“It will!”
“No,” Grace said, “I mean it.” She put her hands on Hallie’s shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes. “What will you do?”
Hallie blinked. For a moment, something inside her slipped — icy cold and fearful — but then a sudden excited cry went up, and the crowd pressed forward. They were coming out! Hallie broke away from Grace, breathlessly straining for the first glimpse of him.
And there he was.
Dakota came sauntering out behind AJ and Reed; hair damp with sweat, that Sex Pistols shirt Hallie picked out peeking from under a jacket, and looking every bit as beautiful as Hallie remembered him. She felt her body wilt with pure relief. He was there, right in front of her! Everything was going to be OK!
“Dakota!” she called, but her voice was lost in the din. The crowd swelled, filling the small space in the alley, and the band was quickly surrounded.
“Whoa!” The guys laughed, clearly reveling in their moment of glory. “Back up!” A couple of club bouncers hurried out, trying to fend off the adoring masses.
Hallie struggled against the surge. “Dakota!” she yelled, louder. “Over here!”
He didn’t hear her, busy scribbling autographs on T-shirts, tickets, even random limbs girls thrust his way. He looked completely happy, Hallie realized, not even fazed by the crush of people screaming out for his attention. This was what he wanted, after all: to be seen, recognized.
A black limo arrived, driving slowly through the alley. The crowd began to scatter, happily clutching their autographs and camera phones. “Wait up,” Dakota called ahead, over the noise of the crowd. “We can’t go without her.”
Hallie brightened. He’d seen her. He’d —
The stage door opened again, and security ushered a girl out. Face obscured by huge sunglasses, she was dressed in tight black jeans and leather boots, long blond hair spilling in a glossy wave over a silky shirt.
Hallie blinked in recognition at the same time as an audible gasp went up from the crowd.
“Is that . . . omigod! Talia!”
Talia Talbot: Hollywood starlet, tabloid staple. And . . . the girl Hallie had seen in Bergdorf’s the other day, she suddenly realized.
The tide of people pressed Hallie forward again as they grabbed for the star. Dakota reached Talia first: throwing one protective arm around her shoulder and blocking their faces from the dizzying flash of cameras. Talia sank against him, resting her head against his chest as if she hadn’t been stalked by the paparazzi since the day she’d “accidentally” torn her dress and flashed the entire Emmy Awards her perfect derriere.
Hallie froze, staring at the pair in bewilderment. They were just ten feet away from her: Dakota’s arm around Talia’s slim body; her hand clutching at his jacket. His brand-new, designer tuxedo jacket.
And then, as if Hallie were trapped in some cruel nightmare, Dakota leaned down and kissed Talia. A long, slow kiss that left the crowd screaming, and turned Hallie’s body to ice.
How was this possible?
The couple broke apart, smiling. Talia climbed into the limo, but Dakota turned back to give the crowd one last wave. That’s when he saw her.
Their eyes locked. His smile slipped.
Hallie finally unfroze. She ducked under the arm of one of the security guys and closed the distance between them, unsteady on her heels. “Dakota?”
“H-Hallie?” Dakota stuttered, glancing anxiously toward the car. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.” Hallie stared back at him. Everything she’d imagined telling him was gone from her mind: wiped blank by the sight of his lips on someone else’s. “I don’t understand,” she managed, ignoring the sound of the overexcited crowd. “Why won’t you talk to me? I’ve been calling you for weeks!”
“I, um, I got a new phone.”
Hallie gasped. All this time, he hadn’t even listened to her pain? “But you still know my number. Why didn’t you call?” she demanded. “You just disappeared. I didn’t know what to think!”
Dakota shifted, not meeting her eyes. “I told you, things got crazy. I needed some time.”
“For what?” Hallie cried. “Her?”
He stiffened, and pulled her to the side. The bouncers closed around them, forming a solid wall of muscle between them and the crowd. “Look, it’s not like that,” Dakota hissed. “The label, they’ve sunk a ton of money into us, but without publicity . . .” He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets — the jacket she’d seen some other girl pick out, just the day before — and looked at her plaintively. “Please, try to understand!”
