by Alyson Noel
“No!” Layla flashed her palms in defense. “No—not at all! Not even close. You see, Tommy’s inside—he’s in there right now. But I think he’s sick, which is why he’s not answering the door. I just want to check and make sure he’s okay. It’s totally legit. I swear. If it turns out he’s not there, you can kick me out. It’s all good.”
“Is this about the girl?”
Layla squinted, unsure what she meant.
“Because I tell you right now, this is no way to handle it. You’re in enough trouble already, don’t you think?”
Layla was horrified, but did her best to keep her face blank.
“I should call TMZ.”
At the sound of that, Layla started backing away. “Not necessary,” she said. “Forget this ever happened. Sorry to have bothered you.”
She could feel the woman’s piercing gaze as she retraced her steps. Stopping before Tommy’s door, she rang the buzzer again, then composed a text to Aster explaining how it was none of their business. If Tommy decided to hook up with Madison, that was his choice. Layla was choosing to move on before she could embarrass herself any more than she already had.
She was about to hit send, when the door swung open and Tommy swayed unsteadily before her.
“Tommy? Omigod!” Layla scrambled toward him, catching him by the arm before he could topple over.
His eyes were glassy, his face pale, and there was a trail of what looked to be vomit running down the front of his T-shirt. She started to veer him toward the couch, but there was more vomit on the floor, so she steered him toward the bedroom instead.
“Are you okay?” She settled him onto the mattress and pulled his soiled T-shirt over his head. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He squinted but couldn’t quite focus. “I think she drugged me.” His chin bobbed against his chest.
“Shit—just—” Layla glanced around wildly. She had no idea what to do. Racing for his bathroom, she grabbed a clean hand towel, ran some cold water over it, and pressed it against his forehead and cheeks. “What did you drink—what did she give you?”
“Tequila. Couple shots. I think she . . . she set me . . .” He tried to form words, but all he could manage was an incoherent mumble.
“She set you up. I know. Don’t talk, just—” She looked at him. “Or maybe you should talk? I don’t know—crap!”
Panicked, she reached for her phone, about to call 911, when she remembered Aster’s warning and texted Mateo instead. He was the only one she knew, aside from her dad, who had experience with these things.
What do you do when someone ODs?
She hit send, then waited impatiently. A few seconds later, he replied.
Call 911.
What else?
Are they conscious?
She looked at Tommy and typed:
Yes.
Call 911.
It’s complicated—it’s Tommy.
I’ll be right there.
You don’t have to.
On my way.
In the meantime?
Stay with him—not far.
She eased Tommy back against the pillows and checked his pulse. She didn’t know if it was slower than usual or faster than usual. She was mainly relieved to confirm that he had one.
“You okay?” she asked.
His head bobbed in a way she took as a yes. Then she watched as he curled into a fetal position and hugged himself at the waist. The sight of him looking so vulnerable left her struggling between wanting to protect him, and wanting to find Madison and make her pay for doing this to him.
“Don’t move,” she instructed, quickly realizing the ridiculousness of the statement. He was in no shape to wander. It was amazing he’d made it to the front door to let her in. “I’ll be right back!” She raced for the den to try to get a handle on what Madison might’ve given him.
It was just as Aster described: ap bottle of Unrivaled tequila, two shot glasses, and Tommy’s favorite Led Zeppelin T-shirt balled up on the floor. She frowned, trying to imagine what might’ve occurred for it to find its way from Madison’s body to the ground. Hating herself for even thinking that way, she forced herself to look past it to the note left on the table, tucked under his phone.
Tommy-
I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. You’ve been nothing but kind from the start, and I owe you in ways I’ll never be able to repay. I hope someday I’ll have the chance to explain, but mostly I hope you’ll find it in your heart to not hate me—even though I’ve now given you every reason to turn against me.
