“Don’t be silly, Bryce.”
“I just meant we never really got to know each other here at school. And now that you’re never here … Well, anyhow, I’m just babbling, aren’t I?”
They were a cute couple, and it made me a little sad that Bryce was so nervous around me.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Have you had a chance to dance yet?”
“Scooter doesn’t dance.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can do about that.”
My comment made Scooter blush fiercely. But I could tell that dancing was an inevitable part of his near future.
Keith then tugged at my arm. “My mom wants pictures. We should probably get in line.”
I nodded and turned back to Scooter and Bryce. “You boys behave,” I told them.
Scooter blushed even more.
The line for pictures took about half an hour. Keith and I amused ourselves by rating everyone’s fashion choices. It got pretty wicked at times.
“Ooh, Patti Bishop, wearing an orange number ripe for Thanksgiving. It’s like a kumquat on stilts.”
I giggled. “And here comes Winnie Malcolm. A vision in copper and citrus. How long ’til she turns green with envy or rot?”
“Ah,” Keith picked up, “and the loveliest gown of the evening is surely Kathy Klaustermeyer’s. If only she didn’t have to return it to the pound at the end of the night.”
Keith and I burst out laughing. But then I realized maybe we’d been a bit too loud.
“You guys think you’re so funny.”
It was Amelia, clucking like an unamused chicken, dressed, appropriately enough, in a white, feathery number that made her look like the harlot of the henhouse.
“We’re just entertaining ourselves while we wait in this endless photo line. I wish they had a fast pass like Disneyland,” Keith said.
“You guys could be a little less rude about your fellow students. Honestly …”
I knew running into Amelia would be likely, but I had expected her to just shoot daggers at me with her eyes. I had not planned on an actual confrontation.
“Where’s your hot date?” I asked.
“Right here, babe,” said Jake as he emerged behind her.
Amelia tried to hide her embarrassment, but I could see right through her snide veneer.
“Brewster was injured at last night’s match. Dislocated shoulder or something.”
Before I could say I was sorry to hear about Brewster’s injury, I was interrupted by Jake whooping like a maniac. It seemed his friends had just arrived, all in drag, and were making quite a scene. He ran over to them hollering, leaving his date/sister twisting in the wind. She seemed so pathetic in her molting gown.
“You two act like God’s gift to Seventeen magazine readers. You’re not any better than anyone else here.”
And suddenly I realized: I was done being apologetic. I had tried, and I’d gotten a grape soda shower in response. It was time for us to both grow up.
“I didn’t say that we were God’s gift to anything. We were just commenting on clothes. You and I used to do it all the time.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to judge, Mallory. You’re the one wearing hand-me-downs. I’ve seen your mother wear that dress.”
“So what if she has?” I said. “I don’t care. I’ll bet Keith doesn’t care.”
Keith looked amused. “I truly, unabashedly, completely don’t care.”
“So it looks like you’re the only one who cares, Amelia.”
“Well, in a way it’s appropriate,” Amelia said. “You should be wearing your mother’s clothes. After all, you’re becoming just like her. Except she at least was decent enough to actually be famous before she turned into a total bitch.”
This is how friends officially become enemies: when they take the thing they know will hurt you the most and use it against you.
“Shows how much you know!” I spat out. “She was always a bitch!”
I knew that wasn’t the point. I wanted to slap her. In my mind, I was watching my hand fly through the air with Amelia’s rouged cheek as its final destination. It made its connection with surprising force, and gave off the satisfying crackle of a good smack.
But I didn’t do it. Because I didn’t want to prove her point. I didn’t want to be my mother.
There were other ways to hit her back.
“Amelia,” I said calmly, “when the people at the network saw your audition tape, they actually laughed. When I told them I wanted to cast you, they said you would sink the show. You were that bad. And you can take it out on me all you want, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t a failed teen actress who couldn’t even manage to get a part on the show her ex–best friend was writing. You may think I’m like my mother, but I’d rather be her than a retroactive has-been like you.”
Amelia was stunned. So was Keith. Frankly, so was I. In this moment I had become just as nasty as my mother on her worst day. We all stood there in silence, trying to wrap our heads around what just happened. It was probably only a second or two, but it felt like eons.
“Let’s go. We’ll just wait for prom to take photos,” Keith said decisively as he started to pull me away.
But before we could get out of the photo line (of fire), Amelia was suddenly airborne, flying at me in a hysterical rage, red-painted claws at the ready.
I tried to duck, but it was too late. Amelia pushed me hard, and I pushed back. She teetered on her heels, and we both went tumbling into the table and chairs behind us. The pink carnation centerpiece went clattering to the floor.
“Don’t you dare insult me, you overrated TV princess!” Amelia screamed as she pulled at my hair, feathers flying everywhere from her dress. Fortunately my short new ’do made it hard for her to get a hold.
I stuck my hands in her face and tried to shove her off me, but she was strong. I didn’t remember that about her.
“You can’t blame me for blowing your audition!” I shouted.
“You promised me that role!” she screamed back. “You said it was mine!”
“Get some talent and we’ll talk!”
By now a crowd had gathered around us. The loud music blared as we continued to roll around on the floor like something out of an Animal Planet wildlife special.
