Imposter

by Antony John

  Unless I can write us a new ending.

  35

  I RUN THE FEW BLOCKS TO the coffee shop. Gant’s exactly where I told him to be, sitting in the back corner, two lattes waiting on the dark wood table.

  The wall-mounted speaker plays soft jazz on a never-ending cycle. I place the phone gently on a shelf beside it, and go through the motions of ordering a coffee. Only, no one’s listening to me. Well, no one except Ryder and Brian.

  I join my brother at the small circular table across the store.

  “Thank you, Gant.” The words are hopelessly inadequate. “I wasn’t sure you heard me in the office.”

  “I heard you.” He glances at the door, looking anxious. “That Brian is scary. He waited until I got inside our house. Then he drove to the end of the block and hung around for another ten minutes. He wants me out of the picture.”

  “No wonder. If he’s been listening in, he knows you’re smart. Did you see Dad?”

  “No. He’s at work.”

  At work. Hard to remember now, but watching Dad go to a job interview convinced me more than ever to audition for Whirlwind. I thought what he was doing was courageous, and figured I’d do something courageous too. I don’t feel so noble anymore.

  Gant tilts his head toward the phone on the shelf. “We’d better hurry. If they can record you even when your phone is off, they can probably get a GPS signal. Either that, or they’ll turn the phone on remotely and activate the GPS that way. Hackers do it all the time. Cops too.” He sounds completely matter-of-fact. “As long as they can hear you, or you’re moving, they’ll lay off. Go off the grid and radio silent, like now, and they’ll track you down.”

  “Like the guy in the green Mazda, you mean?”

  “Exactly. Whoever he is, I figure he must be working for Brian and Ryder.” Gant bites his thumbnail. “Look, they’ve got us where they want us. The way I see it, you have two choices: Play along and hope they go easy on us, or call a reporter and do a tell-all interview. A story like this’ll get printed overnight. By tomorrow everyone will know what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, and they’ll blame me for it. Ryder’s got video of me taking a bribe, remember? He’s also got footage of me saying I want Sabrina gone from the movie. It’ll look like I’m the bad guy.” I take a sip of coffee. “Chances are, he’ll come off looking completely innocent. He might even get to do this thing all over again with a different cast.”

  “Which is why you’ve got to tell your side of the story.”

  “I can’t. I signed a nondisclosure agreement. They only told us what’s going on because they know we can’t repeat any of it. If we do, they’ll sue us for everything we’ve got.”

  Gant exhales slowly. “All this footage they’ve got—is it really good enough for movie theaters?”

  “Ryder thinks so.”

  “And the sound? I get that they can do amazing things in postproduction, but when the cell phone was in your pocket, the quality’s going to be useless.”

  “It’s good enough for blackmailing me, I know that much. That’s why we can’t afford to get into a fight with them. No, what we need to do is destroy them.” I press on before he can interrupt. “I’m thinking we both go to the office and I threaten to stay away from tonight’s party—that’ll make them take notice. While I keep them busy talking in the rehearsal room, you go to Ryder’s editing suite and copy the files.”

  “No way. First of all, Brian’s going to smell something fishy the moment I show up. Second, what are you going to do with the files anyway?”

  “Release them on YouTube. No one’ll pay to see a movie when most of it’s available free.”

  Gant purses his lips. “You said yourself: The footage shows you fighting with Sabrina, threatening people, taking a bribe—”

  “But only if Ryder edits it a certain way. If we could show people the whole of those scenes, they’d know the truth.”

  Gant rests his elbows on the table, knuckles pressed tight together. “All right, I’ll do it. But not now. Later.”

  “I’m busy later.”

  “Yeah. And so are Brian and Ryder and Tracie. They said they’re going to be watching you at tonight’s party, which means I’ll have all the time in the world.”

  “You won’t be able to get into the office.”

  “If I had a key, I could. And the code for the alarm.”

  “So all you need is a key we don’t have and a code we don’t know.” I pretend to take inventory. “You want me to ask Ryder or Tracie? Or should I go straight to Brian?”

  I wait for Gant to smile too, to reassure me we’re in the realm of fantasy here. “You ask Maggie,” he says.

  “I told you, they fired her. She sold them out.”

  “You really think Brian would let her walk away? This is a tight ship. Ryder’s a trained editor. Brian’s the heavy. I’d bet anything that Tracie’s a legit attorney, ’cause they need to be sure the contracts are cast iron. So what was Maggie’s role?”

  “She was an intern. She’s at USC film school.”

  “And I’m on scholarship at Stanford.” He takes a gulp of coffee, and wipes his sleeve across his mouth. “Until today, Brian and Ryder had everyone believing in this movie. You and Annaleigh. Sabrina and Kris. Even the movie news sites. How could they manage that if they’re the ones selling cast stories and photographs, huh? No, they’re using a go-between, and Maggie’s perfect—completely out of the limelight.”

  “You didn’t see the way Brian looked at her when she admitted selling the story. It was like he wanted to rip her throat out.”

