by Lark O'Neal
For one second, alone in the silence, I allow myself to admit what has happened today.
I’ve lost them both, Tyler and Kaleb.
Tomorrow, my new life starts. I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.
Chapter SIXTEEN
When I get back from shopping with Helen, at a very glossy supermarket where I bought all the staples I’d want—tea and milk and sugar, fruit and hot chocolate and flour and eggs, just bags of things. We’ll be here for three months, they estimate. Might as well be comfortable.
In the comfort of the upscale kitchen, I make myself a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tea, trying not to think about Tyler or Kaleb. I send my dad a quick email to let him know where we are and that filming starts in the morning.
There’s an email from Mercedes.
From: Mercedes Williams
To: Jess Donovan
Subject: Ur triangle
I am so looking forward to hearing about what’s going on—sorry I didn’t have any time to stay this afternoon, but Alejandro wasn’t thrilled about me going with you two instead of staying here, so I’m playing nice now. (That sounds meaner than I intended. He’s a good guy. We have an arrangement, and I have to say I’ve been working a lot and partying so it’s fair to be with him, too.)
The paintings: the publicity of a show about you being the lover of a famous snowboarder and the sweetheart of the star of the show is really juicy gossip and I’m leaking it now. Sorry if that makes you mad at me, but I have a feeling you won’t just let me, and it’s too good to pass up. Kaleb’s face, too—god, that’s a great painting of him!—and you have your triangle, so it’s rough, I get it.
Dying to hear what happened last night. I’ll find you tomorrow—the call is for 6, but we probably won’t get started until mid-morning. I’ll bring something to your room. Also, you’ll have fittings off and on all day. Tomorrow night is an interview for Young Celebrity, and you’ll both be debuted at that, so you’ll have to look hot.
Which is easy for both of you. Cheers, Dolphin. Don’t be too mad.
Xoxoxoxox
Mercedes
~~~
To: Mercedes Williams
From: Jess Donovan
Subject: re: Ur triangle
Not me who will be pissed off at you for the leak. I don’t care—I’ve known about it for awhile. Tyler will be delighted at the publicity, I’m sure. It’s Kaleb who is going to be a bear. On you, friend.
What did you do last night? I’ll tell you if you tell me. Did you and Kaleb have heart to hearts?
J
~~~
To: Jess Donovan
From: Mercedes Williams
Subject : re: Ur triangle
We read a little of the screenplay, then he went out and I went down to the bar. What about you?
~~~
To: Mercedes Williams
From: Jess Donovan
Subject: re: Ur triangle
Not for email discussion.
There’s nothing else. I cruise around, check my Instagram account and see that I now have more than 13K followers. The latest picture, posted to all three of our accounts, is one of Mercedes, Kaleb, and me, standing in front of the car with the mountains behind us, looking sexy and young and beautiful. Kaleb’s mouth looks exaggeratedly lush. Mercedes is mugging like a 40s film star, one long leg stuck out to the side, and I’m between them, looking waifish and actually quite tiny in between the giants. It’s a great shot, and I’m pleased to see 82 likes. On Mercedes’s page, it’s more than 15k.
And on Kaleb’s page, there are 900. Long lines of girls are posting emojis and hearts and comments. After this movie, how many more will it be?
I can’t help clicking on Tyler’s page, too. There’s a shot of him from a few days ago. Nothing new. There’s a hollow place in my gut occupying the place he has lived for the past six months.
Will we be friends eventually? Talking about books and reminiscing about the upheaval in our lives, once upon a time?
What good is it doing to look at all these pictures and accounts and stalk everyone? With an effort, I turn off the iPad and take my book, a romance I found on the shelves here, a paper book with no connection to the world to distract me, and run a deep bath and soak in there for a long time.
* * *
By morning, there are 360 emails in my inbox, all from names I don’t recognize. I frown over my coffee and open a few of them. There’s no time to read so many, but what—?