But she did understand. That was the problem. For the first time in months, Hallie understood perfectly, and the truth was so simple, it took her breath away. The reason he’d stopped calling? The reason he hadn’t invited her out, or visited, or done anything to assuage the terrible misery and heartache she’d been going through?
He didn’t want to.
Not enough to do something about it, anyway. Not enough to send her even a simple note explaining that he couldn’t see her anymore — give her some kind of closure, or power to put him behind her for good. Hallie had spent the last weeks making so many excuses to herself for the way he was acting, but finally standing there in front of him, she realized: there was none.
It was over, she saw that now, but worse than that, it had always been over. Dakota had just been too much of a coward to ever say it to her face.
“Hey, D, get in the damn car!” Reed’s yell came from through the tinted window, and the limo began inching its way slowly back toward the street. Dakota looked between them, torn.
“Hallie . . .” he began, those blue eyes pooled with regret.
Hallie cut him off. “Go,” she spat, something new forming: a sharp blade in her chest that cut through the melancholy haze that had shrouded her ever since he left. “Go to your precious after-party, with all your fancy new friends. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To be seen. To matter.”
She was shaking — not with grief, or any of the pitiful emotions she’d been weighed under for so long. No, this was rage, chasing the icy numbness away with a furious power. Hallie peeled his leather jacket off and thrust it at him. “Go!”
“Please, you don’t understand. . . . It’s not just about me. I have the band to think about. . . .” Dakota looked to the car, then back at her. He seemed suspended there a moment: caught between them, unmoving, with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“Dakota, sweetie.” A honeyed voice emerged from the limo. “They’re holding our table!”
Dakota seemed to sag. He took one final look at Hallie, took the jacket, and slid into the limo. The door slammed shut, the tinted window slid up, and slowly, it rolled away — leaving Hallie there in the dark alley with nothing but her thin vintage dress and a bitter rage so thick she could taste it.
“Hallie?” Grace approached her, wide-eyed. “What happened? Are you OK?”
Hallie spun around, turning her back on the club, and the crowd, and her terrible humiliation. “It’s over,” she told Grace bluntly. “It couldn’t be more over. Let’s go home.”
He changed his mind.
That was the thought Hallie wrestled with the entire trip back home, fighting to keep her blazing new anger contained through airport security lines and the bright, cheerful sound of holiday carols at every turn. He’d changed his mind.
She sat, fuming in the dim silence of the first-class cabin. All around her, people were dozing, or staring glassy-eyed at their seat-back screens, but Hallie felt like yelling at the top of her lungs. How could he? She didn’t think it was possible; it shouldn’t be allowed! To make promises one day, then turn around and be with someone else . . . ? Of all the reasons Hallie had imagined to explain Dakota’s silence, this had never even figured. And why would it? She had meant it, every time she said she loved him. She had believed with all her heart and soul that they were made for each other, that the future they planned would actu
ally come to be.
And he’d believed it too! Even in her fury, Hallie couldn’t bring herself to think he’d lied; that the words murmured softly to her late in the night were all false. An act. No, Dakota had loved her, which made it even worse. Because if mankind was really so fickle — acting as if love could be stumbled out of, as easily as fallen into — then her whole philosophy on life was a joke. Dakota hadn’t just broken her heart, he’d shaken Hallie’s very faith in love itself!
By the time they touched down at LAX, her rage had hardened into an almost Zen-like calm. If it was Zen to craft a voodoo doll of your ex-boyfriend out of plastic straws and a cashmere sleep mask, that is. Hallie was happily twisting its malformed limbs by the baggage carousel when her cell rang.
“Is it true?” Ana Lucia demanded. “We all said it couldn’t be, but my stylist swore his cousin did makeup for her at the premiere and they were, like, all over each other!” There was a hushed whisper in the background.
“I’m talking to her,” Ana Lucia said, voice muffled. “Shut up! So?” Her voice got louder. “What the hell is going on?”
Hallie took a few steps away from Amber and Grace, hoisting Amber’s parade of excess baggage onto the carts. “It’s true,” she admitted quietly, the words burning her from the inside out. “I found them together, in New York.”