Finally Keith pulled her off me. But just as I was getting up, Amelia kicked out and connected her cheap pump with my right eye. I stumbled backward and fell to the floor again while Keith body-blocked Amelia.
I rubbed my eye while I slowly got to my feet. The last thing I had needed was a Nine West facial from Amelia. No teachers had noticed the skirmish. Or if they did, they didn’t care. Keith was holding on to Amelia, keeping her away from me while I got my bearings.
“Let go of me, Keith.”
“Calm down, Amelia,” he said. “It’s over.”
“Oh, it sure is,” she said. “But don’t come crying to me when she finally dumps you for Dallas.”
“What?” I said, turning red with fury again. How dare she?
“It’s true, Keith. You’re just a glorified seat filler on Emmy night. Mallory’s had the hots for Dallas from the very first day she met him—as if that’s not the most pathetic thing of all time. If he ever even looks in her direction, it’ll be adios for you.”
“Don’t make me slap you,” I warned. “I learned from the best.”
“Just try it!” Amelia said through clenched teeth.
I almost did, but again thought better of it. If I’ve learned anything from soaps, it’s to always leave them wanting more.
Finally Jake returned to the scene, and Amelia, suddenly self-conscious, fluffed her feathers and returned to the dance.
Keith and I headed to the nearest exit. I suppose we’d had enough fun for one evening. I kept apologizing, and Keith kept saying it wasn’t my fault, although I sensed that he felt it was at least a quarter mine. We stopped at Scoops in Koreatown for some gourmet vegan ice cream, but there was no cherry on top
of our conversation. I remembered those times my mother and one of my stepfathers would come home from a party or a premiere, and they wouldn’t say a word to each other. He would take out his cuff links. She would kick off her shoes and make a drink. It was like they weren’t in the same place anymore. The same room, yes, but in different dimensions.
This had been our one best chance at a great night, and I’d ruined it.
The ride to LAX was quiet. Keith didn’t replay or comment on the event; in fact, he barely said anything except to ask which airline I was flying.
“Alaskan,” I said softly. I pressed the ice-soaked napkin I was holding to my face, praying that I didn’t have a black eye from my encounter with Amelia’s foot.
Finally, just as Keith was approaching the airport, I decided to break the silence with another apology.
“I’m sorry for ruining the dance, Keith. I don’t know what came over me.” I put my hand on his leg and squeezed. “It’s just, she knows what buttons to push, you know? Saying I’m just like my mother? She knew I’d react to that. She was looking for a fight.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Keith said.
I didn’t exactly think that my boyfriend would be thrilled with the fact that I’d gotten into a catfight (and not even over him!), but I didn’t think he would be this quietly upset. It had to be the Dallas part.
“Don’t believe anything Amelia said.”
“Like what?”
“Like that thing about Dallas. You know we’re just friends. Heck, we’re barely even friends. We’re co-workers on a good day. That’s it.”
“I saw the way you looked at him at dinner. You were worried that he was so down.”
“Of course I was!” I exclaimed. “Because if he quits the show, we have no show!”
“The show, the show, the SHOW!!! I can’t deal with hearing about it anymore. It’s all you ever talk about!”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“We used to talk about so many other things. Like life. We used to talk about life, Mallory. Not opening credits or network vice presidents or what Alexis’s lighting looked like on Thursday afternoon. I don’t mind talking about those things, Mallory. Really, I don’t. But they can’t be all we talk about. The thing that just happened back there? You’d been holding that in for a long, long time. And I wish maybe you’d have shared a little of it with me. Because right now, I feel like I can’t help—partly because I’m totally over my head, and partly because you won’t let me.”
Just then we pulled up to the curb. I wanted to stay. I wanted to show Keith that Amelia was wrong—I loved him, not Dallas. I wanted to tell him that I was as sick of the show as he was, and that if I’d known what I was getting myself into, I never would have signed on. I wanted to tell him that I wanted to run away together—maybe to Mexico. But I couldn’t. I had a flight to catch. I had a job to do. I had a show to save.
“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” I asked.
“No. I need some time to think,” he said. “We can talk on Monday.”
My eyes started to mist again. I was not going to cry.
I took my suitcase out of the backseat. Then leaned back in.
“I do love you,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek.
“I love you, too,” he said. But there wasn’t any happiness in it.
He pulled away from the curb, leaving me standing in my ruined hairstyle and ripped dress. As I waved goodbye, the Tiffany bracelet slid down my wrist, the heart a little smaller than it had seemed before.
It was a typically rainy night in the Northwest, which fit my mood perfectly. It wasn’t pouring, but there was a relentless drizzle. I must have dozed off in the car that picked me up at the airport, because I was jolted awake by the squeal of brakes on wet asphalt when we arrived at the Deception Pass Lodge. A huge hulking mass of timber, this was where the cast and crew were staying. It was just after two in the morning when I got there, and the silence when I stepped out of the car was astounding. Toto, I wanted to say, I don’t think we’re in Los Angeles anymore.
There was one lone person in the lobby when I walked in: Greg, sitting and reading in an armchair that looked like it had been made from a buffalo. When I walked in, he looked up and gave me a big, sleepy smile.