They’re interview requests and comments on a story that ran on KILR Gossip. My stomach swoops.
Taking a sip of tea—the tea is American style, but better than nothing—I click on the site and there it is, the story Mercedes knew would be so good for the film.
DEBUT STARLET WITH TWO HOTTIES ON HOLD. It shows the shot of me, Kaleb, and Mercedes yesterday, with the mountain backdrop, and has arrows to more.
Hollywood has been aflutter with the casting of two hot unknowns as the stars of the mouth-watering Mercedes Williams’ teen bestseller Torches and KILR has grabbed some footage of the diminutive Jess Donovan with her two boy-toys—sexy slopestyle Olympic contender Ty Smith, and Torches co-star, smoldering New Zealander Kaleb Te Anga. Turns out bad boy Ty has a gift for painting—but who wouldn’t want to see this new little starlet in the buff? You’ll get your chance when Torches is released, but in the meantime, here’s a taste. Smith’s show opens in Soho this February, and intriguingly features a painting of Kaleb. What have these three been up to, hmmm? And are they recruiting the purr-worthy Mercedes to play their games, too?
We want in on that romp!
The tips of my ears are burning as I click through the pictures. It’s all silly stuff, and not true, and I know this is what happens, but it’s still embarrassing. Weird.
The photos are a big mix—outtakes from the New Zealand filming, one of me and Kaleb on the beach in wetsuits, both of us laughing, another a still from the commercials, on the deck in Milford Sound, looking up at each other as if we are madly in love, which of course we were. There are no photos of Tyler and me, of course. There couldn’t be, but there are his paintings from the brochure, so strange and beautiful.
A knock at the door jolts me. “Coming.” I set the tea down, expecting to find Mercedes.
It’s Kaleb, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, his hair unbrushed, his eyes still tired-looking. His bare brown feet with the powerful shape of arch and long toes send a wave of yearning through me. He holds up his phone. “I have over 100,000 followers on Instagram this morning. And the girls are all talking about a love triangle with Tyler. What the hell happened?”
“Mercedes happened.” I gesture for him to follow me and point to the story on KILR. “She told me she was going to leak it last night.”
“Leak?” He scowls, paces away from the counter, back to it. Peers at the screen, thunderously glares.
“Let me make you a cup of tea, Kaleb. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried about it.” He turns his phone around to show me the face. “It’s just—read this stuff.”
He has the account open to the photo of the three of us, and there are lots of the usual emojis and hearts and “Hottie” comments, but there are a lot of more intense ones, too, from declarations of love to offers of sex and evil comments about me. I make a face, struggling to keep it in perspective, and hand him the phone. “It’s not real.”
“It is real. It’s happening right now. Everything I do—everything we do—is going to be public from now on. Like, everyone looking at us, all the time.”
“Kaleb—”
He slams the phone on the counter and the face shatters. “Fuck.”
I press my lips together, trying to think of something to say. We might be fighting, but we are in this together and have to navigate it somehow together, too.
“This stuff—” I gesture to the phone and the computer “—is about some made up person. Not you. Not the real you. Not the real me.” I widen my eyes.
“They’re not saying the best stuff about me, you know.”
“I know.”
“It’s all invented. All in the imaginations of the people who are looking at us, thinking about us. Not us, right?”
He takes a breath, lets it out.
“That’s right.” I let myself smile, because so often he’s been the one to bring me back to an even keel. “Breathe.”
“I didn’t expect all this. Like, so much attention. It’s freaking me out.”
I grin. “Hottie.”
“Ugh. Don’t.” He picks up his phone, shakes his head. “Breaking my phone was a really great idea.”
“I’m sure somebody can get you a new one.” I gesture to the kitchen. “I have groceries. Do you want an egg or something?”
For a minute, he looks tempted, then his face closes. “No, thanks. I need a shower.”
“If you need any help figuring out the American faucets, just let me know.”
