But I don’t find Tate or Elise.
I find Camden.
I find Imogen.
And she’s leaning against the giant fridge.
With Camden pinning her there.
Camden and Imogen. Both squinting in the bright light that interrupted their mouth-to-mouth moment.
There is no doubt about what they were doing. Imogen’s leg is wrapped around Camden’s waist, and Camden’s hair looks gnarled like she was grabbing fistfuls of it. I stare at them for one second. Two. And then three. I wait for them to separate, embarrassed.
But Camden doesn’t even look at me. He looks right past me. Imogen, however, zeroes right in on my eyes. She smiles.
“Don’t you have a coffee to fetch or something?” she asks nonchalantly, as if she’s asking me about the weather. I should have a million nasty things to say to both of them. Retorts whip through my head at rapid speed, and I can’t land on anything to say.
I do, however, feel certain of one thing: I don’t care.
Camden isn’t the one I want to be with. At all. He’s a dull shadow compared to the glimmering, shining glow that Tate gives off at all times. And when I’m with Tate, I feel brighter. In the harsh light of the kitchen, with a refrigerator as my witness, I finally admit that I have feelings for Tate, my best friend’s boyfriend.
The truth stuns me. So instead of flipping Camden and Imogen off, I let out a little laugh and take one step backward, like they are both giving off a repulsive stench I must distance myself from.
“Camden, I had no idea you needed so much assistance with your pants,” I say calmly, my eyes on him and not on Imogen. “But at least you got the best damn person to assist you with that. I’m more than happy to vacate the position of Camden’s play thing.”
I turn to Imogen. “He’s all yours, Imogen.” I don’t even wait to see their reaction. I just leave.
I push through the crowd. It’s all too much to handle. My conversation with Tate. The lying. Elise. Margo’s accusation. The fact that I am now certain that I want Tate for myself. And that I can’t have him, possibly ever.
My chest tightens with each step I take. My eyes burn with tears threatening to spill. I can barely breathe. Ugly sobs spill from me.
I finally make it out the front door, praying that Tate and Elise have already left. All I see are some bored valet drivers. And Lexi.
Lexi is the last person I want to see in this fragile state—more fragile than when I saw the end of Toy Story 3 for the first time. Of course, she spots me right away.
I want to turn my back to her, but I just stare at her as the first tear rolls down my cheek. I stare and stare, as if daring Lexi to say one damn thing to me. But she doesn’t. Not until her car pulls up to the curb. The valet gets out and hands her the keys, which she takes wordlessly as she hands him some bills.
Then, instead of getting into the driver’s side and speeding off to make someone else’s life miserable, she walks back around the car and opens the passenger door. Lexi looks at me, a crying, pitiful mess on the sidewalk. Finally, she speaks.
“Get in.”
Chapter Eighteen
I’ve been in the car with Lexi for four minutes exactly (I’ve been staring at the clock), and I’ve learned two things. One, Lexi is big into country music, because she clicks through at least four country stations before settling on one. And two, there is actually something more awkward than awkward silence, and we are currently experiencing it.
Even though Lexi made the kind gesture to take me home, she hasn’t said anything to me; she hasn’t even asked for directions to my apartment. I decide stay quiet until she initiates the conversation. And I hope she doesn’t say a word. Because this whole thing could be some twisted kidnapping retribution for poisoning her insides with dairy, and plus, it’ll give me time to obsess over everything that happened at the party.
First thing to process: Camden making out, and by this point, probably sleeping with, Imogen. He never called me his girlfriend and we definitely were not exclusive, but . . . I liked him. He made me feel important, if only for a few weeks. He was everything I thought I wanted. Plus, he is handsome and successful. Camden treated me like a Somebody with a capital “S.” But now it looks like I’m not that important, after all. Silly of me to think I was VIP, when I learned on my very second night in LA when that bouncer slapped that bright yellow bracelet around my wrist that I’m a non-very important person. An NVIP.
