Hollywood Hot Mess (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

I don’t answer his calls and I don’t return his texts. He knows exactly what I want from him, and he’s not getting what he wants if I can’t have what I want. I’m intentionally pouting like a spoiled brat. I need this man. And giving into him won’t get me what I want.

The way I see it, Devon has the entire world chasing him. He doesn’t know the first thing about not getting what he wants. Absence makes a heart grow fonder? Maybe. Deprivation makes a dick grow desperate. That’s a lesson I’m willing to teach him. No matter how much it kills me.

I jump when I hear someone approach my apartment door. But when a key slides into the lock I know it’s only Maria.

“Oh, hey!” she says, startled to see me out of bed before noon. I’ve taken to sleeping in since I can’t sleep at night. She immediately stuffs a huge manila envelope into the oversized bag she’s borrowed from me.

“What’s that?” I nod at the envelope Maria is obviously trying to hide from me.

“Oh...just a proposal for some work.” She dismisses it and walks to the kitchen to warm some chicken broth. It’s the only thing she’ll eat these days. But after being starved for years, even plain broth makes a difference for Maria. The color is returning to her cheeks, and the cement-gray bags are no longer lingering under her eyes. She’s starting to look like her old self. And I’m glad I stuck to my decision to help her back up, despite Jerrie’s advice.

“Good for you. Anything interesting?” I close my computer and put it on the coffee table.

“Nah. Just some print advertising. Gotta start somewhere.” She shrugs and disappears quickly into her makeshift bedroom. She’s acting strange and I’m so bored with my own life, prying into hers seems like fun.

As soon as she shuts the door I slip off my perch on the couch and retrieve the envelope from her bag. She wouldn’t have left it in plain view if she didn’t want me to see it? Right?

My hand flies to my mouth in horror when I see the logo on the letterhead. It’s not a contract for printed advertising. It’s a contract for printed porn. And not even a classy company, it’s an offer from the raunchiest smut mag out there...the one that sends free issues to prisons and frat houses. And what’s worse? She’s offering to show it all.

How in the hell can she have fallen this far? She’s Maria Rhodes. The teen dream. And now she’s reduced to showing it all for a few thousand dollars? No way. I can’t let her do this.

“What the fuck, Carly?” I’m busted. She’s standing at the end of the couch with her hands on her hips, ripping holes into me with her eyes when I turn around, caught red-handed, contract in hand. For a moment I consider playing it off—saying I thought I left something in the side pocket of the purse and needed to look for it. But why should I? She’s about to commit career suicide and I’m the only one here to stop her.

“I should ask you the same thing!” I yell back, and throw the papers at her. They flutter through the air and scatter over the filthy coffee table littered with cigarettes and coffee cups. “What the fuck are you thinking?” My hands flail wildly in the air and I start toward her. She recoils from me, her chin quivering, and runs back to the office, slamming the door in my face.

There’s no lock on the door and it’s my apartment. I don’t even miss a beat, throwing the door open and chasing after her. Her face is buried in her hands. Sobs rack the length of her body. I’m seized by guilt and immediately wish I hadn’t reacted the way I did.

I sit down on her bed and sigh.

“I’m sorry, Maria. I shouldn’t have gone through your stuff.” I know better than to kick someone when they’re down. A year ago I was right where she is. I know how tempting it is to have anyone want you again. Even if it is to exploit the last thing you have left. It always feels good to know you have something someone wants.

“I haven’t signed it yet,” she says through snivels, still not looking at me. I reach out and rub her back, pulling her onto my shoulder. I nod my head reassuringly. At least she wasn’t that stupid.

“Good.” Looking around the pieced-together furniture in my tiny one-bedroom on the wrong side of town, I’m amazed how far we’ve both fallen. Five years ago we were just coming down from the crest of our success, but how could we have known? We were still partying hard, blowing our money up our noses without a care in the world. A life like this? It didn’t seem possible for girls like us. Everyone wanted us, and we wanted for nothing.

Now? We’re two washed-up has-beens, using the last thing we have left to try to regain our place in the sun. Most people our age are off experiencing the freedom of college for the first time, learning from their own stupid mistakes. But we’ve had too much freedom for way too long. And it has utterly ruined us.

