Star Crossed: A Hollywood Romance

by Reiss, CD

  It was dark when I finished, and I sat back and looked at my work. Through the reality of who he was, one thing was abundantly clear.

  He wasn’t normal.

  Even with every imperfection uncovered, he was perfect. He jumped out of the frame from the way his mouth was set against his jaw, to the expression in his eyes, to the tilt of his chin. Not everyone had that. Not even every actor could make his face work as a whole. I remembered the moment I took the pictures. He’d been unprepared, yet his face and body worked in such a way as to make me feel as if he sat in the room with me.

  Michael Greydon was a star, a regular guy inside a body that would shoot across the sky.

  I looked out the window at the moon rising over downtown, and I saw a couple of paps standing outside the Whole Foods. Likely, they were either waiting for me to leave or for Michael to arrive.

  This was his life. This was a problem he faced. I’d face it for him. I’d tolerate anything to be with him, but the paps outside Whole Foods would be our smallest problem. I had a ten-ton past that was already coming between us. He was a star, and I was dragging him down. He was meant for a perfect life, and I would always be the girl in those pictures. If we got married tomorrow and had babies, I’d always have an asterisk by my name.

  —Are you all right?—

  It was Phoebe. I called her. She picked up on the first ring from someplace loud and crowded.

  “I have to be honest,” I said, sitting in my chair by the window, “this sucks.”

  “Oh, honey—” The sound cut off as if she’d wheeled herself into a closet.

  “Are you sure you still want me to take pictures of your wedding?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.

  “All your clients will know me as kiddie porn girl.”

  “You stop it, do you understand? You stop that right now. You’re a good person, and talented, and a bunch of things that I’ll be happy to brief anyone on. Should I make you a list?”

  “No, I’m good,” I said. “I’m just going to go to sleep and wake up and try to feel better.”

  “Can you call me tomorrow? I want to really talk this through. I want to hit it from all angles.”

  I recoiled. God, no. The last thing I wanted was to look at the situation from all angles. I wanted to close my eyes and make it go away, and Phoebe, with her analyst’s mind under a rainbow glitter shell, wouldn’t allow that.

  “Let’s talk tomorrow,” I said.

  We hung up, but I knew I wouldn’t call her in the morning. Just the thought of dissecting my reckless actions made me want to run in all directions at once.

  37

  michael

  I never had to go into the main entrance of anything. I flew charter and had staff and a special liaison to manage things like the DMV. I only knew what other people did because I had to get in front of a camera and act like other people.

  It was sad, really sad, that I’d never been a citizen of the world. I’d never thought I was too good to stand in line at the DMV. I lived the way I did because the one time my father and I had gone through the regular gate for a commercial airliner to Australia, we were mobbed. He’d signed everyone’s boarding pass, and the plane was late. He grumbled afterward, but at the gate, he was a pure gentleman.

  I admired a lot about my father, and that incident was one in particular. I hoped I wouldn’t have to reprise it at the hospital, because Ken dropped me off in the parking lot and took off to spin pornography into heroism.

  —Wait for me—

  I texted Laine as I walked quickly, eyes on the phone. If I avoided eye contact, I could move through public spaces faster. But there were no mobs, no paparazzi. Though I felt eyes and camera phones on me, no one stopped me in the stairwell. Everyone had their own cares and troubles, and by the time I got to the ICU nurse, I felt as if I could walk at a normal pace with my head up.

  “Mister Greydon,” she said when I was a few steps away. She grabbed her clipboard and walked me down the hall before I could even stop.

  Brooke sat in a small waiting area outside a bank of private rooms. I’d never seen my mother look so worried.

  “What are you doing?” she said. “No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you what you’re doing. You’re killing your father.” Brooke was shaking. Her face couldn’t express much past the collagen injections, but the trembling in her arms told me she was upset.

  “Just stop and tell me what happened.” I had neither the desire to defend myself against her anxieties, nor did I have the time to explain that I wasn’t a pervert. I was still out of breath from ignoring people while I ran up four flights of stairs.

  “It was stress. All this in the news, he just broke down.”

  “Don’t look at the internet, Mom. That’s, like, a rule.”

  “The calls coming in. They asked if you showed any signs of a sociopath as a child. Did we know you were a molester. And the girl, her pictures are all over the place. They crop them, but you know where everything is. Gareth, he just… running around the house yelling and cursing. For someone who did this his whole life… he didn’t know what to do, and then he just… I thought he was acting.” Her eyes filled up, red-rimmed and shiny, until she blinked. When her tears fell, not a speck of mascara or liner moved. “He said he had a pain and was acting confused. And see, I said it. Right there. Acting.”

  I put my arms around her. She was a bag of cold bones, all wire and tension, a dead weight shaking against me. I’d always assumed she never gave a damn about anything. Maybe I’d been wrong.