Just so you know, you ingested two hydrocodone pills along with two shots of tequila. I didn’t try to kill you and you didn’t OD. At the very worst, you’ll fall asleep and wake up with a raging headache and a heart that’s hardened toward me.
M.
Layla had just finished reading the note when she heard Mateo at the front door.
“Where is he?” He rushed to her side.
“It’s okay. He’s okay. Or at least he will be. I think he just needs to sleep it off.”
She handed him the note, then reached for Tommy’s phone.
“Wait—this is from Madison? She was here?” Mateo stared in what could only be described as disbelief.
“She was.” Layla sighed. “But not anymore.” She motioned him into the bedroom, where she perched on the mattress and pressed the wet towel to Tommy’s forehead. “Are we doing the right thing?” She looked at Mateo. “Should we take him to the hospital?”
Mateo paced the length of the room. Ignoring her question, he said, “I can’t believe this! After everything you went through—getting arrested, jail time, the tabloids—and you’ve actually been hiding her all along?”
“No,” she murmured. “Not all along.” She checked Tommy’s pulse again. He seemed fine. Or at least she hoped that was the case.
“Why haven’t you told anyone? Why isn’t this breaking news?”
Mateo was incredulous, and while she didn’t blame him, she also knew the explanation she was about to give would sound completely ridiculous to anyone who hadn’t been there when they’d found her. “Because Tommy, Aster, Ryan, and I unanimously agreed not to tell anyone. We’re the only ones who know. We truly thought we were helping her. Clearly, she played us.”
“I don’t get it,” Mateo said. “Why would you agree to help her?”
“It’s a really long story.” Layla sighed, in no mood for a retelling. “And it’s hardly worth getting into at this point.”
“Don’t be mad at her,” Tommy mumbled as he struggled to sit. “It’s not her fault.”
“I’m not mad,” Mateo shot back. “Just—” He shook his head. “Never mind. You okay? You want some water or something?”
Tommy shook his head. Looking at Layla, he said, “What’d she give me?”
Mateo handed over the note.
Tommy scanned it, then tossed it aside. “I feel like an ass.”
“Don’t,” Layla said. She thought of the crumpled T-shirt. Madison had set him up, pretended to seduce him, then fled—oldest trick in the book. Though she wasn’t about to tell him that and make him feel worse. “Why don’t you sleep it off? We’ll stay with you, if you want.”
Tommy shook his head. “No, I’m not . . .” He acted like he was about to get up, but Layla pressed a hand to his shoulder to stop him.
“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere. For one thing, I’m pretty sure she took your car. That’s probably why she drugged you, to get the keys. For another, you’re under the influence. So you can either sleep it off or chill, but you’re not leaving until it’s worked its way through your system.”
“Yes, Mom.” Reluctantly, he sank back against the pillows, but the look he gave her was grateful.
“Did you find anything at Ira’s?” Layla perched beside him as Mateo took a chair just opposite.
Tommy’s lids drifted shut in a way that made Layla think he was falling asleep. When he opened them again, he said, “Chec
k my phone.”
Layla handed it to him, watching as he input the passcode, then showed her the screen.
“Why are you showing me this?” She took the phone, struggling to make sense of why Tommy would show her a picture of a topless girl. Was he trying to emotionally torture her? If so, it was working. If that was what he was into, she could never compete. More importantly, she shouldn’t have to.
“I messed up,” Tommy said, rubbing his knuckles against his tired eyes. “He knew I was there. The pic is Ira’s way of screwing with me.”
“I don’t get it.” She looked at Tommy.
“There’s nothing to get.”
Layla was about to return the phone when Mateo said, “Can I see that?”
She smirked. “At your own risk. It’s R rated.” She started to laugh, but the look on Mateo’s face cut her short.
She watched as he stared at the image. When he lifted his gaze, he said, “You sure Ira took this?”
Tommy nodded. “Positive.”
“But why would Ira give you a picture of Heather Rollins?” Mateo glanced between Tommy and Layla.
