Even Villains Go To The Movies (10 page)

A tall Latino man met them halfway and took the drinks. “AJ,” said Luiz, “This is my brother, Miguel. Miguel, AJ David.”

He set the drinks down on a table and held out a hand. “My friends call me Mikey, but you can call me Lover.”

Angela shook his hand, and he pulled her toward the table. She pushed back. “Thanks, but Mikey is fine. I’m not in the market for a boyfriend right now.”

“Who said anything about dating?” Mikey asked as he let her go and opened a beer. “I just want to give you a proper L.A. welcome.”

Luiz smacked him upside the head. “Ignore him,” she told Angela. “And you,” she said, rounding on her brother, “no more beers. You’re in enough trouble.”

“It’s just one!” Mikey protested. “I’m not driving! Let me relax.”

Ignoring the bickering siblings, Angela scanned the room for familiar faces. Jacob was on the far side of the room. He held up a drink when she caught his eye and winked at her. She waved. So. He really was a superhero after all. That was...weird. She tried to picture kissing Jacob. It didn’t work. Arktos? No problem, she dreamt about that, but superimposing Jacob over Arktos’s mask still felt wrong.

“Mikey!” Tyler Running Fox caught her off-guard and she almost stepped on his foot when she turned. “Luiz. AJ. How’s things?”

“Hey, Tyler,” Luiz said as Angela slid out of the way. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He shrugged. “I saw the flyers and thought I’d help out.”

“Tyler!” Mikey raised his beer. “How is my favorite stunt face?”

Tyler chuckled. “I’m good. I missed having you on set.”

“I bet you did,” Mikey said. “Who was riding for you?”

“I did my own stunts while you were gone. It wasn’t a big thing.” Ty’s gaze slipped her way and Angela shrunk back, bumping the wall with her shoulder blades.

Mikey took the opportunity to grab her hand. “What do you think, sweet thing? Would you rather go riding with me or Tyler here?”

“Um.” Angela licked her lips and tried to find a polite reply. The room was too crowded. There were too many emotions and too many thoughts, too many people sizing her up like a prize cow at the auction. Pyro. She struggled not to say it aloud as she forced the tangled emotions aside.

“AJ’s been riding with me all week,” Tyler said. “Consider it the perks of staying sober and employed.” He picked a pretzel out of Luiz’s bowl with a smile.

“Luiz!” Angela said, desperate to escape. “Do you dance?”

“Not if I can avoid it,” Luiz said as another tango came on.

On the other side of the room she could see Jacob eying her. The music was getting louder and all she wanted to do was run outside, jump on her bike, and get as far away from L.A. and superheroes as ten bucks’ worth of gas could get her.

“I dance,” Ty said.

She turned, stunned. “Really?”

“Do you want to?” He held out his hand, waiting for her, not demanding anything.

Angela let her boundaries slip a little, trying to sort through all the emotions in the room. Come on, she told herself. You can do this. This is small fry. She found Tyler’s emotions. He was calm, almost disinterested. She could turn him down or dance with him; neither would change what he thought about her. “Sure,” she said, taking his hand lightly as her pulse evened. “Let’s dance.”

They stepped onto the dance floor as the tempo picked up and Ty moved away from her, circling back, a predator on the hunt. There was no choreography for this, only instinct. A tango was a primal dance, an expression of desires as old as time.

Angela shivered in the air-conditioned spotlight. A dance. It was just a dance. Taking Tyler’s hand she moved with the music, a few basic steps. A twist. A dip. And then she was pressed against him, feeling the warmth of his hand on her back, the scent of his sandalwood cologne overwhelming the distant smell of the grill. The pyro hadn’t smelled of sandalwood.

Angela pushed him away, moved into a more complicated series of steps that was meant to flare a skirt but still got her point across in jeans.

Tyler followed, his smile predatory. He caught her, pulled her back to him.

She gave him a sultry stare as she lifted her foot and caressed the length of his leg. So, she thought. It’s like that, is it.

He dipped her, turning her in time to the music, and pulling her back up.

They promenaded, walking together as the music crescendoed. Tyler led her into a series of tight turns, a split, and then a final dip as her heart raced and the music came to an end. His hand slid down the length of her body, resting for a second longer than was kosher on her rear, and then he pulled her out of the dip with a wink.