  “Maybe she’s ready to switch sides, then. Especially if you can make her a better offer than them.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever it takes, I guess. Look, what’s the worst-case scenario? She reports back to Brian and Ryder, who carry on like nothing happened. As long as they need you to show up this evening, they can’t mess with you.”

  I stare at my latte. The foam has congealed. “And what about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow they’re going to do whatever the hell they want.” He leans back, his right fist rubbing small circles in his forehead. “You realize, school’s starting again in a week. You thought you were going to be here, filming a movie and working with a private tutor. But you’re not. So ask yourself: How are people going to look at us if we can’t make this right?”

  I glance at my watch. We’ve been here too long already. “Ryder’s computers will be password protected.”

  “So’s your laptop, and look how that’s worked out for you.”

  I let the comment slide. I want to tell Gant that I’m worried for him, but he’s already made up his mind.

  “You got some dark clothing?” I ask.

  “I can get some.”

  “Good. I’ll pay Maggie a visit. Let’s meet back here in an hour.”

  “No. Better go someplace else. Where’s the nearest park?”

  “Top of Rodeo Drive. Beverly Gardens Park.”

  “Okay.” He points at the speaker across the room. “I’m going to need your phone, or they’ll track you right to Maggie’s apartment.”

  “If they hear your voice, they’ll realize you’re still around.”

  “I’ll wrap it up so the microphone won’t pick up anything. And I’ll keep moving, so they won’t bother tracking me.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s for an hour, Seth. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  If he’d said anything else, I might still argue. But I really do need to trust him. We’re on our own now. And the stakes are higher than ever.

  36

  I TAKE A TAXI TO MAGGIE’S apartment building. Press the buzzer for apartment 17.

  The sound of wailing over the intercom tells me she’s not alone.

  “It’s Brian,” I say, sounding pissed.


  “What?”

  “Brian,” I repeat, louder.

  There’s a moment’s hesitation. To my surprise, the door clicks open.

  I walk inside, my footsteps echoing on the polished black-and-white tiled floor. A plush runner lines the stairs. Her apartment is on the third floor, halfway along. I knock once, hard.

  She opens the door, catches a glimpse of me, and tries to close it again. I’ve already stuck out my foot, though. Arms wrapped around her baby, she can’t stop me, from barging in.

  She shrinks back. “What do you want?”

  “To talk.”

  “So talk.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Uh-uh. You’re not here for an explanation. Like it would make any difference anyway.” As she pulls her baby closer, I step away from her, hands raised like I’m surrendering. She tilts her head to the side, confused. “They’re going to know you’re here, Seth.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  “They hear everything.”

  “Only if this apartment is bugged. I left my cell phone at home, see?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for. But they’ll still find out. Brian finds out everything eventually. He spent years in corporate security. Believes the best form of defense is offense. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to find out what that means.”

  “Like you did? I know you weren’t supposed to come clean about selling the Kris and Tamara story.” I can tell I’m right because her mouth twitches. “It’s the only time I’ve seen Brian lose it.”

  She slides carefully into a leather armchair and rocks her baby. The studio apartment is large but empty—no pictures on the walls, or books on the built-in shelves. The stainless steel appliances in the kitchen are way more expensive than the ones we have at home, but they look unused. The four cardboard boxes stacked beside the door suggest that either Maggie hasn’t been here long, or she’s already planning to leave.

  “Why are you doing this, Maggie?”

  “Same reason as you. I wanted to work in the movies. Even took a job doing data entry at Machinus, all for a chance to break in.”

  “Is that how you met Ryder?”

  “Yeah. He sold me on the movie—scripted reality, the future of low-budget filmmaking. Brian sold me on the perks—free apartment and good pay. They said a new kind of movie demanded a new kind of publicity. That was my job—to keep the project in the news.” She frowns. “They never told me what that really meant, though. How I’d be selling secrets to the media, so that Brian could cut me loose if anyone found out what was going on.”

  “Why sell secrets at all? Why not save everything for the movie?”

  “It’s not easy keeping gossip under wraps. Some stuff was bound to leak out, so they figured they might as well profit off it. Plus, it’s all free publicity, like a bunch of teaser trailers. Now that audiences know what’s been going down, they’ll want to see how it went down. Trust me, Brian’s got it all figured out.”

  “Then why’d you cross him?”

  She bristles. “You know why—you were at the party too.”

  “Kris told me to apologize to you about that.”

  “This isn’t just about a dress, or Kris, or even me. It’s about you and Annaleigh too.”

  I lean against the sofa, waiting for her to join the dots.

  “I thought we were a team,” she continues. “All of us, in on the plan. But they screwed with you both from the get-go. Your first night here, some guy takes pictures of you and Kris. An hour later, Brian hands me the photos and a story about you . . . even tells me who to sell them to, and for how much money.