Suddenly, I hate that I wanted that. Because everything I thought I had with Camden was as shiny and fake and superficial as the bright Hollywood façade that I loathe. The same one that is the center of my script for Tower.
Realizing you are more invested in a relationship than the other person is really sucks. Like when you get so into a TV series it takes over your life, and then the final episode of the series is a bait and switch trick, like all the characters were the figment of a little kid’s imagination. And oh yeah, the kid is actually a ghost. That would be a terrible ending.
And my ending with Camden was equally terrible.
I feel so, so stupid.
But even that is nothing compared to how my heart is breaking over Tate. It’s like tiny little cracks have been splintering through my heart since the day I met him, setting me up for heartache. And when I finally realize that it’s him I have feelings for and that it’s him I just can’t be with . . . that’s when those cracks erupt into pieces.
That’s what my chest feels like right now.
“Camden and Imogen, huh?” Lexi finally says. I drag a finger under my eye to wipe away the smudged mascara and nod.
I look at Lexi, whose impossibly beautiful face is staring right at mine, even though she should probably be watching the road.
“Yep. Guess I lost my date to the TV Spotlight Awards. Lost it somewhere in Imogen’s mouth,” I say bitterly. “How did you know?”
She turned back to the road, so I did, too. “He’s been doing shit like that for as long as I’ve known him. And I saw those two sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the party. And then you came out crying. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”
Her words are sharp, but not cruel. I sneak a glance at her to gauge her reaction to me crying over Camden. Her face is completely void of emotion, save for her mouth, which is set in a tight frown that almost looks painful.
“Camden does this a lot?” I ask in a quiet way that I hope she interprets as a sign to not be too blunt with me.
Lexi either didn’t get the hint or just chose to ignore it, because she just nods and shrugs.
“Yeah,” Lexi responds, toying with the frayed ends of her fishtail braid. The type of braid that I could never do, not in a hundred thousand Pinterest boards. “He loves going after the new girls who don’t know any better and are still wide-eyed and in awe of someone like Camden. People like Camden are a dime a dozen here. But to a new person, like an assistant or an intern or an extra or a new cast member—”
“Cast members?” I interrupt her, and immediately regret it. Lexi sighs.
“Yeah, it looks like me and you have one thing in common. He wined and dined me back when I first got the role, but was hooking up with a writer’s assistant who had moved to California four days after I started on Vamp Camp. I caught on pretty early, though, thanks to Tate.”
“Tate?” Now Tate’s attitude toward Camden makes sense. But why didn’t he tell me?
Lexi doesn’t elaborate, and we sit in uncomfortable silence for a good thirty seconds. Just as I’m about to press for more, she suddenly pulls a U-turn in the middle of Sunset and speeds off into the opposite direction of where we were going. I slide in my seat and bang my elbow against the door handle.
“Ouch! Where are you taking me?” I rub my arm to ease the pain. Lexi is going well over the speed limit.
“I’m taking you somewhere I like to go when everything is too much,” she answers.
It’s the most vague destination description i
n the entirety of, like, EVER, and yet it sounds perfect. Lexi is being suspiciously nice to me. If I were in the Midwest, I would chalk this up to girls looking out for other girls, but Hollywood is a different beast all together. I never took Lexi as the kind of person to scream out “girl power!” or anything like that.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask. “You don’t like me.”
“I like how you say ‘you don’t like me’ and not ‘I thought you didn’t like me.’ That was such a definitive statement,” she laughs. I can’t help but smile a little. She’s right.
“I never ‘thought’ that you didn’t like me. I just knew.”
“Well, that’s not your fault. I’m a bitch.”
“Yes, you are,” I automatically respond. Lexi laughs again.
“Most people would be like, ‘Oh, no Lexi! You aren’t a bitch! You’re just strong-willed.’ No, I’m difficult to work with. I’m a bitch. I know it,” she admits as she starts maneuvering the car up a winding road. “But I’m working on it. And the day we first met was, um . . . it was very rough for me. Personal shit. It’s not an excuse for my behavior, just an explanation. And here we are.”
