug the rest, hoping it’ll calm me down, because I know Liam’s right.

  Of course, it’s warm by now, so I basically just drank piss.

  I put the bottle down before I can hurl it at the concrete.

  “I fucking hate her,” I say quietly. “I hate them both.”

  He frowns. “I know. Trust me, I know all about parental douchebags. But you’ve got a kickass party set up, and people are gonna get here soon, and that guy’s just gonna get lost in the crowd. Let’s let the fact that Ally’s leaving be the only thing that blows about tonight, okay?”

  It’s such a childish, Liam pep talk, but it works; his Yoda shit always does. I take a deep breath and look around. “Yeah, let’s go get another beer.”

  Chapter Four

  Vanessa

  It’s so weird to be looking at sweaters,” Ally muses for the third or fourth time that afternoon. “I can’t believe I’m gonna need sweaters.” She says it as if it’s awful, but there’s a reason I’m the actor of the two of us. She can’t wait to wear itchy wool and cashmere cable-knit. And she eyed eight billion pairs of boots when we were in the shoe department. Girl’s clearly already an East Coaster in her mind.

  “That one’s cute,” I say, trying to get excited about it. It is cute—a gray thing with a black Peter Pan collar that’ll probably look nice with jeans—but it’s hard to get psyched about why she’ll need sweaters. Not that we don’t wear sweaters and boots plenty here in LA, but they’re not exactly the wardrobe staples my jean cutoffs or cropped tops are.

  “Yeah.” She fingers the fabric lightly before moving on, her eyes seven shades of dreamy. “I hope it’s nice when I get there. There are so many things I wanna do outdoors! I need to spend at least half a day just sitting and reading in Central Park, obviously. And I didn’t really get to see much of the city when I was there for Liam’s birthday last summer. I need to just walk around—SoHo, the Village, the Upper East Side…”

  I smile and nod and occasionally chime in as she talks about her soon-to-be home, but the more she talks about the things she can’t wait to see and experience, the bigger the lead ball in the pit of my stomach gets, and not just because my best friend’s going to be in a different time zone.

  She just sounds so…old. I mean, she sounds like the Ally I know and love—the one who can spend a billion years planning every detail of a trip to the freaking mall—but these things she’s talking about doing, she’s talking about doing alone. Her best friend will be in LA, her family will be in LA, even her boyfriend will be here. So why isn’t she freaked out at the prospect of going and exploring all by herself?

  I’d be freaking terrified.

  Don’t you realize you’re gonna be living with strangers? I wanna shake her and ask. Don’t you realize you aren’t gonna be eating home-cooked food? Or seeing your parents every day? Or grabbing Pinkberry with me just because it’s a Saturday?

  But of course she knows. An
d she can’t wait.

  “So when do I get to come out and visit?” I ask, trying to get on board with the excitement.

  “Whenever you want, Vanny!” she says gleefully, though she keeps her voice down so as not to attract any attention with her mention of my name. I’m wearing a purple wig and (prescription-free) glasses, but that hasn’t stopped a few people already today from asking for my autograph. “I mean, as long as I don’t have orientation. Or mid-terms. Or finals.” God, even those words seem to excite her.

  No wonder my parents would swap us in a heartbeat.

  As she keeps talking, oblivious to the fact this entire conversation makes me feel like someone is squeezing my ribcage with pliers, I sneak a glance at my phone. Phew—definitely time to text the guys and get us over to that party. I could drink my freaking weight in Skinnygirl strawberry daiquiris right now.

  Showtime, I text Liam as soon as Ally looks away to examine another sweater.

  Less than a minute later, her phone rings, and she rolls her eyes when she sees Josh’s name and face on the screen. “Yes, master?”

  “Where are you?” Even I can hear him barking through the phone. Nice touch.

  “Shopping with Van. Because you very, very explicitly told me I should enjoy my last couple of days in LA.”