  “Next thing, they’re telling me to sell the story about Kris and Tamara having an affair. Only, I never told them about that, and when you showed up at the office freaking out, I realized you didn’t either. Which meant that they must’ve recorded our conversation.” She looks me right in the eye. “I always knew I’d have to fight to get ahead in this business, but not like this. Forget scripted reality—this is freaking invasion of privacy. They don’t care what happens to you and Annaleigh, and it’s pretty clear they’ve set you up to be the bad guy. That’s not real. It’s just bullying.” She nuzzles her baby. “If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that bullying sucks.”

  “So why didn’t you tell someone what was happening?”

  “I tried to tell you, remember?”

  “I mean someone in the press.”

  “I signed a nondisclosure, same as you. That office was the only place I could admit what I was doing, and get away with it.”

  Seeing it through her eyes, it must have seemed foolproof. Hearing her confession, who wouldn’t step back and take a little time to think things through? But Brian knew my weak spot—with a stack of bills in my hand, and the promise of better days ahead, I cast Maggie as a loose cannon, and trusted Brian more than ever.

  “Brian came to see me here later that afternoon,” she continues. “Told me to pack up and get the hell out. Said the apartment was a perk of the job. I was supposed to have it for three months, and I had nowhere else to go. So like a freaking coward, I said I was sorry and promised to keep selling his damn stories.” She holds her baby a little tighter. “I should’ve realized he was playing me again. The landlord stopped by this morning. Turns out, Brian only paid for this place through the end of this month. If he doesn’t pony up next month’s rent, we get kicked out tomorrow.”

  I perch on the edge of a coffee table—not because I want to sit, but because I don’t want to stand over her. It’s time to share my plan, and intimidating Maggie isn’t going to bring her around.

  “What if you could get money another way?” I ask.

  “How?”

  “I could do a tell-all interview with you about my life. Nothing off-limits. All the photographs you want. You know how much these stories are worth, and how to sell them. You could start over.”

  “And you’d do that for me, right?” She turns away. “I’m not stupid, Seth. I can smell a trap.”

  “Not a trap. A trade.”

  “For what?”

  My knee is bouncing up and down. I clamp it in place with my right hand. “I need to borrow your office key. And I need the alarm key code.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “It’s only for a few hours. They won’t even know I’m there.”

  “They’re tracking you.”

  “I’m telling you, they’ll never know.” I can tell from her expression that she’s still not convinced. “Even if they do find out, you’ll still get the interview.”

  “And what would I do with it? I already told you: I signed a nondisclosure agreement. If I sell a story about the film, they’ll come after me.”

  “So write a story about me instead. You could even get someone else to sell it, so they won’t know you’re the source. If anyone knows how to pull that off, it’s you.”

  She places her cheek against her baby’s head and falls silent. She’s probably wondering whether to relay this conversation to Brian. Telling him about my visit could get her back into his good books.

  “You said it yourself, Maggie: They tricked us. When the movie comes out, no one is going to believe you and me and Annaleigh weren’t in on the whole thing. But we know.”

  She bites her lip. “So when do I get this story of yours?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “How do I know you’ll follow through?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Your word?” She laughs, and her baby stirs.

  “What else do you want?”

  “I want you to look at us,” she says. “I need you to know that if you screw up, it won’t just be me you’re hurting.”

  I look at the baby—tiny, rosy-cheeked, and bald except for a tight swirl of soft blond ha
ir. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

  She exhales slowly. “Key’s under the coffeepot.”

  I head to the kitchen and lift the pot. “It’s not here.”

  “Try the countertop.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Hold on. Let me look.” She leans forward and tries to stand, but the chair is low and she’s still holding her baby.

  “Here. Let me take her.”

  Maggie pulls her baby closer than before. Then, as I hold out my arms, she passes the child to me. I rest the tiny girl on my forearm and chest. Cradle her head against my neck, her quick breaths warm against my skin.

  The key is under an electric kettle. “Two-zero-zero-one is the code,” Maggie says. “You have thirty seconds to enter it. Then the alarm starts.”

  “Does it stop once you enter the code?”

  “Yeah. But the security company will still come to check it out.” She leaves the key on the counter. “If you set off the alarm, don’t stick around to be a hero. Get out and bring me my key. I can’t risk us getting hurt over you.”

  “I’ll get out. I promise.” I gently pass her baby back. “How do they plan for this to end, Maggie?”

  “I don’t know. But if they’re kicking me out of here in the morning, I’m guessing it’ll all be over soon.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  I take the key from the counter and leave.

  Outside, the street is dark and mostly empty. There’s a taxi in the distance, so I hail it.

  The driver is in the mood for small talk, but I’m too distracted for that. It’s not until he mentions the car behind us that I take any notice of him.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  “I’m wondering why that guy doesn’t pass me,” the driver repeats. “He just ran a red.”

  I spin around. I can’t see the car that’s following us because of the glare of headlights, but I can make out the first couple letters of the license plate.

  It’s my stalker again. And this time, the sight of me staring back doesn’t deter him at all.