by Paige North
Exclusive: Leo Armstrong’s Womanizing Ways Exposed
My heart raced as I scanned through the article, which was short and ended with the teaser, Read the full story in our next issue!
Instead of being written by my perspective—the reporter—Kait had switched it up a bit.
“Armstrong took Sophie as his carry-on as he flew up to Seattle for on-set movie trouble, and refused to even let her de-board the plane. She was relegated to being his in-flight entertainment...”
“…kept a short lease on our young Sophie, refusing to give her his phone number even after several dates—dates which were carefully planned to include only the restaurants where he was able to bribe the entire staff into silence of his evening with yet another young, trusting woman on his arm.”
“…uses his grandparents as an excuse to avoid commitment…”
My hand shook as I read the words. I knew Kait was low and cutthroat, but I didn’t know she’d spin things this badly. She was evil, plain and simple. I knew she was out to get Leo but why did she have to throw me out as well? What had I done to make her hate me so much? I looked through the crowd to see if I could spot Leo. The only good thing was, he was surely too busy on the red carpet, posing with his stars and answering questions from entertainment reporters to see this bombshell on some women’s magazine web site.
I’d only seen movie premieres on television and had no idea they were such frenzied, screaming affairs, and I’m not just talking about the fans who were pinned behind riot gates across the street. As I got closer I could hear the reporters yelling questions, jostling each other and cameras flashing, and it was all concentrated in one spot, on one person—Leo Armstrong.
“Where is she? Did you bring Sophie Scott tonight?”
“What do you have to say about your so-called mystery girl writing an exposé on you?”
“Did you use the same tactics on the other women you date?”
“Have you spoken with Sophie Scott since the story came out?”
The use of my real name made me realize it was all happening, and they knew who I was. I stayed laser-focused on getting to Leo, whose tight smile showed me that he was just trying to get through this thing, and safely inside the theater. I moved to the side of the crowd, hoping to catch him and pull him into some relative safety on the side of the building.
My heart went out to him, but my heart was also breaking at the same time. Why had it happened this way? Why hadn’t I just told him everything sooner?
He moved down the red carpet swiftly, and I couldn't help but notice how beautiful he looked in his perfectly-fitted tux, his hair combed back but the waves still there. The screaming reporters and flashing lights could not pull me out of my goal of getting to him, talking to him and trying to explain things. Even as they screamed his name mixed with my real name, I refused to believe I’d lost my chance until I was face-to-face with him. So I slipped through the edge of one of the police barriers, sucking my stomach in to fit through, and stood on my toes to try to get his attention. Only instead of Leo’s attention, I attracted the attention of the reporters.
“There she is!”
“It’s Sophie Scott, Leo Armstrong’s mystery woman!”
“The woman who exposed his truths!”
Well, that got Leo’s attention.
When he saw me, our eyes locked as the yelling and flashing continued all around us. Soon they were on both sides of me, surrounding me, screaming my name and shoving their cameras so close to my face. I felt like a fox trapped by hunters.
Leo moved swiftly toward me, pulling me close as he ushered me toward the theater. My hand covered my face the flashes, and he kept me close to his body protectively, my head against his chest, his hand on mine. As we raced through the safety of the door, I realized that he did care about me. The minute he saw me, he wanted to protect me. I would be able to explain everything.
The metal door we’d gone through banged shut behind us. Leo immediately released me from his hold. I pushed my hair back and tried to gather myself and calm my racing heart.
I’d never been publically persecuted, and it was not an easy ride.
Once I’d finally taken a breath, I looked at Leo, who stood away from me, leaning against the wall, his hands now safely in his pockets. He didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes firmly on the multi-colored pattern of the floor.
“Leo,” I said, stepping toward him. He stiffened, standing up straight. When he looked at me, those eyes that I’d grown to love so much, looked as if I were a scuff on the toe of his custom-made shoes. I disgusted him. My presence annoyed him. Worse, I was nothing special. My chin quivered as I tried to hold my emotions together. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you. I came here to tell you.”
“Tonight you wanted to tell me?” he said.
“No,” I said, flustered. “I wanted to tell you sooner, weeks ago. I should have. I just…I was afraid and I…”
“Afraid? Of what?” he pressed. “Of me? Did you not trust me, Sophie? Because guess what? I trusted you.”
Tears slipped down my face, and I quickly brushed them away. He didn’t want to see me sobbing over the terrible things I’d done to him. I needed him to know the truth.
“I didn’t write that article,” I said. “You should at least know that. I got fired today because I wouldn’t write it.”
“You wouldn’t write it but you had no problem doing all the research. Is that supposed to make me feel any better?”
“No. Leo please,” I said, and I could see it, right before me. This man I’d grown to love was slipping through my fingers—gone already, in fact. I could see it in his eyes. I had betrayed him, and he could never trust me again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Honestly. What I felt for you was real. I’ve been struggling with this story thing for weeks and I know I should have—”
“I don’t need to listen anymore,” he said, his voice as cold as the cemented footprints outside the theater. “I get it, Sophie. No need to explain. It’s fine, really. This is L.A. and I’m used to having women use me. Men, too. Everyone wants to be around me just to create some attention for themselves so they can say they hung out with Leo Armstrong or are friends with Leo Armstrong or fucked Leo Armstrong. Now I can just add you to that list.” He turned and began walking down the long hall toward the screening area around the corner.