Angela managed a weak smile before she retreated to the heat and darkness off the dance floor.

Luiz had both eyebrows up. “Where did you learn to dance?”

Angela snatched up a bottle of water. “College.”

Luiz shook her head in awe. “Girlfriend, that was scorching. If I weren’t one hundred percent het, I’d make a play for you.”

Angela scowled as she uncapped the bottle. “Try Ty.”

“Nope. Still too much like my ex.” Luiz grinned.

“I’m het,” Mikey said, eyes hungry with lust. “Come with me. Have my babies.” He dropped out of the chair onto one knee. “Marry me!”

She took a slug of water. “No.”

“Hey, AJ.” Warm arms slipped around her. “That was sexy,” Jacob whispered in her ear.

“Thanks, I—” Her phone rang and she edged Jacob aside so she could pull it out of her back pocket. Delilah’s number lit up the screen. Her chest tightened. “I’ve got to go. Family stuff.” She waved to Luiz as she hit the answer button.

“I’ve got bad news for you,” Delilah said without preamble. “I found Travys.”

Chapter Twelve

Dear Mom,

Delilah found Travys, the boy who shot me. He’s in jail on murder charges. There wasn’t a trial. There couldn’t have been a trial. I’m not dead, so he can’t be guilty of anything. But The Company has something on the judge.

It’s a trap. If I go back to rescue Travys I’ll have to go to court, prove I’m alive, and disprove everything The Company will say about me. I checked my old TalkPlace account. All the teachers from the school have unliked me. I did a little social media stalking on RealTime, and they all think I’m a pedophile. The Company convinced them that Travys shot me because I hurt him.

I
want
to hurt somebody.

I want to make them feel the way I feel right now.

I want...

I want it all to have never happened. I want to be back at school, planning my final exams and my touristy attack on New York. I was going to go to Broadway. I was going to see my kids graduate and help them finalize their college applications. I was going to do something other than run around in a trashy plastic suit pretending to be a slutty version of you.

I want to do something good; instead I’m stuck in a cheap cosplay so Geoff Swendon can relive his adolescent fantasies.

I miss teaching. I miss being me.

Angela

“Do you know how hot you are?” Jacob asked as he wrapped his arms around Angela from behind as she stepped off the set. “I could just eat you up.”

“Ugh.” Angela tried to shrug him off as Jacob nuzzled her neck. The plastic suit she wore as Pacifica clung to her sweaty body. “I’m melting in this heat. Seriously, I’m disgusting. Let me get a shower.”

He held her tighter. “Who were you texting?”

“It was an email to my mom. Please, let go.” She pushed his hand away.

Jacob stepped back, arms wide. “What?” he sneered. “Holding out for Running Fox? You think he’ll get your name on the A-list?”

Most of the film crew stopped to watch them.

“What are you talking about?” Angela demanded in a whisper. The crew was breaking things down for the night and after the day’s tabloid headlines, the last thing she needed was a fight.

Jacob scowled. “I saw you dancing with him. You like him more than me!”

“News flash, Jake,” Angela said, tossing her hair in frustration. “I’d be the same if I were dancing with Quasimodo! It’s a tango. It’s supposed to look like an erotic argument.”

He frowned. “You liked it.”

“I like dancing. That’s not a crime.”

“It should be the way you do it.” He pouted, then tilted his head to hit her with a dark-eyed smolder. “Don’t be mad. I’m just jealous. Running Fox has it all. The girls, the gigs, the money... I don’t want to lose you to him. That’s not fair.” He held out his hand.

“You can’t lose me,” she said in prelude to explaining that he didn’t own her, but the director walked past. “Give me a sec, Jake. Mr. Swendon!” She chased down the director.

Geoff Swendon turned midstride. “AJ, sorry about the AC. They’ll have it fixed by tomorrow. Thanks for being such a trouper out there.”

“Can I talk with you for a minute?”

He checked his watch. “I can give you ninety seconds if you talk fast.”

“Alone, please. It’s about the finale.”

The director went pale. “Ah...”

Angela nudged him into compliance.

“Step into my office,” he muttered. “At least I have a fan in there.”