Ana Lucia gasped. “She walked in on them!” she told her audience. “Totally caught in the act!”
“No, not like that,” Hallie hurried to explain, before the story was all over Hollywood. “Ana Lucia? Hello?”
Another rustle, and then Ana Lucia was back on the line. “So, I don’t get it. Was he cheating, or did you break up?”
“It’s . . . complicated,” Hallie answered slowly. There was a call from across the concourse: Grace waved her over to where they were waiting with a driver. “Listen, I have to go, but I really need to get out. What are you guys doing tonight?”
“We were heading to Soho House,” Ana Lucia replied. “But, are you sure you’re up to it? Maybe you should just chill. You know, alone time.”
“I’m fine,” Hallie insisted. “Really. See you guys there.”
Hallie hung up, determined. That was it: she needed to go out, and have a fabulous time, like nothing was wrong. Show Dakota and all her friends that she couldn’t care less about him and his tabloid bimbo. She was fine — better! — without him.
Hallie hurried out front of the terminal and bundled into the waiting car. “Hey, Amber, you remember you offered to loan me that dress one time. The black one with the —”
“— asymmetrical neckline and amazing diamanté shoes?” Amber finished. “Why? Are you hitting the town?”
Hallie nodded. “Just hanging out with some friends, but I want to look . . . spectacular.”
Amber winked. “Say no more. I’ll get my stylist over ASAP, and we’ll have you looking like a supermodel in no time.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Philippe, sweetie, I need you!”
Hallie felt a strange wave of affection. Amber may act like Miss Gold Digger nineteen fifty-two sometimes, but at least she cared.
Unlike some people.
The brief pause for goodwill passed; Hallie’s anger returned with a vengeance. She would show him. She would show them all. Hallie Weston didn’t mope around, heartbroken — at least, not this time. She would rise, triumphant. She would win this goddamn breakup, and she would do it all in four-inch designer heels!
But it turned out not to be so simple. From the moment Hallie stepped out of her cab that night, resplendent in Amber’s borrowed outfit, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about was . . . Dakota. New friends from Ana Lucia’s clique; random acquaintances she’d met at a Take Fountain show three months ago — it felt like everyone Hallie had ever met in Hollywood was lining up to demand the inside scoop on the breakup, and give her that knowing little smile, like they didn’t believe for a second she was really so happy to be rid of him.
“You guys were so perfect together!” a random blond girl Hallie didn’t even recognize cooed to her in the elevators.
“And to find out like that!” A cluster of tight-shirted men rolled their eyes knowingly by the bar. “Drinks on us, sweetie.”
“You need it,” another guy added, in that faux-sympathetic tone she’d come to know so well. “You poor, poor thing!”
“No, I’m fine!” Hallie’s cheeks already ached from forcing her ‘I’m so much better off without him’ smile. She winked at them. “But if you insist, make mine a margarita!”
At least that was a perk of being the latest object of Hollywood gossip: free drinks. By the time midnight rolled around, Hallie was on her third cocktail of the night, but even the hazy glow of alcohol couldn’t soothe the furious burn of righteous indignation in her chest, or shake the image of him emerging from the stage door, and how goddamn happy he looked, strutting around for all those cameras.
“He never wanted to be famous!” Hallie cried, collapsed on a crushed-velvet couch beside Meredith. She gestured wildly, almost spilling their latest round of sympathy margaritas. “He agreed with me, so many times. Celebrity is meaningless, his music is what matters!”
Meredith made a supportive noise, dabbing at the skirt of her lacy maxi dress.
“All that talk about artistic integrity, and now he’s nothing but a big freaking sellout.” Hallie laughed bitterly. “I mean, how desperate: faking a relationship with Talia just for the sake of some tabloid headlines. Talia!” she said again, voice scornful. “That girl couldn’t play a serious role to save her life. She’s showed her tits in, like, three different movies!”
“Shh!” Meredith hissed, looking over her shoulder. “You want to get us kicked out? That’s her best friend over there!”
Hallie shrugged, pulling herself to her feet. She wobbled a moment, unsteady in those borrowed heels. “I could take her. Bet she hasn’t eaten all week!”