“Leo, please. Wait…”
He stopped, and the small, hopeful part of me thought maybe, maybe, he would come back to me, pick me up in his arms, and tell me it was okay. Instead, when he turned to face me, totally expressionless, he said, “Congratulations. I’m usually better at spotting users. But you were good. You were the best, Sophie.”
This time, when he turned and walked away, I knew he wouldn’t come back. When Leo Armstrong was done with something, he made a clean break. He’d said so himself. He never went back, never stayed friends with ex-girlfriends or old business associates. I knew, as he turned the corner to try to salvage what was left of his premiere, that I’d never see him again.
20
The thing about living in a city for a very short amount of time is that it takes no time to pack up and get the hell out of town.
Ava Marie watched as I closed the last box in my room. Everything else was already on the little trailer I’d rented, attached to my car, ready to be hauled all the way across the country. Hardly enough distance between me and the mess I’d made of my time in Los Angeles.
“You sure you’ll be okay driving by yourself?” Ava Marie asked. “It’s so far.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said. “I need time alone, to think.” Five days on the road traveling three thousand miles might come close to what I needed to clear my head of everything. Leo had put our relationship behind him and left me no choice in the matter.
And by now, I knew that he definitely wanted me to put him in the past too—my unanswered texts and calls proved as much.
Ava Marie carried my bag as I carried the last b
ox outside. She had a long day of rehearsals for a television show she’d just been cast on. Tomorrow, one of her dancer friends, Rosario, was moving in to take my place. Everyone kept moving along while I felt like I was being pushed out. But I guess I’d done it to myself.
Ava Marie gave me a hug at the curb. “You don’t have to go, you know. Don’t let that editor bitch run you out of town.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I just need to get myself together. I might come back.” I didn’t really believe I would. I was already seeing L.A. as some sort of blip on the radar of my life, a moment I’d done something wild—moved across the country, dated a celebrity and had it all blow up in my face.
A week later I was falling into another friend’s arms—my best friend, Delaney.
“Screw everyone,” she said. “I hate them all. Whoever you want me to hate, I’ll hate them times ten.”
I smiled, wearily. The drive across the country had been more exhausting than enlightening, although it had given me plenty of time to cry and cry without anyone around to tell me to knock it off. Now I just wanted to crash into bed and sleep for about a year.
If I’d wasted my time in L.A., I didn’t intend to waste it now that I was back home. I was starting over at the ripe old age of twenty-one.
I got a little apartment in Mechanicsville’s historic downtown, which was two blocks of old, preserved buildings from the 1930s. When we had tourists, it’s where they came, and Delaney’s family’s custard shop was a prime destination. She wanted to hire me to do their marketing.
“You don’t need marketing,” I said, sitting in her second-floor office above the shop. “Everyone knows who you are.” I knew she was just offering me a job to be nice as I tried to sort my life out.
“Please,” she said. “You think Coca-Cola stops advertising because everyone knows who they are? Plus, writing marketing materials and handling our social media is basically writing, which is what you do. It’s a little off the path of where you want to be but not too far.”
“I’m not even sure I want to write anymore,” I said, picking at the threads of my shredded jean shorts. No more slim fitting dresses and stilettos for me. I’d gone back to my roots, flip flops and all.
“Don’t you dare say that,” she said, leaning across her desk.
“You look fancy sitting at this big oak desk,” I said, trying to change the subject. The arched windows behind her did look pretty cool, though, I had to admit.
“Plus,” she continued, ignoring me, “I’ll be down in New Hampshire more, and I need someone I can trust looking after things here. You’d really be helping me out.”
“Taking over the world, one frozen custard at a time, huh?” I said.
“If you ask my father, then yes,” she said. “Dad is breathing down my back to make the New Hampshire store bigger and better. He wants it to be a model for even more expansion.”
I’d only been back in town a couple of days, and I was shocked at how differently I saw everything. Not just the town—which felt claustrophobic—but even some of my old friends, the ones who stayed behind because they loved it there and wanted to raise their families in a quiet New England town, where all the seasons were picturesque and every evening was safe and quiet. There was no risk, I realized. Nothing to shock you into trying something that scared you, to force you to be a stronger version of yourself. But had I really changed from my few months in L.A.? Or had I simply been burned?
“Hey,” Delaney said. “Come back to me, daydreamer. I can’t have you zoning out on the job. The custard must be kept frozen at all times!” She smiled at me, trying to keep my head above water. She’d always been my biggest support, from talking me off the ledge when I didn’t get into my first-choice college to helping me get over Paul. Now, here she was again, throwing a job at me simply to keep my mind off the one thing I could not clear myself of—Leo Armstrong.
“So what do you say?” she said. “You going to help me out here?”
“Of course, Delaney,” I said. “I’ll help you.”
“Yay!” she cheered, and decidedly un-boss-like move. I laughed. “It’s going to be fun! We haven’t worked together since freshman year when we were scooping downstairs.”