  38

  laine

  He’d said to wait for him, but I didn’t know what that meant exactly. I couldn’t wait anymore. I’d waited all day. I had enough money socked away to last a couple months, but eating into my cash reserves gave me palpitations. It was night, and that meant it was time to make money. To get my life back, I had to start from scratch. Though I felt a thread of excitement from the prospect, I felt mostly fear, because I wasn’t going to stake out the right restaurant or personal trainer. I wasn’t after the right celebrity doing the wrong thing. I didn’t know what I was after, but I wasn’t going to find it in the house.

  Simple things first. There would be no tips. I was the tip. I was the mark. They were waiting outside my building’s front door and the garage exit. I had to avoid the paparazzi to be one. I laughed at the very thought then got on a pair of sneakers. I would run faster and quieter than ever. If I could get out the door, I could get something. I knew this city like a lover, and she’d whisper her secrets to me.

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and climbed the stairs to the top level. A sign warned me that the emergency alarm would go off if I opened the door to the roof. I reached into the front pocket of my bag and removed a little circuit board the size of a stick of gum. I screwed a silver rod into the bottom and reached for the top of the door. I jammed the circuit board between the beige box connected to the top of the door and the one connected to the doorjamb. When I opened the door, the alarm had no idea anything had happened, and it slept like a good child. All I had to do was grab it on the way back.

  The cold night air swept through my hair as I traversed the roof in my high tops. I crossed my building and jumped onto the next, avoiding the shafts between the buildings and the little fans and vents that waited to trip me.

  Before heading down the fire escape around the corner, I took a moment to stand at the edge and look over the city. Every blinking light over the landscape serviced a person. How many were looking at my pictures? How many wondered about me and what Michael saw in me? How many were outraged on my behalf? How many wrinkled their noses?

  I’d never know. Their opinions were relevant as a whole, but as individuals, their importance diminished. So Mrs. June Snowcone in Encino thought I was a whore? What did that matter? She wasn’t even a speck of light in the flat plaid grid of the Valley. I could ignore her. I could stop caring about her by no more than deciding to.

  When I was the one
with the opinions, they seemed valid and real, but from the outside looking in, or maybe the inside looking out, they didn’t matter. From this view, I had the sense that they didn’t know me. Those people knew nothing of my struggles or what went into my decisions. From this view was peace, because I understood that I wasn’t a two-dimensional black-and-white photo but a woman, in full color, who moved in time and space, who had relationships, a sense of humor, a past and a future.

  It didn’t matter.

  June Snowcone couldn’t touch me.

  Beneath me, four floors below and across the street, I caught a movement as smooth as marbles rolling across a suddenly tilted table. Four, six, nine dark shapes followed a pale suit and blond head. I couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, but I backtracked to my building’s roof to get a closer look.

  They followed her as if she was the Pied Piper. When she got to my side of the street, I recognized her.

  “Lucy!” I called.

  She stopped and looked up.

  “Wait for me!” I said.

  When I opened the stairway door, the alarm went off, and I didn’t care. I ran down, taking turns at high speed, thankful for my little black court shoes. I skipped steps and bounded down the last two, three, five steps until I got to the lobby.

  I slapped open the glass door. “Back off, assholes.”

  They barked my name and took pictures. I was no longer their friend. I recognized them by their facial hair and rigs, their outfits, and the way they held their equipment, but I’d become a mark. I didn’t hate them for it, but that didn’t make it less true.

  Lucy came in with her head high and her bag at her side.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling her out of range of the cameras. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m used to them.”

  “No, I mean… what are you doing here? You’re not going to give me a hard time about the pictures, are you? I was just a kid. I’m not trying to hurt him.”

  “Stop one minute,” she said, sitting on the old leather couch.

  The lobby had been done in modernist furniture and poured concrete, with large black-and-white photos of the neighborhood when it was being built. Her eyes flicked over the details then back on me.

  “Do you want to come upstairs?” I asked.

  “Another time.” She patted the seat next to her as she’d done in the bathroom, and I sat.

  “I know why you’re here,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “I know it’s hurting him.”

  “What? Those pictures?” She looked incredulous.

  I felt peeled open. She wasn’t June Snowcone. She was right in front of me, breathing the same air, and she had nails and teeth that could hurt me.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Oh, please. When I said hurt him, I meant hurt him. I didn’t mean create an inconvenient sideshow.” She put her hand over mine. “I’m not saying what happened is an inconvenience to you. I’m saying, he’s not hurting the way you think. Not if I know him. Not over that.”

  “Over what then?” I said suspiciously.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Good.” She stood, hitching her bag over her shoulder. “We might as well go out the front. Do you mind if we take my car?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Gareth Greydon is in the hospital for liver failure. Michael is there, and you should be with him. You’ll never get through without me, so… come on.”

  I didn’t think much past that. Fathers were important. I knew that verbally. I could say it to myself with conviction and feeling, but I didn’t know what I was talking about. So I was grateful for Lucy. If I’d heard about Gareth any other way, I might not have known what to do.

  As Lucy and I walked through the bank of paps with their crack-exposing flashes and name-calling I was learning to ignore, I steeled myself to walk back into Michael’s world.