“Greetings, traveler,” he said. And I realized: He’d waited up for me. Just so I wouldn’t be all alone this late at night in a strange place.
I suddenly understood the phrase a sight for sore eyes.
His expression turned to one of concern when he saw the torn dress I was wearing.
“Bad night?” he asked, standing up.
“You could say that,” I replied.
“Must have been some dance.”
“It was one for the record books. How are things up here?”
“Everyone arrived okay, and I think we’re ready to go for tomorrow. There’s something you should know, though—I’m not the only person Trip sent.”
“Frieda Weiner?” I guessed.
Greg nodded. “She gave a little impromptu speech after dinner, ‘on behalf of the network.’ Basically, she told the cast to bring sexy back. And she looked at Dallas the whole time she said it.”
“He must’ve been thrilled.”
“Yeah, I think Francesca took his knife away so he wouldn’t throw it or use it on himself.”
Good girl, I thought.
“Richard was on the phone with your mom a lot; from his side of the conversation, it sounded like she was worried about not being in the opening credits reshoot. He kept telling her that her part was already set, and that it was only the ‘amateurs’ who needed reshoots. I think she liked that.”
“She would.”
Greg took a key from his pocket and handed it over to me.
“May I escort you to your room?” he asked.
“I’d be honored,” I replied.
We caught up a little more as we walked through the lodge, but mostly we kept quiet so as not to wake our cast and crew.
“You know,” he said as I opened my door, “it’s really important whenever you go on a trip like this to have an escape spot. I already scouted one out—if you head out the exit by the dining room and follow the left path for about seven minutes, there’s an outlook over the river. It’s completely remote.”
Perhaps this was what true friendship was: scouting out an escape spot and being willing to share it.
“Thank you,” I said to Greg, unable to tell him how much I needed his easy kindness right now.
“My pleasure,” he said. “Now get some sleep—it’s going to be a crazy day tomorrow.”
He gave me a little hug, because he must have known how much I needed it.
And he was right. I really needed it.
I thought about texting Keith, or even calling him in the morning to tell him I’d made it okay. But then I realized: a break was a break. If he wasn’t going to call, I wasn’t going to intrude.
I was still crying when I fell asleep.
Richard woke me up a few hours later to tell me that I needed to get myself down to the shooting location as soon as I could, so the two of us could plan out the shots. I was a little disgusted to see I’d fallen asleep in my dress, and was very happy to change out of it. When I opened my door, there was a breakfast tray waiting for me, with a good luck note from Greg. I drank my coffee like I was a car being pumped with gas, then demolished a few pastries on my way to the lobby. The first person I passed was Alexis, who had her usual smile plastered on her face. I used to think it was friendly, but now it seemed fake. I mumbled something to her with my croissant-filled mouth, then rushed forward so it wouldn’t turn into a conversation.
Most of the cast was in the dining room. I peeked in and saw Francesca finishing the last bit of her egg whites and gulping orange juice. She was reading the Seattle Post-Intelligencer and looked annoyed. Across the room, under an assortment of taxidermy, was Dallas, picking at the buffet. He was wearing his sunglasses indoors. Never a good sign.
I ducked out before he could see me. Also not a good sign.
Richard and the crew were down at the black-sand beach beneath the Deception Pass bridge. There was a van waiting to shuttle me down there. It felt silly, and fitting, to be riding in the van alone.
“Have you seen our cast?” I asked Richard when I found him sitting on a rock near where the crew was setting up. “They look a little beaten down.”
“That’s what makeup is for. They’ll look fine once they get bronzed,” he said dismissively.
“I hear Frieda Weiner, network consultant, gave them a little pep talk last night.”
“I say this with all due respect,” Richard said, “but if there’d been a trapdoor under that woman, I would have opened it. Without hesitation.”
That made me feel better. In a twisted way, the one thing I could count on from Richard was the truth. I’d talked to my agent, Donald, about this, and he’d said, “When it comes to bull, trust your nose.” He’d also said he’d talk to Trip if things got bad, but I wanted to go to the mat on my own for now.
“Can we keep her away from the shoot?” I asked.
Richard shook his head. “That’s a negative. Trip gave her the search warrant, so we can’t bar the door.”
He handed me a few pieces of paper that laid out all the shots we were planning to get over the next two days. I scanned them and immediately started making them better.
“Why is Alexis in a bikini again? It’s twenty degrees up here and the sun shines like four days out of the year. No one wears bikinis in Deception Pass.”
“I think we might be able to fight off the bikinis, Mallory, but you’ll probably have to show a little skin somewhere else.”
“I’m not opposed to characters taking their clothes off as long as it makes sense.”
We figured out the rest of the changes by the time the van returned … this time carrying the cast, and Frieda Weiner.
“That was a lovely party yesterday,” Richard said, out of the blue. “Your mother really knows how to get what she wants.”
Yeah, I thought. Even if it means conspiring against her own daughter.
But I didn’t say anything … because even though I knew he was telling me the truth about the network, I still wasn’t sure which side he was on when it came to Alexis and my mother.
Likely Story! Page 24