“And you should have learned your lesson then,” I said. “Remember how I sneezed into the vat of the strawberry cream and we had to throw the whole thing out?”
“Dad was pissed,” Delaney laughed. “He almost took it out of our paychecks.”
“You know, I had like five spoonful’s before I tossed it.”
“Gross!”
“It was my own snot!” I said. “But I got brain freeze so the joke was on me.”
“Oh, remember the time I told Richie Reiner that frozen custard doesn’t give you brain freeze and the best way to eat it was really fast?”
I started laughing again. “He was in so much pain!”
We reminisced until Delaney had some conference call with the builder in New Hampshire. I was sorry to leave—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed that hard. I could hardly remember the last time I laughed at all. The one thing I was sure of, though, was that it was probably with Leo. Knowing that the last time I’d smiled had been at Leo pulled me back down, even as I continued to fight to stay above.
I was drowning and I knew it. Worst of all, I deserved it.
Time moved as it does in small towns—slowly, and without change. The job really did help keep my mind occupied. It was easy and almost fun, but for the fact that enjoying things was difficult for me. I took pictures of the custard, sometimes the customers, and posted them to the accounts online. I wrote press releases in the build up to the new shop in New Hampshire, and helped organize a town-wide party for the shop’s forty-fifth birthday. Delaney—and more importantly, her dad—were more than happy with the work I was doing.
“It’s lucky for us you came back,” Mr. Day said. “There’s no way we could have done this without you.”
I was pretty sure he was just being nice, but I decided to take the compliment. Because slowly, life was becoming almost bearable again. I was smiling and laughing more, even though sometimes it hurt to do so. I connected with some old friends I’d lost touch with. I hung out at Joe’s Tavern with Delaney after work, where we’d down beers and fried clams and talk about it all. Slowly, I unfolded the sordid details of L.A., and Delaney listened, never once judging me for anything I’d done.
It was a fine life, even if somehow it all felt like it was happening behind a pane of glass—as if it wasn’t truly happening to me anymore.
But I’d accepted that this was my life, and I did my best not to wonder about Leo anymore, not to think about him, or cry, or google him and see that his life continued on without me.
Until one rainy day, at the check-out line of the grocery store, I decided to buy a gossip magazine. I’d steadfastly avoided them since leaving the west coast, but I foolishly thought enough time had passed and it was safe to indulge in a little mindless gossip.
I didn’t see it until I was back in my apartment, soaking wet from the rain. I was sitting in my favorite brown chair that faced the window, watching the downpour. It was a small item, but the impact was huge.
Fast-Tracked, Secret Armstrong Project Has Tongues Wagging
Leo Armstrong, infamous ladies’ man and head of Epix Studios, has already begun principal photography on a closely-guarded film. The plot is said to be centered around a powerful industry insider who is taken advantage of by a young, hungry reporter—something that all but mirrors Armstrong’s own experience with former magazine editor Sophie Scott, who famously dated Armstrong as part of a sensational undercover story for Crush magazine. Cast and location are under wraps, but word is the film is slated to hit theaters in just two months.
Had I really thought Leo would sit back and let all of Hollywood laugh at him for falling for girl like me? Did I really think he’d do nothing? He had said that when something ended, he walked away and didn’t look back. I g
uess he’d changed his stance—he could drop a grenade of revenge on me as he walked coolly away. And could I blame him?
“We need alcohol,” Delaney said later that evening when I showed her the article. I’d spent the rest of the day online trying to find out more about the movie but got nothing. There were a dozen stories about how secret it was, and loose facts about the plot, but it was mostly speculation on what I’d already read. When I saw a picture of Leo walking down a street in Beverly Hills with a curvy brunette by his side, I quickly accepted Delaney’s offer, and met her at Joe’s Tavern.
“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think,” Delaney said. We were belly-up to the worn bar, arms resting on the dull brass railing. She’d already told me about a meeting she had with some dairy farmers, but said it wasn’t for another hour and she could totally do it buzzed. “The movie might be sweet.”
“Leo Armstrong doesn’t do sweet and he doesn’t do halfway,” I said, tipping back a shot of tequila. I cringed at the burn, chasing it with beer. I hoped to be numb, body and soul, within the hour. “Chances are, it’s going to be worse than I can imagine.” I wondered where he was right then, at that exact moment. It was the middle of the afternoon in Los Angeles.
A painful ache speared me and for a moment, everything around me seemed to grow dim, as if a shadow had been thrown over the world. I tried to blink it away, but now the heaviness of loss and regret was in full bloom within me.
“Look at it this way,” Delaney said. “If he’s making a movie about you, that means he’s thinking about you.”
“Horrible, terrible, evil thoughts of me, yeah,” I said.
“He can’t get over you,” she pressed—unhelpfully, I might add. “He’s like, pining over you. I think you’re looking at this the wrong way. I think it’s a good sign.”
“And I think you’re drunk,” I said.
All I knew was that waiting for this horrible film to come out was going to be worse than anything I could think of. If Leo Armstrong wanted to torture me, he’d certainly found the right way to do it.