We aren’t really even actresses. We were cute kids who could recite a memorized line and cry on cue. We had greedy parents who let Hollywood exploit us for the right price. We grew up in a world ruled by our whims. And anyone who dared to tell us no was cast from our circle.

But nobody gives a shit if we cry now. Nobody cares if we pout. The rules have been changed. And we were never taught to accept reality like normal kids are. We weren’t normal. So how can the world suddenly expect us to be?

“It’s the only work I can get.” Maria’s tears have stopped. She wipes her nose from her finger to her elbow, leaving a slick streak of snot lining her arm. Tears pool in the crevices of her nose and she dabs them with her shirt collar. My heart breaks for her. How close was I to this? How far would I have fallen if Devon hadn’t come along to save me?

“It’s your choice, Maria. Sometimes it works. Kim Kardashian was a nobody until her sex tape surfaced.” I smooth the hair away from her face and sweep a finger over the last tear streaking her cheek. “But do it classy. Don’t do it like this.”

She snorts and nods her head, looking absently into the stark white room like she’s stoned out of her gourd.

“I tried.” She laughs again in a weird way that unsettles me—like she’s already given up. “While you were gone I did a few test shoots. They didn’t want me. Nobody does.” She sighs and looks at me through red-rimmed lids. I shake my head as I think.

“Don’t do it.”

“I have no other choice. I’m broke and I can’t live with you forever.”

“Yes, you can. I’m not going to let you do this because you have no other choice.”

“Carly, I can’t...” I put my finger over her lips, silencing her and feeling like the big sister again.

“You can. You’d do it for me.” I snake my arm around her shoulders and pull her into a sideways hug. “Besides, you’re the closest thing to family I have left.”

She falls against me, and we sit like this for a while, leaning into one another, staring at nothing but blank white walls and stained beige carpet. I can’t wait for my final check to come in so I can get us the hell out of this hovel.

“Did you ever think we’d end up like us? Growing up the way we did?” she finally asks, pulling away from me and fixing her flattened hair. She really is beautiful. A few more pounds and a little more color and she’ll be back. They’ll want her again. Someone will.

I shake my head and stand to leave. At the door I stop and turn back to her.

“And to think this life was never our choice in the first place,” I snort. We hold each other’s stare, knowing exactly what I mean. I couldn’t even talk when my mother forced me into the Hollywood life. She wanted this, not me. Now I’m left alone to clean up the mess. And that is the saddest part about this fucked world we love to hate.

* * *

I’m refusing to let myself watch the Devon movie marathon I stumbled on by the time Maria surfaces from her room. To distract myself, I’m watching some stupid infomercial for wrinkle cream. Escapism—the cornerstone of Hollywood.

Assuming she’s come out to spend another boring night on the couch with me, I’m startled to find her in a cobalt blue backless minidress and Grecian stilettos. Isn’t she supposed to be broke? Her hair is curled, her makeup perfectly in place, and she looks bangably hot.

“Where are you going?” My mouth hangs open in shock.

“I have a date.” She smiles and looks down at her shoes like she’s embarrassed.

“Where the hell’d you get a dress like that?” I certainly didn’t see it in the bags she arrived with, and I know my closet doesn’t contain anything so sexy. I can tell by the fabric it’s expensive.

“I’ve had it.” She shrugs and turns to the mirror to fix her lipstick.

“Well? Who’s the lucky guy?” I sit up, muting the TV and giving her my full attention.

“I don’t know. It’s a blind date.”

“Who set you up?” She’s acting weird again and I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

“Um...” Her brow wrinkles and she frowns in the mirror. “Promise you won’t be mad?” She turns back to me and I nod my head. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “Melvin.” She lets a held breath out through a grimace.

“What?” I jump off the couch. She’s supposed to be here with me so she won’t have to be around that creep.

“Don’t be mad.” She pushes me back down on the couch and sits beside me, her hand on my knee. “Melvin met him collaborating on some project. He’s in the finance side of the business.” She’s smiling because we both know what that means. Many a fallen starlet has “retired” after finding a sugar daddy who used to be a fan. “I need this, Carly.” She pleads with me and I can’t say no. Could I really, anyway? She’s a grown woman, and it’s her decision. Secretly, I’m a little jealous of her.

I manage a smile and roll my eyes.

“Sure. Have fun.” I hug her, and as she leaves she winks at me through the crack of the closing door. Lucky bitch. At least her date for tonight is real.

