Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

  “She’s making sense, Indie.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Maybe he wouldn’t end up resenting me every time he has to stop a media shitstorm, but I don’t want to constantly see myself splashed all over social media.”

  Mila sighs. “Okay. Whatever you decide, we’ll support it.”

  “Why do I feel like there’s a but?”

  “Oh, there’s a big one. I’ve seen you with him. I can’t wrap my head around the privacy stuff outweighing being with him.”

  Fuck. I close my eyes against the wave of pain. This one is more like a fucking tsunami, but whatever.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, Indie. I’m trying to make sense of it.”

  “What Mila is failing to articulate is that we’re worried you’re doing this for the wrong reasons and you’ll end up miserable.”

  Mila mutters, “Articulate,” under her breath.

  “I’ll be all right.”

  I don’t believe my own words—they’re bull. Nothing will be the same. Spencer has been the centre of my everything since we were eleven. My life will be cold and colourless without him. But he won’t have to compromise so heavily.

  “Will you, though?” Mila asks. “You look like you’re struggling to breathe.”

  I crumple, tightening my arms around myself and dropping my head to my knees.

  Mila wraps her arm around me, and the sofa dips the other side of me as Wren does the same.

  I’ve never been very good at showing emotions to people, but I let my best friends comfort me as I try not to fall to a thousand tiny pieces.

  Fifty-Four

  Spencer

  I stand at my hotel room window and watch the grey clouds in the sky over London. If the weather is trying to match my mood, it’s succeeding. I hate being here alone. Indie was supposed to join me.

  Last night, I barely got an hour’s sleep again. I laid in bed, trying to convince myself that everything will be okay. I cried. I last cried four years ago when my grandad died. Since she sent me away, I’ve been a fucking baby.

  At least I have some distraction for the next three days. I’m in London because I’ve got two TV and four radio appearances.

  Indie should have been coming here on Saturday. She was going to meet me after the TV interviews, and I was going to take her for dinner up The Shard. After, we would have rode The London Eye. She would have loved it.

  The reservation is cancelled, and I no longer need to pay five hundred pounds for a private pod and extra champagne. Nothing about that is a relief. I was looking forward to spoiling her a little. Seeing how excited she got overlooking London. Sipping champagne until she was tipsy, and smiling so much it made her cheeks ache.

  The absence of her is a constant ache in my chest that I can’t take anything for.

  Surely, she has to realise the mistake she made soon.

  We can’t do this forever. I won’t do this forever.

  Someone knocks on my door. I want it to be her, but she doesn’t know what suite I’m in, and the hotel wouldn’t tell her.

  I run my hands through my hair. It’s time to leave. I need to pretend that I’m happy for the next few hours while I sell the movie’s DVD, and myself, to the world. The movie is no longer in cinemas, and I’m taking a year off, but I still need to remain relevant.

  Denny’s words.

  We spoke a couple days ago when he tried to get me to go back and audition for this other gig. I’m still taking the year. I plan to use it to get my girl back.

  Denny’s words also included talking about some work here in London. An advert, a couple of modelling gigs, TV appearances… shit like that.

  He’s right.

  I open the door, and there he is.

  “Denny?”

  “The one and only, my man,” he says in his fast-American accent. Slapping my shoulder, he says, “You ready to split?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Someone needs to stop the spiral. I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay after turning down the movie.”

  “We had a long chat about that.”

  He holds his palms up, while I grab my wallet and phone. “I’m not saying you’re wrong for putting her first, man, but we need to make sure everyone in the industry is still spunking in their pants over the thought of getting you on board.”

  “Some producers are women.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I know, I’ve slept with a lot of them.”

  No one loves this industry more than he does.

  We head down towards the lobby and Peter—a mountain of a man whose muscles have muscles—follows us. He’s my security for the weekend. A nice man, he consumes four times the number of calories needed a day, and has a husband called Malcolm.

  He’s the reason I worked out until my arms and legs burned last night.

  “Morning,” I say. He nods, his eyes everywhere. Peter takes his job very seriously.

  “When do you have to be in LA?” I ask Denny.

  “I’m heading back out tomorrow.”

  We walk through the lobby, and the world turns to face me.

  “Spencer Lowe! Oh my God, look, Mum!”

  Chuckling, I give the girl a nod, and her eyes widen.

  “He looked at me!” she squeals.

  She must be about fifteen or sixteen. Denny and I walk through the door with Peter’s footsteps thudding behind us.

  “This is us,” Denny says, opening the door to a fucking Hummer. I get in the passenger side, Peter the front. I can’t judge him, I have one in LA. But mine doesn’t stick out there.

  “Really?” I ask Denny as the driver pulls into thick London traffic.

  “I brought a little part of home with me.” I can just see him now, calling around every chauffer service until he found the car he wanted. “How are you doing?” he finally asks.

  “Not great.”

  “She’ll see sense.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Buy her a beach house in Malibu. Chicks love that.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turn back to him. “If that would work on her, I’d already have the keys. Indie is different.”

  “You’re pretty, rich, famous, and she loves you.”