He casts a reluctant smile over his shoulder. Salutes me. “See you downstairs in a bit.”
“Kaleb,” I say. “It’s part of the job.”
He nods. “Maybe I didn’t understand that. Maybe I didn’t know my personal life would be public knowledge.” He swallows. “It’s humiliating.”
Heat burns my cheeks as he slips out and closes the door behind him. But what can I say to make it any better?
Nothing. All I can do is show up, do the best acting I can, and take this whole crazy circus one day at a time.
Chapter SEVENTEEN
The next few days are a blur of long, long hours and fittings and interviews set up by the marketing people to generate interest in the movie. We’re on set by six and often not back in our apartments until after ten. I tumble into my bed exhausted and start the day over again.
During the day, there’s a lot of hurry-up and wait. We aren’t filming in order, and in fact because of the good sunny weather, there’s been a switch to get a lot of the outdoor scenes done, so I end up spending time with Mercedes in my room, or walking around the area, or just kicking back, mostly reading, doing nothing, all dressed up in costume and make-up, waiting for my call.
The day after we got back from the Springs, Mercedes settled on my bed and asked, “So, where did you go?”
I’m not sure how far I want to trust her. She’s cozy like a cat, but like a cat, her hunting instincts are always there, and I get the feeling that she’s made up the rules as she’s gone along. “I went to see Tyler and make sure that he knows we’re broken up.”
“Hmm.” On her lap is a tray of lipsticks she’s borrowed from the stylists, and she’s trying them on, one at a time. Her mouth is fantastic, like Beyonce’s, and they all look good on her. She scrolls a deep orangy red over her mouth, blots it, looks in the hand mirror. “Do you like this one? I think it makes me look sallow.”
“Yes. Let me try it.” She tosses it toward me and I turn toward the dressing table, looking at her in the mirror over my shoulder.
“It seemed to take awhile.”
The orange overwhelms me, and I wipe it off. “You know how it is with guys sometimes.” I shrug.
“You fucked him, right?” She opens a deep, purply plum. “Oooh. This is good.” She applies a thick layer, raises one dark brow at herself in the mirror. Honestly, I’ve never met anyone who is so amazingly, weirdly gorgeous. Not beautiful—she’s just not beautiful or even pretty. She’s arresting.
“That color is great,” I say, and reach for a handful of others, trying the nudes. She beeps—reject.
“Did you?” she persists. “You had to. Otherwise. Kaleb wouldn’t be so pissy.”
I shrug. “He’s been mad at me for awhile.”
“Because he doesn’t like being so much in love with you.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, that’s a little counter-productive, right?” I pull out a cherry red and smooth it on.
“That one,” she says, jumping up. She stands behind me, leans in. “That is exactly your color.”
The lipstick makes me look like someone else, some alternate universe version of Jess, making my lips look fat and sexy and my eyes look about six times larger than usual. “Where will I wear it?”
“Everywhere. Interviews. Shopping.” She purses her lips, smacks them, edges a nail along the sharp dip in the top. “People will be taking your picture all the time now. Be ready for that.” She pulls out her phone and shoots into the mirror, capturing both of us in our bold lipsticks. “I’ll tag you.”
I think she’s forgotten the discussion about me and Tyler until she says, “So he didn’t want to let you go, your snowboarder, huh?”
My heart is still slivered and pierced in about a thousand places. “He was fine. It was just hard.” I blot the red lipstick away, cover the last layer with a rose that makes me look about twelve. “What did you do that night?”
“I found a business man in the bar and fucked him.”
I turn around, unable to read her expression in the mirror. She feels my gaze and looks at me. “What?”
“That’s not a joke?”
She shrugs. “No.” She sighs, drops the lipstick in her hand back into the tray. Looks away. “It’s something to do sometimes, that’s all.” When I don’t say anything, she looks up. “I know. It’s crazy. I don’t know why. I just do sometimes.”
“Okay.”