It was a ramshackle little space that looked like a secondary prop room, but it fit Geoff. He collapsed into a worn, patched chair with a sigh. “I’m not killing Pacifica,” he said without preamble. “The writers tossed the idea around, but everyone likes you. We won’t kill you.”

“I want to die!”

Geoff blinked at her and she blushed.

“I mean, I think Pacifica needs to die. It fits her character. She would sacrifice herself, and the weapon you plan to use, she’s the only one who could get close. Who else would sacrifice themselves to save a villain’s life?”

“Are you trying to talk yourself out of a job?”

Angela shifted awkwardly. “It fits. And I’d feel guilty if someone else left. You brought me in on a short contract to fill in for Carla. Everyone else has worked so much harder.”

The director started laughing. He slapped the table. “Wow!” Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes he grew serious. “Who put you up to that little speech?”

“No one.”

“Come on. Tell Poppa Swendon the truth. Little girls with Hollywood dreams don’t throw it all away over a guilt trip.”

Angela racked her brain for an excuse he’d accept. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“People.” She grimaced. “Red carpets, award shows, the hordes of people. I...I just...it makes me nervous.”

“Didn’t you act on Broadway?”

“Only in the chorus. No one knew me. I never had to go to photo calls. I was anonymous. The idea of walking the red carpet gives me panic attacks.” She forced a tear. “Please? Kill off Pacifica.”

He swiveled back and forth in his chair. “I’ll think about it. No promises. But you still need to be at the dinner Friday night.”

“What dinner?”

“Call Jacob in here,” Swendon ordered. “I know he’s lurking out there.”

Angela brought Jacob in and took up as much of the precious air space in front of the fan as she dared.

“Jacob, I need you to promise to stay with AJ on Friday night. She’s panicking over her first red carpet.”

“Happy to, sir,” Jacob said as he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a tight hug.

The room really was too stuffy for three people. Jacob hugging her in her sweaty suit was going to give her heat stroke.

Angela shifted away and raised a hand. “What’s happening Friday?”

“The studio head’s birthday blowout in New York,” Swendon said. “It’s the biggest party all month. Two red carpets, one for the dinner and one for the actual party.”

Angela’s knees buckled.

Jacob caught her. “Easy there, Peach. Don’t go fainting on us.”

“It’s this costume. I need to change into something cooler.” She plucked at her collar. “I can’t go to New York on Friday.”

“Why not?” Jacob asked. “Do you have a hot date?” He raised his eyebrow, daring her to admit she had something planned.

“Yes. A very hot date with a very cool guy.”

Jacob kissed her on the forehead and winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

Chapter Thirteen

Dear Mom,

I have no idea why Delilah would say she couldn’t meet you for dinner this week. That’s weird. Maybe there’s a man in her life.

Your single daughter,

Angela

“Delilah, I’m serious, what am I supposed to wear to this thing?” Angela asked as she dropped the pile of clothes next to her suitcase. The ancient apartment’s air conditioning wheezed as it fought the heat wave. Last night she’d opened the window out of desperation, hoping to catch a night breeze, but she was still sweating.

“You need a conservative suit.”

“A what?”

There was a pointed silence from the other end of the line. “Please tell me you’re joking. Don’t you own any business clothes?”

Angela held up a vintage Marchesa dress borrowed from her mother. The light caught on the gold leaf hidden under a wispy ocean blue gauze. “Hollywood and Chicago have very different standards.”

“I’ll bring you something.” Delilah said something away from the phone and then came back. “I’ve found the video The Company is using to blackmail the judge. It’s bad, career-ruining bad.”

“Can you handle it?”

“I’m trying to see if I can make it vanish. If they have it locked down at Langley I can’t waltz in and grab it. The Company headquarters are a different matter.”

Angela held up another dress, this one a rich purple with strips of gem-encrusted illusion netting. It would make her look like a high-priced hooker, but it would work. “I thought you’d been to Langley.”

“On official business as a guest, yes. Not after hours. They have pretty good security.”

“Pretty good?”

“They aren’t my level of good, but so very few people are. I have a black suit that should fit you. Do you own a blouse?”

“A what?” She tossed two sets of jeans into the carryon and tried zipping it. Too much. Her jeans might have to stay home.

“I’ll find you a blouse. No jewelry. No perfume. Can you do that?”