  39

  michael

  Gareth Greydon was a tough bastard. He’d be happy to tell you all about it. He’d tell you all the parts he’d played and the famous scenes where he did his own stunts. He’d tell you which tough-guy lines he was famous for and how he’d changed them from the script to be even better than they were, even if he didn’t change more than the tense. Even if it was a mistake. Even if he broke his ass doing a stunt and hobbled back to his trailer, aching from head to toe.

  So when my mother brought me to him, I was thrown. I’d grown up with him. He’d been around most of the time, even if he wasn’t sober, and I’d never seen him look as trapped as he did in flat cotton, his body tied down with clear tubes.

  “Jesus, Dad. Did you get the plate number?”

  I offered my mother the chair next to the bed, but she wouldn’t take it. She just stood behind me, wringing the manicure off her fingers.

  “I was too busy lying on the floor like a damn patsy.”

  “You were reeling, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.” Brooke patted his shoulder and glared at me.

  “Dad,” I said, “I’m sorry. I know this was upsetting, and I—”

  “Oh, for the love of Christ, forget it,” he said.

  “This could tank Bullets,” I said. “It’s tainted.”

  “You hush, Michael Greydon,” Brooke barked in a whisper.

  “No, no.” My father held up his hands. “It’s all right.”

  “The doctor said no upsetting news,” she said.

  “This isn’t news,” Gareth said. “Listen, Brooke, sweetheart, just give me a minute with my son, would you?”

  “Michael, you have to promise not to upset him.”

  “I promise.”

  “No!” Gareth shouted. “Stop it. Get out. He’ll say what he wants.”

  I sat in the chair. Brooke kissed Gareth’s forehead, and he shooed her away, grumbling.

  She came around the bed and kissed my cheek. “Be good, all right?”

  “Yes, Brooke.”

  She clicked the door shut behind her.

  “She’s going to make me nuts,” Gareth said. “She was harping on the whole thing until I collapsed.”

  “Gareth, really?”

  “Swear to it.”

  “What’s the verdict? You going to die from it?”

  “Oh, please. This was the little girl version of liver failure. I got it beat already. I’m not going to let her kill me.”

  I laughed.

  He took my forearm and squeezed. “I want to say something to you. You’re a good kid. Trying to save that girl from what happened to her, it was honorable. That was how I wanted to raise you. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “The studio won’t see it that way if I know those assholes, and I know those assholes. I’ve done things with Bob Overland no one should even talk about. But you know what? I don’t care. I know you put everything into getting that movie made so I’d have a second chance. But you risking it to do the right thing? That’s the man I made. That’s the important thing. I might not get another chance to make another movie, and you know, fuck it. I made you, and I love you.” He ran his hands through what was left of his hair. That gesture used to make the girls crazy, but it had become a tell for when he was uncomfortable.

  “That was hard for you, wasn’t it?” I said.

  “You have no idea.”

  I patted the part of his arm with no tubes sticking out of it. “We’ll act like it never happened.”

  40

  laine

  It was funny what I learned on the other side of the ropes. Lucy wasn’t much of anyone in the grand scheme. She wasn’t Michael Greydon or Britt Ravenor. Despite running her own agency, to the industry, she was just a model five years past her prime who was waiting for a reality TV show or an acting gig to appear. But in my business world, where documenting the right disaster could mean millions, she was worth following. Her showing up at my house was pure gold to the paps outside the Whole Foods, because I was Lucy�
��s ex-boyfriend’s new girl, and a picture of me getting gangbanged at fifteen was on the internet. The web of relationships was just perfect.

  We pulled up in front of the Hotentot Bistro. Lucy gave the valet her keys and a hundred dollars while I waved at the paps and called them by name. We went into the restaurant but did not sit. We walked through it, into the kitchen, and out the back door, where her car waited for us. The hospital was a short jump across town.

  “Nice trick,” I said as we drove away.

  “I try not to use it so much, but we don’t want them following us to the hospital, trust me. Those people are parasites. They have no regard.” She glanced at me. “Sorry.”

  I shrugged. “It’s fine. I never won any popularity contests even without the camera.”

  “You have a nice look, you know,” Lucy said. “I could have done something with you if you were a couple of inches taller.”

  I laughed, half nervous and half charmed. Soon after, we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Like normal people, we parked, got out, and walked through the glass doors.

  “It’s dead,” I said. “When something like this happens and I don’t find out about it, I get pissed at myself. I think, what did I miss?”

  “Nurses aren’t waiters. They don’t have paps on speed dial.”

  As we got into the elevator, I didn’t mention that I was on a few phones in that very hospital. She didn’t need to know how many times I’d hidden in the bushes outside.

  We got out and turned a few corners, went through a narrow door, and came into a well-appointed room that was no bigger than a regular doctor’s office’s waiting room. Brooke Chambers stood when we entered, and a list of adjectives went through my head. Tough and graceful and vulnerable. Kind, generous, compassionate. Everything. She’d been everything and anything she wanted to be. I almost stopped dead in my tracks at seeing her face to face.