Meredith checked the other girl again. “Just, try not to start any catfights on your way to the bathroom, OK?”
Hallie threw her arms out. “Anyone wants trouble, they can just try!”
She tottered across the lounge floor, glad to see heads turn her way. The girls’ favorite hangout wasn’t a lounge, or regular bar, but a private members’ club, set on the top two floors of a swanky building on Sunset Boulevard. You had to be signed in to even step foot in the elevator, and once upstairs, there was a luxurious spread of lounge rooms, restaurant, even a 24-hour gym — not that the girls had ever used it. They were too busy staking out prime couches in the lounge area to watch the various celebrity makeups and breakups that took place away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
Hallie slipped into the bathroom and found Ana Lucia and Brie propped up by the sink. “There you are!” Hallie cried happily. “You disappeared, forever ago. Where have you been?”
“Around.” Ana Lucia wiped her nose. “How are you holding up?”
“Fabulous,” Hallie declared. “But I swear, if another bobblehead blonde asks me how I’m doing, I’m going to snap her oversize head right off her tiny body.” She laughed loudly. “You guys excluded, of course.”
“Uh-huh.”
Hallie fumbled with her clutch to find her lipstick. “I’m serious, Dakota can go screw himself. Or that bitch. I don’t care!” She caught Ana Lucia exchanging a look with Brie. “I don’t!” Hallie insisted. “It’s so over. I mean, I deserve a guy who’s not going to sell me out for the sake of some stupid magazine covers.”
“Right,” Ana Lucia murmured. “You already said that. Like, five times.”
“Well, it’s true!” Hallie focused on reapplying her lipstick. “So, what do you think: you want to hang here some more? Or come back to my place? Ooh, slumber party!”
Ana Lucia shrugged vaguely. “I think we’re going to bail soon. Keisha is having some people over.”
“Who’s that?” Hallie frowned, trying to remember a face from the blur of new introductions.
“Just a frie
nd of mine.”
Brie piped up. “She’s the girl from that new sitcom, you know, with the three party girls in the city who inherit the baby twins?”
Hallie lit up. “But that’s perfect! I need to get my head back in the acting game, now that I don’t have any distractions. Where does she live — up in the hills?”
There was a pause.
“It’s more of a private party,” Ana Lucia replied at last. “And you should probably be heading home. But take care of yourself, OK, doll?”
They were out the door of the bathroom before Hallie could even process the brush-off. She stopped, gloss wand halfway to her lips, as Ana Lucia’s dismissive tone sank in.
Wait, what was that?
Hallie hurried out of the bathroom after the girls. “Ana Lucia? Hey, hold up!” she called, catching up to them in the middle of the main lounge area. “What’s going on?”
Ana Lucia and Brie exchanged another look. “Like I said, it’s a private party,” Ana Lucia said with a shrug. “No offense.”
Meredith arrived with an armful of their jackets. “Ready to roll?” she asked Hallie, oblivious. Brie jabbed her in the ribs. Meredith looked around. “Huh? What did I miss?”
“I wish I knew.” Even through the margarita haze, Hallie was getting a very bad feeling — one that only got worse when Ana Lucia took a step closer, and gave Hallie a faux-awkward look, all rueful and apologetic.
“I didn’t want to say anything, but, well, the thing is, it’s getting kind of uncomfortable.” Ana Lucia blinked at her, the very model of regret. “You know,” she added, with another tiny grimace, “the way you act around my famous friends.”
Hallie gaped. “What? I don’t understand. How do I act?” She turned to the other girls for support, but Meredith just stood looking uncomfortable, while Brie tapped away delightedly at her cell phone.
“The way you bug them about their agents, and auditions,” Ana Lucia explained, with a smug smile. “It’s just, tacky. Especially when we’re all just hanging out.”
Hallie stared back, horrified. The way Ana Lucia was looking at her . . . she knew it way too well: it was the look Ana Lucia gave to wannabes, and hangers-on, and those poor souls with the misfortune of wearing last year’s wet-look leather leggings.
Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood Page 19