* * *

I’ve moved on to the hard stuff—Diet Coke with lime—when someone knocks on my door.

“Who the hell is that?” I mumble under my breath as I tiptoe to the peephole.

I gasp when I see a tight T-shirt covering an impossibly ripped chest.
Tiny?

The door bangs against the wall I yank it open so quickly. It’s only after the cold air hits my legs I remember I don’t have on any pants. I’m standing in the doorway in nothing but panties and a camisole—because that’s what a heartbroken girl wears on a lonely Friday night.

Tiny seems bothered by my near nakedness, but I don’t bother to cover up. His eyes shoot to the wall behind me like a trained soldier as he offers me a large box. I take the box and he reaches around for the door, pushing me back in and slamming it between us. Whoa, security detail. He never leaves Devon...which could only mean...

I rip open the box and am confused to find a black wig, black slinky outfit, sunglasses and a tube of lipstick. My phone rings seconds later.

“What the hell?” I whisper into the phone, forgetting that Maria is gone and I have the place to myself again.

“I give up. I want you. Will you come to me?” My heart melts over the cold tile I’m sitting on. I can’t believe my pouting has worked...just like it used to. I also can’t believe how easily my vow to hate him forever vanishes.

“When?” I’m practically panting and my crotch is already wet.

“Now.” His words are clipped, like he’s panting, too. “Put it all on. Tiny’s waiting outside.” He hangs up without another word. I hold my breath so Tiny won’t hear me peering through the peephole to confirm this isn’t some horrible episode of
Punk’d
.

In the bathroom I grab my toothbrush, face wash and makeup bag, shoving them into an oversized purse. After putting on the black outfit, I pull out the lipstick and trace my lips with trembling hands. I look at myself before I hit the light and realize what he’s done.

I’ve become Heather. With the wig, glasses, lipstick and outfit, Heather’s own mother couldn’t tell the difference between us. I twitch with anger, but shake it away. He’s found a way for us to be together. And even if it is dressing me up as the heartless bitch I would take out if I could, it means he wants me.

Tiny’s upper lip curls when I open the door and step into the fluorescent lights a new woman. Apparently he likes Heather as much as Devon does.

“How do I look?” I ask innocently, joking about his reaction.

He just shakes his head, placing his hand in the small of my back and leading me to the elevator like he would Heather. It feels like a movie set and takes me no time to get in character, replacing my enlivened smile with the upturned nose Heather seems so fond of. I toss my shoulders back, punch my chin in the air and turn my head away when we pass a gawking neighbor in the hall. His jaw hits the floor at first. But Heather Troy wouldn’t be caught dead in a rat hole like this. And Hollywood’s full of weirdos. The neighbor shakes his head, obviously assuming I’m the latter.

A blacked-out Suburban is waiting in the underground garage. I’m shocked when Tiny opens the door and Devon yanks me into the backseat like a rag doll. Before I even know where I am he has pinned me down to the seat and is forcing his tongue in my mouth. But we’re on bucket seats and there’s just no way this can happen here. We slither to the far row of seats. I look up to see Tiny turn the rearview mirror to the dashboard and the radio up to blaring, offering us almost total privacy as he pulls away into the night. He’s obviously done this before.

Devon has managed to leave my pants on the middle seat. His zipper is already down and as soon as my legs wrap around him, he plunges into me so forcefully I cry out and bite down on his shoulder to stifle the scream that wants to follow.
Damn
. Give a girl a minute to get ready. Like I need it. I was wet the moment I heard his voice on the phone.

I’m pushed up against the side of the car, neck craned to the left so he has room to push into me over my shoulder. One leg is still trapped on the middle seat, pants dangling off my foot, and the other is holding onto his back with a viselike grip. My left hand is tangled around the seat belt hanging from the ceiling and the other pulls his back into me with every thrust, needing to get him closer to satisfy the starved parts of me.

This has to be the most uncomfortable sex ever, but Devon isn’t deterred. Where do my hands and feet go? How can I get any leverage with my back cramped like this? It’s obvious this isn’t his first time fucking in the back of a car. His moves are expertly calculated—quick, swift and demanding. My discomfort is easily forgotten when that delectable sensation starts to squeeze my insides like a juicer.