  “The famous thing is working against me.”

  He waves his hand. “We’ll have that sorted. There’s plenty of security we can put in place. Let me get you someone who can deal with PR. Sandra Dickinson, a real fucking shark, works for Julia Jones.”

  Julia Jones is the leading lady everyone wants. She’s in her thirties, and an actress I’ve looked up to for a long time. I’d love to work with her.

  “You think that would work?”

  “Have you ever heard about Julia’s battle with her crazy mother, or the time she crashed her car into a truck on the freeway.”

  “I see your point.”

  I haven’t heard of any of that. Of course, I know that you can keep certain things from getting out, but the more people know about those things, the harder they are to contain. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect my life with Indie. I’ll happily share myself with the world, but they don’t have a right to every part of me.

  We arrive at the studio forty-five minutes later. We’ve probably only driven two miles. Peter escorts us in, and I’m ushered away for make-up.

  It’s my least favourite part of the job. It feels horrible having powder on my skin.

  An hour later, after I’ve met Pierre Gastly in the green room—a celebrity chef with an ego the size of the solar system—it’s my turn on the sofa.

  Maven Wallis smiles with her pouty lips and rosy cheeks. She’s the nation’s sweetheart of daytime TV.

  “I have to say, Spencer, it’s a real pleasure to have you here. The movie is a huge success.”

  “Thank you. I’m still in awe of how the world has responded to me.”

  “Well, we’re in awe of you. Small town drama student to Hollywood star. It’s very inspirational. But things haven’t all been smoo
th sailing recently.”

  I’ve purposefully not told them they can’t ask me about Indie. If she won’t take my calls or reply to my texts, I need another way of getting through to her.

  “No, they haven’t. Indie has been through a lot and she’s the most incredible person I have ever met.”

  Maven smiles. “So sweet. How is she doing?”

  I take a breath. Denny has hidden Jessica’s suicide, saying her death was the result of a non-alcohol related illness. “She’s heartbroken and grieving, but she’s strong. We’re not together, right now.”

  “Oh no,” Maven says.

  I nod as my stomach turns to lead. “Having the media follow you and splashing your private life all over the internet is hard. They have no regard for anyone else; no respect for the fact that humans are at the end of these stories. Indie’s a student. She has no desire to be in the public eye but that didn’t matter to them. They took a tragedy and turned it into a circus.”

  Maven nods, her eyes tightening like she understands the struggle but doesn’t want to weigh in too heavily against the media. “It’s hard when you still want privacy for your loved ones. Have you spoken to her?”

  “Hopefully soon.”

  “The platform is yours,” she says, eyes wide with the scent of an exclusive.

  I have no idea if there are people shouting in her ear right now, telling her to take back control, or if they’re rubbing their hands together because I’m doing this on their channel.

  The latter is my guess, but either way, there are some tight sphincters in the control room.

  Ignoring her, I look down the camera. It’s an odd feeling. I’m used to pretending they’re not around. “Indie, baby, I know things are difficult and I have made everything ten times worse for you. I’m sorry that I didn’t foresee this and protect you better. I’m sorry that the media didn’t respect your privacy when you were grieving your parents. I just want you to know that I’ll never give up on you—on us. You’re my whole world, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. Let me back in. I promise… I’ll make it right.”

  Maven’s face looks like she’s cuddling a litter of puppies.

  Fuck, this could go either way. I’m taking a massive gamble by talking about Indie publicly. But I have to let the media know they’re not welcome. I have to get the public on side so when they see an article about Indie, they attack the fucker who wrote it. I’m fighting fire with fire because I have nothing else left to fight with.

  “That was beautiful, Spencer. I truly hope she gives you another chance.”

  “Me, too. I love her… so much.”

  Fifty-Five

  Indie

  The sun is bright today, but it’s still cold. I’m bundled up in a thick coat, scarf, hat and gloves. My heart is heavy as I walk to my parents’ grave. They share a headstone as well as a grave.

  The weather isn’t the only reason I feel so frozen. Mila sent me a clip of Spencer’s interview with Maven Wallis yesterday, along with about a hundred heart-eye emojis. Nothing has hurt me more than him opening his heart and bleeding all over daytime TV.

  I love you... so much.

  Nothing will change how I feel about him, just as we can’t change the situation we’ve found ourselves in. There’s no easy way to fix any of it. I wrap my arms around my stomach as I walk. Every breath creates a visible puff of air in front of me. At least I know I’m still alive.

  The man truly is crazy, though. He thought that telling the media to leave us alone by publicly speaking about me would be the answer. To give him credit, their attitude towards me has changed. They’ve not been too bad. I’ve had interview requests, as well as an outpouring of love online. Teenage girls are particularly invested in my relationship with Spencer. They jump on anyone who is negative about me. Articles now say things like ‘STAR TRYING TO WIN BACK CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART’ and ‘INDIE CROFT: AN INSPIRING STORY OF SPENCER LOWE’S LOVE’.

  It’s a nice change from them telling me that I’m not good enough.

  I walk, eat, sleep, and clean, but there is nothing but emptiness now. Every time I’ve opened my textbooks, the words haven’t made sense.