I was so enraptured by Lexi kind-of-sort-of-but-not-really apologizing for being mean to me on my first day at Vamp Camp, that I don’t even notice when we come to a stop. Lexi throws the car in park and gets out. She locks the door before I can get out, so I spend about twenty seconds trying to unlock my door manually before she notices and lets me out with her car keys.
I unfold myself from the passenger seat and arch my back to get a good stretch. The emotional ordeal at the party and the car ride have left me sore. I twist at the waist to crack my back while I look around.
We’re at the top of a hill in a sprawled out neighborhood, parked at the end of an empty cul-de-sac that’s overlooking Los Angeles. The lights of the city shimmer through the smog, giving everything an otherworldly glow. I glance up and gasp.
On the hill next to us overlooking our car is the Hollywood sign. We can’t be more than one hundred yards from it. It’s right there in front of my face. Dominating. Intimidating. Amazing.
“Wow,” I breathe out as I slowly make my way around the car toward Lexi, who is standing on the grass by the edge of the cliff. “We’re really high up.”
“Beautiful, right? I think they’re building houses in this part of the neighborhood soon, so I’m going to have to find a new spot.”
“A new spot? For what?”
“For escaping,” she replies as she begins walking along the curb with her arms out to steady her, like she’s on a balance beam. She’s not close enough to the edge to fall, but her swaying body and unsteady feet are making me nervous.
“I can see why coming up here is an escape,” I agree, taking one step closer to her. I know if I get any closer to Lexi, the world will start spinning, but as long as I’m near the car, my brain will realize I’m not in danger of plummeting to my death. I hope.
“It’s far enough away from everything to feel like I’m above it all, but it’s close enough to the sign to remind me that people would kill to be here, living the life I’m living,” Lexi says. She comes back to the car and gracefully slides her size-two butt onto the hood. She taps the metal twice, signaling that I should come join her.
“I know you must be feeling pretty shitty,” she tells me as I try to climb on her car to sit next to her. I slide down too far, catch myself, and try to nonchalantly wiggle my way backward to sit evenly with her. The squeaky sounds of my boots against her hood are really ruining our heart-to-heart, but Lexi doesn’t seem to notice.
“This town can really just . . . swallow you up. And most people would say it spits you back up. But they’re wrong,” she tells me, keeping her eyes on the Hollywood sign. “This place keeps you in its mouth and rolls you around with its dirty tongue, covering you with spit. And then it swallows you. It eats people like you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“And brunch,” I add, which makes Lexi smile.
“Yep. It’s ravenous. And there is never any shortage of bright-eyed hopefuls to snack on. You need to develop a thick skin that no one can bite into.”
“Are you a writer?” I suddenly ask. Her descriptions of LA are so chilling and dark, but also honest. So very honest. It’s addicting to listen to her.
“Once upon a time,” she says sadly. “That’s actually the main reason I was so nasty to you that first day. I’ve been developing one of my favorite books into a movie, and my agent hated the script I drafted. I admit, it wasn’t perfect. I didn’t go to school to write, but I think I can make it really good, with time. Anyways, it doesn’t matter. My agent shot me down and told me to . . . what did he say exactly?” she asks herself as she leans back and lets the ends of her hair brush against the windshield.
“Oh, right. He told me, quote: Keep your pretty, dumb face in front of the camera.”
I wince. I knew agents had reputations for being sleazy, but that was harsh, even if it was directed at someone as resilient as Lexi.
“I spent two years developing the project and working on the script, and my agent wouldn’t even read it,” Lexi says. “He didn’t even give me a chance before he totally shot my dream down. After all the hard work I did. And then you came into my trailer the next morning, all full of hope and enthusiasm, and it reminded me of how I used to be. So I snapped.”
I certainly understand someone not reading your script, a sudden image of Camden and Imogen flashing in my mind.