That ripple of vulnerability crosses her face, making her seem much younger than usual. “Really?”
“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
“Do you sleep with businessmen in hotel bars?”
“No.” I laugh. “But my current love life is a pretty big mess.”
She waves a hand. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
A knock at the door. “Ready for you in five, Jess.”
* * *
The first bits I film are without Kaleb. In my tower room with the bodyguard, Richard, who is played by Benjamin, a middle-aged man with a deep, rich laugh, and we play cards on set while waiting for things to happen. He tells me about his childhood in Mississippi and coming to Hollywood to chase a boy in the late eighties when everyone was dying of AIDS. Mercedes likes him more than anyone on set, I think. She’d like him to be her dad; I tease her, and tell her I’ll share mine.
I’ve barely seen Kaleb, who is working the same long crazy hours. He stopped in one night to give me a bottle of Long Cloud wine he found at the local liquor store, but in spite of the friendly gesture, he didn’t stay. I miss him. I miss my friend. My best friend. The person who sees right into the heart of me.
But I’m trying to give him some space.
Work keeps me busy and keeps me from thinking too much about what’s going on with us. In the interviews and the brief times we’ve had on set together so far, very minor, he’s utterly professional and that makes me miss him even more.
The first time we have a scene together is the party scene when Jules and Rome meet at a masked ball, not realizing they are enemies. The day we are to film it, it’s snowing for the first time and I dress in a sweater and jeans to drive to the set. Kaleb is bundled up, too, his ear buds in his ears as always. I tap him on the knee.
He pulls the earphones out. Raises his eyebrows.
“Are you ready for today?”
“Ready as every other day.”
I roll my eyes. “But we have to act together today and you have to stop ignoring my existence.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you. We’ve been busy.”
“Right.”
He meets my gaze with a cool, tiger aloofness, but it doesn’t fool me. If he had a tail, it would be flicking back and forth in alert annoyance. “You made your choices, Jess.”
Something hot and sharp moves through my throat. “Yes. I chose you.”
He shakes his head. “No. You chose Tyler. You chose to let him come between us over and over, from the beginning.”
I blink, realizing that what I have been imagining is temporary is becoming ,
from Kaleb’s side, permanent. “What happened to just giving you some time?”
“I guess I need more.”
“Kaleb!” I cry, and reach for his hand. “I broke up with him completely. I haven’t talked to him since we left the Springs.”
He nods, his hand still beneath mine.
A wave of overwhelming emotion slams me, as if a wall of water has broken through a dam and hit me all at once. I fall back in my seat, feeling my breath sucked out of me at the impact. I can’t think or move or even cry. “Kaleb!”
For the most fleeting of split seconds, I see something move in his eyes, and then we’re pulling into the circular driveway and he’s out of the car so fast I haven’t even sat forward yet.
In a blur, I go drop everything off at my dressing room, then to hair and make-up, where Mercedes is waiting, phone in hand, texting. “Janice and I have found the most amazing outfit for this scene,” she says, and waves over the middle-aged woman who tends all of our wardrobes. “Show her!”
The scene is a masked ball where Jules is to be shown off by her “guardian” to a man who is hoping to bid a lot of money for the pleasure of having her become his mistress. Jules is a virgin, sold out of a foster home to her keeper, and this is the first time the bidders will see her. In the book, her white blouse and black skirt are described as the modern couture version of harem, and when I see the blouse, I widen my eyes. It’s elegantly cut out of some thin white material, with long sleeves and soft shirring at the shoulder and a discreet but low neckline. “You can see through it.”
“Ah,” says Mercedes. “You can’t really. You only think you can. It’s that fabric that’s so amazing.” To illustrate, she pulls her hand beneath the fabric, and nothing really shows except the fact that she has skin.
“Hands don’t have nipples.”
She raises an eyebrow, darker than her hair by several shades. “You’re going to be naked in this movie. More than once. You remember that, right?”