  I can’t hear his response, but then she says, “What happened to the one I just bought you?” Judging by her facial expression as she listens to the answer, I don’t want to know.

  She sighs and hangs up. “I’m sorry, do you mind? I need to get Josh yet another black leather belt from Louis Vuitton, because he doesn’t seem to understand what should and shouldn’t be tied around bed posts.”

  “Don’t mind at all,” I say with a grin. Trust Josh to come up with the most ridiculous excuse ever…and for it to probably be true, in addition to convenient.

  After a quick stop for the belt, we get in the car and head up to Josh’s. Not a minute too soon—I was getting itchy under that wig. I’ve got outfits for both me and Ally hidden in Josh’s guest house, but there’s not much I’ll be able to do about the fact that my hair looks sad and flat.

  It’s oddly silent as we approach, despite the mayhem I know is lying in wait back there, and I have to admit that I’m pretty impressed by Josh right now. For someone who can barely keep his own mouth shut, ever, he’s doing pretty well at this whole “surprise” thing.

  Which makes it extra epic when we walk around back and bam.

  Ally’s face goes from confused to terrified to ecstatic in seconds, and I can’t help grinning proudly as I watch her take in the surroundings for all of two seconds before people swarm out of every corner of Josh’s house and yard. There are old high school friends, friends from the Daylight Falls set, and people I don’t even recognize, which of course might just mean they’re random girls Josh wants to hook up with.

  I watch as Ally hugs Josh, kisses Liam, then turns to me with a suspicious raised eyebrow. I nod guiltily and accept my hug, too, but even with her arms wrapped tightly around me and her voice whispering “thank you” in my ear, she already feels three thousand miles away.

  “Wow, K-drama, what number’s that for you?”

  I glare daggers at the host as he edges me over in my chaise and makes himself comfortable draped over me. “I could ask the same about how many girls you’ve hooked up with tonight. Guess Ally’s already given up keeping you in line.”

  “My my, what do you know? Jealousy looks pretty good on you,” he says with an infuriating smirk.

  I don’t know how Ally’s managed to work for this asshole for a year, but cutting the amount I have to see him in half is definitely the only good part of my best friend leaving. “Don’t make me barf all over you.” I may have had the tiniest bit of interest in Josh Chester once, like a billion years ago, but that ship has wrecked. Hard. “I’m not into downgrading, thank you very much.”

  “Burrrrrrn!” Royce Hudson reaches over from the next chair and slaps me five. Royce is an even bigger tool than Josh, but I smile around my straw as I take another sip of my coconut-rum thing.

  “Oh, please. Downgrade, my ass.” Josh snaps his fingers at a passing waitress, making me grimace. “Hey, you!”

  “Do you have to be such a dick?” I demand under my breath as I take another sip. This is why everyone thinks all actors are arrogant jerks—far too many of us are.

  The girl spins around, loose flame-red curls swinging over bare shoulders tattooed with colorful flowers. “It’s actually two clicks, then a snap, then a meow,” the waitress deadpans as she spins the cork-bottomed tray in her hand. I choke on my drink at the unexpected response, and the corner of her mouth quirks up as she glances at me before fixing her gaze on Josh. “What’s up?”

  He’s too drunk for her sarcasm to compute. “Which of us do you think is the most famous?”

  “Oh my God, Josh, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I blurt before I can stop myself. Usually I’m good at remembering that Vanessa Park does not use the F-word, but something about Josh…

  I glance back at the waitress. She’s biting her lip in an attempt not to crack up, but her dimples are showing and I know this is bad. Not that she looks like the type to run to the tabloids or anything, but—

  She cocks her head at me, and I realize I’ve been staring. God, I have clearly had too much to drink. I tear my eyes away and glance around to see if Zander’s shown up yet. “Well,” she says, “my ex-boyfriend’s obsessed with the Zombie Camp movies”—she gestures at Royce—“but I’m a Daylight Falls girl, personally.”

  At the mention of my show, I can’t help but look back at her, and I do so just in time to get a wink.