“Careful, Lexi. It almost sounds like you are apologizing to me,” I laugh in disbelief. This whole conversation seems surreal. Someone like Lexi, who I thought was the coldest bitch to blow through this town, opening up. And not just opening up, but showing vulnerability to someone like me.
Lexi blinks a couple times, as if she’s surprising herself as well.
“I definitely should not have taken it out on you, so yeah. I guess. Whatever.”
As far as apologies go, it’s tepid at best, but I beam at her, happy that not only did she say something about that awful day, but because she also trusts me enough to open up.
“Apology accepted. God, that seems like so long ago. And already this town exhausts me,” I sigh. The Hollywood sign seems larger than ever, right above me. Looming. Gleaming. I can almost reach out and touch it. Almost . . .
“Well, you’d better find something that wakes you up,” Lexi interjects. “Or someone.” I stare her down, wondering if she’s noticed my friendship with Tate. If she has, she’s not letting on. She just stares straight up at the sign. I can see her eyes move from one letter to the next. H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D.
“Every time I miss out on a part to some younger, skinnier actress or any time a paparazzi shot comes out of me looking like shit . . . I come here. It brings things in perspective,” she says. “People will let you down in this business every single day. I think you’ll be let down and disappointed more than you’ll be accepted and excited. But you need to find ways to keep yourself inspired. This is mine. What’s yours?”
I think carefully about her question, and I almost keep my thoughts to myself. But if she can open herself up a bit . . .
“If I were still back home, I would have said writing,” I admit sadly. “Now I’m not so sure. Every time I’ve sat down to write something, it’s been one roadblock after another. Dead ends. Wrong turns. I’m truly lost.”
I steal a glance at Lexi, realizing she’s the one acting like our moral compass. I laugh out loud at that thought. Lexi whips her head in my direction and stares at me with a cocked eyebrow.
“Sorry, it’s just that if you asked me an hour ago to pick the one person who would have taken me here, I wouldn’t have said you if you asked me a million times,” I explain.
“Who would you have said?”
Camden. I would have said Camden. And maybe that’s what I would have wanted an hour ago, but now . . .
Being here with Tate would have made things bette
r. And probably worse.
I press my palms into my forehead until my skin burns. What am I doing?
“Tate is a really awesome guy, so however you feel about him, I don’t blame you,” Lexi tells me. I freeze. I don’t dare move or breathe. I feel like any movement on my end will give me away, as if even an exhale will sound like I’m into Tate. Because if Lexi can sense it, who else thinks . . .
“Dani. It’s okay. I promise I won’t tell him,” Lexi insists, obviously taking my frozen stature as an admission of my feelings for her costar. “And you’re not obvious or anything, I just know him really well and I just see something going on between you two, whether you guys realize it or not. I can’t put my finger on it.”
Join the club, I say to myself.
I don’t know how to respond, seeing as I’m not even sure what’s happening inside my own head. So I just give her a tentative smile. She nods back as she slides off the car in one fluid movement. Is there anything this girl does that doesn’t look perfect? I try and mimic her smooth dismount, but I end up slipping off the side of the car and banging my knee against her side view mirror.
“And she nails the landing,” I say with an elaborate hand gesture, as if signaling to a judging panel at a gymnastics meet. Lexi rolls her eyes, but I can see a smile forming as she opens her door and gets behind the wheel.
“Thanks for taking me here,” I tell her as I buckle the seat belt. Lexi puts the car in reverse and turns her head to back up. As she shifts into drive, she finally looks me in the eyes for the first time all night. “And thanks . . . for everything.”
“You’re welcome. Just don’t take my spot. It’s mine. Get your own inspiration,” she orders as we start heading back down the hill. “Now tell me where the hell you live so we both can go home.”
I laugh and tell her the west side, in Culver City, and she groans in annoyance. I would feel offended, but I would also be mad if I was all the way up in the hills and I had to take my friend (am I her friend?) all the way over to the west side of the city.
Rules of Seduction Page 21