Hollywood Dirt
Page 40
He didn’t have time for this. He should be on sit-ups now, then burpees, then a long run, preferably up and down some hills. He sat up, his hands quick to catch the bird’s fall, and set him carefully to the side, taking a moment to scratch a spot just alongside his neck. He had read online that they liked that. Had felt a little proud when he’d found the fact himself. He’d gotten too dependent on others, on Justin.
Watching Cocky, the bird pecking at the ground in response, he started the first of two hundred sit-ups.
CHAPTER 47
I knew, my fingernails tapping against the side of the phone, that I was making a mistake. Dialing Scott was opening a door that I had taken great pains to superglue shut. But I did trust him. Even if I hated him.
“Summer.” His voice was surprised, and that made me happy. At least I’d never been that desperate ex, the one who gets drunk and calls in the middle of the night, the one who leaves long and sad voicemails that only further cement the relationship’s death. No, I hadn’t been that ex; he’d been. I’d been the one to listen to his voicemails, tears streaming down my cheeks, his name a long and vile curse from my lips as I stabbed the button to delete his bullshit.
“Hey Scott.” I played with the edge of the FedEx envelope. I didn’t want to go see him. In the last three years, the only times that I felt regret over not marrying him was when I saw him. I’d spent countless hours since then carefully arranging my life to avoid as many Scott sightings as possible. And now, here I was. Chasing down the man to save a few dollars on legal fees.
He coughed into the phone, and I could picture him clear as day, pulling at the knot of his tie, his eyes dropping to the side as he tried to think of what to say. Maybe his eyes dropped to the framed picture on his desk of his new wife and their little baby. I’m not bitter. He was the hottest property in Quincy. I wasn’t surprised then, and I’m not now, that he was forgiven quickly and snatched up. They bought the Lonner place when the old man passed. They were also one of the few families in Quincy that Ben and I didn’t call. I just couldn’t.
“I have a contract that I’d like you to review. It’s all Greek to me. I just want to understand what I am signing and have you point out anything that looks bad.”
“Okay. I can do that.” He sounded eager, ready to please. Some things hadn’t changed. “Send it to Shelley, my assistant. She’ll make sure I get to it today.”
“I know who Shelley is.” My blood heated below my skin. Shelley had been a bridesmaid, one of the fateful seven. She hadn’t ended up in the hospital that night. Lucky girl.
“Of course you do. I just—it’s something I’m used to saying.”
“Of course it is.” I didn’t want to mock him, but the words came out that way. Bitter. Sounding bitter hadn’t been part of the plan, and I bit my lip.
He said nothing, and I said nothing. Next would come an excuse to get off the phone. He was never good in a fight. Preferred to sleep off the anger and pretend that everything was fine in the morning.
I spoke before he had a chance. “It’s a talent contract. They want me to be in the new movie.” I hadn’t planned on telling him. I’d planned on the contract sideswiping him, his brow furrowing higher and higher as he sorted through the lines of the contract, his head snapping up at the figure—$500,000.00—and at the description: a leading role in The Fortune Bottle. His stomach would roll with a mixture of pride for me and regret at his loss.
“Really?” It was a mild question, just enough interest in the word to validate a response from me.
“Yes. Cole wants me for the lead.” It was a foolish, prideful thing to say—completely unnecessary for our business relationship, yet completely necessary for my ego. I wanted to prance my success before him with the exuberance of the Quincy High marching band.
“Cole?” Scott didn’t like my casual familiarity with his name. Not a surprise.
I mumbled out a sentence, covering the receiver with my hand, then moved it away and spoke into the receiver. “I’ve got to run Scott. I’ll send the contract to Shelley.” I hung up the receiver quickly, before I waited for a response, before my voice wavered, before I lost the ground I had just gained for the first time in a long time.
I rested my head in my hands and replayed the conversation. I did okay. He behaved. That made it easier. Though, ever since he got married, he’d been the picture-perfect husband. That shouldn’t have made me mad; it should have made me happy.
It didn’t.
CHAPTER 48
Cocky back in the tub, fresh corn sprinkled down. Cell phone on the counter, one Voss bottle drained and in the trash. Earbuds in, vintage Sublime playing, his feet rattled down the steps and hit the grass.
Cole hadn’t run on solid footing in years. Not since Four Songs of India, when they’d been filming in the middle of nothing, in an area where, with sunglasses on, he was just another white face. And now, where he could run five miles and see only a handful of houses, it felt safe. If felt worth a try.
He started slow, taking a left out of the Kirklands’ long drive and heading away from Summer, away from town. It was hot outside. Muggy hot. Different from California. But then again, everything was different from California. Dirt underfoot instead of pavers. Live oaks towering instead of palm trees. Summer instead of Nadia. He stopped, a puff of dust created, and put his hands on his knees, breathing hard. God, this girl was like a virus, attacking his weak immune system and making a home in his veins. He stood, his hands moving to his hips, and turned in one slow circle, noticing and appreciating everything that wasn’t Summer. The breeze that cut through the heat. The sway of white cotton, stretched out beside him in a perfect row. No paparazzi, no cameras. No one to see him, watch him, judge him. He could have a breakdown, right here on this road, and no one would be the wiser.