  The words “in your face” are on the tip of my tongue to shout at Josh, but they’re sticking in my mouth; my lips are too busy smiling. I look away again—fast—and immediately spot Zander walking toward us.

  I sigh with what I hope sounds like relief.

  “You moving in on my girl, Chester?” he asks, his eyes flickering over Josh occupying my chair. There’s a glass of something dark brown in hand, but knowing how good Zander is at the Nice Boy role, I suspect it’s exactly the straight Diet Coke it appears to be. He looks cute, his brown hair flopping in his eyes. His outfit makes me cringe a little—I can tell it was picked by his stylist, and it’s topped by his favorite gaudy crucifix necklace—but at least it’s not a velvet tuxedo; that was a seriously embarrassing night.

  “Hey!” I shove Josh out of the seat and raise my face for a kiss. “When did you get here?”

  “Just a couple minutes ago.” He sits down on the edge of my chair and pecks my cheek. “What’d I miss?”

  “Chester was just learning that he’s the very bottom of the totem pole,” says Royce, and everyone else cracks up, including the waitress. “Your girlfriend and I are superstars, though.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Zander says smugly, and now he snuggles in, wrapping an arm around my neck and pressing his lips to mine. Everyone else’s eyes are on us, and I can practically feel Josh’s laughter, and suddenly I need to get out and breathe. I disentangle myself from the kiss as naturally as possible and mutter something about spotting Ally before climbing over Zander and off the chair.

  I’m sure a few people are staring at my uncharacteristic behavior, but whatever. I’ve obviously had too much to drink, because I’ve never felt this claustrophobic before. A few gulps of sea air and I’m feeling a little better, though I’d kill for a glass of—

  “Water?”

  I spin around on my heels and find myself face-to-face with the redheaded waitress. She’s holding out an ice-filled glass, and I take it gratefully, tipping it back for a long swallow.

  “You okay?” she asks with far more concern than any of the guys at the party would have.

  “Fine. Just needed to breathe.” I’m genuinely not sure if I’m lying. “Thanks for the water.”

  She nods. “So, your friend is leaving, huh? That sucks.”

&
nbsp; With a flash, I realize she’s the first person to acknowledge that this is hard for me—not for Josh, and not for Liam. It makes her very hard to look at. Instead, I murmur my agreement and take another long drink, probably crossing my eyes in an effort to avoid hers.

  “I’m guessing being surrounded by that boys’ club doesn’t help.”

  I snort, then realize again that this girl has seen way too much of Not-So-Nice Vanessa. “They’re good guys,” I manage, like anyone would believe that. “Sorry you’re not really seeing everyone at their best.”

  To my surprise, she throws back her head and laughs. “Jesus, you have no idea who I am, do you?”

  Is that a trick question? “Umm…the waitress? From before?”

  “Man, Jade was right. No one does notice the help.”

  And that’s when I realize why her voice sounds vaguely familiar, and my stomach drops. “Holy shit. You’re her intern. Brianna.”

  She laughs again, and it’d be a nice sound if it weren’t totally at my expense. “She would kill you if she heard you right now, you know. Remember,” she says, switching into a dead-on impersonation of my publicist’s tone, “you are America’s Sweetheart.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, though feel free to call me Bri,” she says with a grin, showing those dimples for real this time. Together with her side-swept bangs and beachy red waves, they should make her look like a cutesy doll, but they’re balanced by her tattoos and all-black ensemble—including her fingernails and the plastic frames around her startlingly light green eyes.

  Eyes that, I realize now, look exactly like Jade’s.

  “Are you…related?”

  “Yup. Unless anyone asks. Then…nope.”

  “I appreciate you sharing your secret with me,” I say with a smile and feel a little twinge at how sincerely I mean that. Ugh. Clearly too much alcohol. Clearly. Where the hell is Zander, anyway? Shouldn’t he have been the one to come after me? Why did Brianna?

  Wait. Why is Brianna even here at all?