“Wait—what?” Layla grasped at the phone to take another look. “You sure?” She studied Mateo.
His face flushed in embarrassment. “The broken-heart tattoo on her finger gives it away.”
“Lots of people have those.” Layla needed to be absolutely sure and not jump to conclusions.
“Trust me.” Mateo cringed. “I recognize the rest too.”
Layla dropped her gaze. Now she felt embarrassed for both of them.
“So, what’s going on?” Tommy inched up the headboard. “Are you saying Heather Rollins is with Ira? Because I thought she was with you.”
Mateo swiftly averted his gaze, and Layla couldn’t help but feel bad on his behalf. He hated gossip, loathed drama, but now, despite his best efforts to avoid all of that, he found himself right at the center. “They know each other. That’s all I can confirm. As for Heather and me, we had a thing, but it’s over.”
“But why would Ira do that?” Layla glanced between Mateo and Tommy. “Give you this picture, I mean?”
“To taunt me, mess with me.” Tommy scowled. “Let me know he knew I was there.”
“But why wouldn’t he just expose you?” she pressed. “Why would he be so discreet?”
Tommy covered his face with his hands, allowing the silence to stretch between them. When he finally looked at them, he confided about the video surveillance at Night for Night, and how the pictures had recently resurfaced despite Ira’s promise. “He’s evil,” he said. “He likes to screw with people.”
It was clear how much it hurt him to say it. Layla and her mom were estranged, but she’d never believed her mom was purposely plotting against her. She couldn’t imagine feeling that way about a parent.
“What if we’ve been reading this all wrong?” she said, unsure if she was trying to make him feel better, or if she was truly onto something. “What if Ira hasn’t been out to get us at all? What if he’s not behind any of it? What if it’s Heather?”
“That’s crazy.” Mateo was quick to refute it. Maybe a little too quick?
“But is it?” Layla looked at Tommy, who merely shrugged in reply. “Thing is,” she said, unwilling to abandon the idea now forming in her mind, “Heather was obsessed with Madison. She kept loads of pictures of her on her phone, which always struck me as odd.”
“She admired Madison,” Mateo said. “And they were friends. She explained to me once how she used to study her like an opponent before a big match—”
“And that didn’t strike you as weird?”
“Hollywood is weird. It’s also really competitive. Heather’s constant scrutiny of Madison was about trying to best her—not ruin her.”
Layla took her time to consider. While it wasn’t too difficult to bend her theory in a way that fit, obviously Mateo knew Heather better than any of them. Besides, what possible motive could Heather have for doing all that? Never mind the fact that she seemed too self-involved to have the sort of patience required to pull off such a stunt.
Heavy with regret, she realized they were right back where they’d started. “So what now?” she asked.
She hadn’t expected an answer, which was why she was surprised when Tommy said, “After I force myself to vomit, I’m going to take a shower, then track down Madison once and for all. Care to join me?”
“I’ll brew some coffee,” Layla said, as Mateo followed her into the kitchen.
THIRTY-THREE
UPTOWN FUNK
Trena Moretti followed the Road to Hollywood as she made her way through the Hollywood & Highland shopping center. Funny how she’d made plenty of previous visits but had never taken the time to read the individual stories.
The mosaic trail was a collection of tales of how the famous and not so famous came to Hollywood to fulfill their dream of working in the industry. Some of the stories were funny, some were heartbreaking, and others—like the one about a famous director telling an actress she was too fat to work in the United States—were downright maddening. Trena was so engrossed in reading them she’d followed the trail all the way to the tiled chaise lounge that overlooked the Hollywood sign before she realized she was late for her meeting.
Luckily, Starbucks was nearby, so she wandered over and waited for the person who went by the name @LuckyHearts16 to find her. A large pair of dark sunglasses covered her face, but Trena was confident her wild bronze-tinged curls were easily recognizable.