Watching Cocky, the bird pecking at the ground in response, he started the first of two hundred sit-ups.
CHAPTER 47
I knew, my fingernails tapping against the side of the phone, that I was making a mistake. Dialing Scott was opening a door that I had taken great pains to superglue shut. But I did trust him. Even if I hated him.
“Summer.” His voice was surprised, and that made me happy. At least I’d never been that desperate ex, the one who gets drunk and calls in the middle of the night, the one who leaves long and sad voicemails that only further cement the relationship’s death. No, I hadn’t been that ex; he’d been. I’d been the one to listen to his voicemails, tears streaming down my cheeks, his name a long and vile curse from my lips as I stabbed the button to delete his bullshit.
“Hey Scott.” I played with the edge of the FedEx envelope. I didn’t want to go see him. In the last three years, the only times that I felt regret over not marrying him was when I saw him. I’d spent countless hours since then carefully arranging my life to avoid as many Scott sightings as possible. And now, here I was. Chasing down the man to save a few dollars on legal fees.
He coughed into the phone, and I could picture him clear as day, pulling at the knot of his tie, his eyes dropping to the side as he tried to think of what to say. Maybe his eyes dropped to the framed picture on his desk of his new wife and their little baby. I’m not bitter. He was the hottest property in Quincy. I wasn’t surprised then, and I’m not now, that he was forgiven quickly and snatched up. They bought the Lonner place when the old man passed. They were also one of the few families in Quincy that Ben and I didn’t call. I just couldn’t.
“I have a contract that I’d like you to review. It’s all Greek to me. I just want to understand what I am signing and have you point out anything that looks bad.”
“Okay. I can do that.” He sounded eager, ready to please. Some things hadn’t changed. “Send it to Shelley, my assistant. She’ll make sure I get to it today.”
“I know who Shelley is.” My blood heated below my skin. Shelley had been a bridesmaid, one of the fateful seven. She hadn’t ended up in the hospital that night. Lucky girl.
“Of course you do. I just—it’s something I’m used to saying.”
“Of course it is.” I didn’t want to mock him, but the words came out that way. Bitter. Sounding bitter hadn’t been part of the plan, and I bit my lip.
He said nothing, and I said nothing. Next would come an excuse to get off the phone. He was never good in a fight. Preferred to sleep off the anger and pretend that everything was fine in the morning.
I spoke before he had a chance. “It’s a talent contract. They want me to be in the new movie.” I hadn’t planned on telling him. I’d planned on the contract sideswiping him, his brow furrowing higher and higher as he sorted through the lines of the contract, his head snapping up at the figure—$500,000.00—and at the description: a leading role in The Fortune Bottle. His stomach would roll with a mixture of pride for me and regret at his loss.
“Really?” It was a mild question, just enough interest in the word to validate a response from me.
“Yes. Cole wants me for the lead.” It was a foolish, prideful thing to say—completely unnecessary for our business relationship, yet completely necessary for my ego. I wanted to prance my success before him with the exuberance of the Quincy High marching band.
“Cole?” Scott didn’t like my casual familiarity with his name. Not a surprise.
I mumbled out a sentence, covering the receiver with my hand, then moved it away and spoke into the receiver. “I’ve got to run Scott. I’ll send the contract to Shelley.” I hung up the receiver quickly, before I waited for a response, before my voice wavered, before I lost the ground I had just gained for the first time in a long time.
I rested my head in my hands and replayed the conversation. I did okay. He behaved. That made it easier. Though, ever since he got married, he’d been the picture-perfect husband. That shouldn’t have made me mad; it should have made me happy.
It didn’t.
CHAPTER 48
Cocky back in the tub, fresh corn sprinkled down. Cell phone on the counter, one Voss bottle drained and in the trash. Earbuds in, vintage Sublime playing, his feet rattled down the steps and hit the grass.
Cole hadn’t run on solid footing in years. Not since Four Songs of India, when they’d been filming in the middle of nothing, in an area where, with sunglasses on, he was just another white face. And now, where he could run five miles and see only a handful of houses, it felt safe. If felt worth a try.
He started slow, taking a left out of the Kirklands’ long drive and heading away from Summer, away from town. It was hot outside. Muggy hot. Different from California. But then again, everything was different from California. Dirt underfoot instead of pavers. Live oaks towering instead of palm trees. Summer instead of Nadia. He stopped, a puff of dust created, and put his hands on his knees, breathing hard. God, this girl was like a virus, attacking his weak immune system and making a home in his veins. He stood, his hands moving to his hips, and turned in one slow circle, noticing and appreciating everything that wasn’t Summer. The breeze that cut through the heat. The sway of white cotton, stretched out beside him in a perfect row. No paparazzi, no cameras. No one to see him, watch him, judge him. He could have a breakdown, right here on this road, and no one would be the wiser.