  Sometime soon, I’ll snap out of it. I hope.

  I’m trying to be kind to myself. That’s not easy when I kind of hate myself. Why did I start something with Spencer? I knew it wouldn’t work, yet I still jumped in. I’ve seen Anya twice since I broke up with him.

  It’s been intense. We’ve gone over a lot of stuff with my parents—how I feel about them now, and what steps I need to take to heal. After both sessions, I’ve taken a long nap.

  I gave up my job at The Waffle House. I was on a zero hours contract, only doing a couple of shifts a month, anyway.

  Very slowly, I’m healing, but every time I think of Spencer, I come crashing back to Earth.

  We could still be friends if I’d just let him stay on the sofa in LA.

  Now we’re here. I have no Spencer, no parents, and I can’t even focus on uni.

  Good one, Indie.

  I crouch down as I reach their headstone. This is the first time I’ve been here since Mum was buried. It’s Anya’s homework. I’ve been putting it off the last two days.

  What am I supposed to say to them? I lay a bunch of red and white flowers down.

  The problem is that I didn’t really know Mum. How would I have seen the change in behaviour? She was a newly recovering addict. A stranger.

  Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty, though.

  “Hi,” I say, wincing. “Um. I thought I would know what to say when I came here. Everyone on TV seems to. There’s a lot between us and, let’s face it, hardly any of it was good. I guess what I want to say is that I forgive you—both of you—and I’m sorry, Mum, for not seeing that you needed more help. I hope you’re both at peace.”

  I swallow a lump of emotion that’s trying to choke me.

  “I love you and I always will, but I’m going to live for me now. I hope I’ll make you proud.”

  Standing, I wipe a stray tear, turn around, and I walk away from them.

  I only live a few minutes from the cemetery and can cut through to my house, so the walk is quicker than the car. Even though it’s freezing, and my fingers are going numb, I needed the fresh air.

  I can’t be sure what my future will look like, but saying goodbye to the past is a good place to start.

  When I get home, I trudge upstairs. I change back into my pyjamas, and I curl up in bed and close my eyes.

  Perhaps I should have stayed up and done something productive.

  My body is tired. Nothing feels worthwhile.

  I have a heart that’s taken too many hits recently, and I’ve no idea how to repair it. Not even time will stitch up the hole left by Spencer.

  I’m about to drift off to sleep when I hear my front door open. I didn’t lock it, but our neighbourhood is quiet. I already know it will be Wren and Mila.

  “Morning, Indie,” Wren says cheerfully.

  I groan and turn to face her. They both smile as they sit down on my bed.

  “What are you two doing?”

  Mila smiles. “Duh. We’re visiting you.”

  “We’re hoping you’ve reconsidered calling Spencer,” Wren says.

  “Yeah, he got back from London this morning,” Mila adds.

  He’s been doing interviews. I haven’t turned the TV on once in three days in case I accidentally saw him.

  “You should have seen him on Entertainment News. He’s gorgeous, obviously, but he looked so sad.”

  “Mila, stop.” Even thinking about him makes my heart constrict. I haven’t been able to say his name or look at his picture since he left my house.

  “You need to talk to Spencer,” Wren tells me.

  I wince at her use of his name again. She says it so easily, as if it doesn’t cut me every time I hear it.

  I miss laying in his arms all night and waking up sweating because we couldn’t bear to be apart. I miss his smil
e, the mop of wavy hair on his head, and his gorgeous green eyes. I miss his smell. That scent of home I’m petrified I’ll never experience again.

  “I don’t need to talk to him. We’re over.”

  Mila throws her hands up. “Come on, Indie. He’s not going back to LA like you thought when you broke up with him. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “He will,” I say. “He belongs in LA. He needs to get home and get back to work.”

  “Not happening because he is home,” Wren says.

  I roll over in bed and face the wall.

  “Can you believe she thinks we’ll go if she ignores us?” Mila asks Wren.

  I actually don’t believe Mila would leave.

  “Crazy. We’re not going anywhere. Remember that time you two stayed at my house all day because I’d had my first fight with Brody after we got together. We’ll get lunch and dinner delivered.”

  “Will you both leave?” I groan.

  The mattress shifts as one of them gets up. “Okay, so we either all go out for food today, or Wren and I move in here until that happens.”

  “Oh my God, Mila! Why aren’t you normal?” I snap, rolling back to face her.

  She’s looking at me with her arms folded. “I’m blaming my weird uncle. Got his dodgy genes.”

  Jesus.

  I close my eyes and take a breath. “I don’t want to go out.”

  She shrugs. “Fine. We’ll eat in.”

  They really aren’t going to leave. I love these girls, but I can’t have them living with me right now. There is so much of the day that I want to spend alone.

  My parents weren’t supposed to affect anyone else’s life. I can handle it just being me, but Spencer lost a movie because of this. That can’t happen again. I can’t risk him resenting me.

  I’d rather love and miss him until the day I die.

  “All right. I’ll have a shower, and we’ll go out. Is anyone outside?”