It wasn’t long before someone called her name and Trena looked up to find a pretty young girl, probably in her mid-teens, striding toward her. She was tall, skinny to the point of gawky. In her denim shorts and black tank top, her pale, gangly limbs appeared especially vulnerable under the harsh glare of the sun. At first sight, the girl seemed an awkward arrangement of angles and bones. But as she drew near, Trena had no doubt she’d soon blossom into a formidable beauty.
“You’re Trena Moretti, right?” The girl smiled nervously.
“And you are?”
The girl fidgeted, shifting her weight from one well-worn Converse to the other. “Just—let’s leave it at LuckyHearts16, or maybe Lucky for short.”
Trena nodded agreeably.
“So, where should we do this?” The girl looked around. She seemed agitated, on edge. Trena took it as a good sign. It gave her the upper hand.
“Why don’t we just grab one of these chairs?” Trena smiled gently, wanting the girl to know there was nothing to fear.
Funny how they were always so different in person. In her texts, the girl had been brazen, bordering on rude, in her eagerness to meet. But now she acted skittish, almost meek. Celebrity often had that effect. People would throw endless amounts of shade online, but once they were face-to-face, all they wanted was a little acknowledgment and a selfie to share with their friends.
“Sorry I’m so nervous.” The girl swept her long brown hair over her shoulder. “It’s just . . . I’m a really big fan.”
“And Madison?” Trena crossed her legs and rested her hands on her lap. “Were you a fan of hers too?”
The girl lifted her shoulders and quirked her mouth to the side. “I was. But after reading those diary entries, I realized she’s just a big liar. How do you get used to it?” She blinked from under a thick fringe of chestnut-colored bangs.
The question left Trena confused, wondering if the girl was asking how she got used to people lying, or how she got used to being a liar.
Reading Trena’s expression, the girl leaned forward and whispered, “Being famous, I mean. Having everyone watch you all the time. Isn’t it weird?”
Trena leaned against the backrest and stifled a laugh. This coming from the most over-photographed, over-documented generation the world had yet seen. “I ignore it.” She pretended as though she hadn’t been the least bit aware of the whispering, head turning, and scrutiny happening all around her. A few beats later she said, “So, Lucky—you hav
e something for me?”
The girl slouched low in her seat and shot a furtive look all around.
“Relax.” Trena leaned forward and placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s arm. “It’s not like we’re conducting a drug deal.”
The girl let out a short, startling laugh that immediately sent her cheeks flaming. Taking a few controlled breaths to collect herself, she said, “Okay, here’s the thing: You watched the video, right?”
Trena was losing patience. “I think that’s why we’re both here.”
“Right. So, anyway, do you think she did it?”
Trena was taken aback. She had no idea what the girl was getting at. “Do I think who did what?” She spoke the words slowly.
“The girl! In the video!” Lucky leaned closer and lowered her voice so much that Trena strained to hear. “Do you think she did it? Do you think she killed Madison? I mean, she had the earring and all, so . . . it’s possible, right?”
Trena was stunned. She’d thought for sure the girl had come to the same conclusion as she had—that the blond in the video was Madison in disguise. Quickly, she rerouted all the responses she’d planned.
“Thing is, I really don’t want to get dragged into it, see? I mean, if she did do it, if she did kill Madison, well, I wasn’t even supposed to be anywhere near Night for Night. I told my parents I was at the library studying for a history exam. But now, if I get pulled into court or something because of the video . . .” She shook her head and bit down on her lip as though she couldn’t imagine anything worse than her parents discovering she’d lied to them.
Trena paused long enough to carefully frame a reply. What a gift this was turning out to be.
“I can keep your name out of it,” Trena assured her. “I give you my word.”
Lucky stared as though trying to determine if that was good enough for her.
“I see no reason for you to get involved,” Trena continued. “As a journalist, it’s my right to keep my sources anonymous.”
It must’ve worked, because the girl slipped a hand inside her bag and retrieved a small object she pushed across the table toward Trena.