Hollywood Lies (33 page)

The brisk air cuts into me as I stand in front of the open window in the library, but it’s a cut that brings peace to my mind and calm to my heart. Behind me is a warming fire in the hearth. I don’t know how long I’ll stay here, but there are several projects I can complete from this location. What better place to write and record Highland songs, and it’s quiet enough here for me to finish the manuscript I’ve been neglecting. There are a few scripts I’m interested in back in the States, but the ones that are really appealing to me are here in the U.K.
 

There’s no rush to get back to America. Hollywood can survive without me. Just like years ago, living and working from a European base will give me the perspective I need to keep my sobriety and sanity in the midst of my isolating celebrity. Once I can trust myself again, I’ll get back into the mix.

As I breathe in the fresh air, I can finally sort things out. I am perfect by myself.
 

The cell buzzes loudly, but it doesn’t destroy the sanctuary I’ve built. Closing the window, I shut out the whipping wind and turn to the table next to my favorite sitting chair. I open the message without paying attention who it’s from.
 

I miss you.

I back out of it to see it’s from Devon. While it’s not easy to understand or deal with, it doesn’t send me into the tailspin it might have a month ago.

A month of calm in my sanctuary passes and I finally send him a text back.

I miss you 2.

I don’t hear back from him for another two weeks. When his response comes, it’s casual, like we’re old friends.

Can’t go outside. Barely sleep anymore. How are you?

I return his message without making him wait.
 

Funny enough, I’m outside every day. Sleeping better than ever.

Devon’s response is instant.
 

Lucky.

Chapter 15

Devon

Since Cole and I have been texting for the past week, my mind is on her even more than it used to be. I think about her now as I stare out at the ocean, wishing I could experience the waves against my bare feet and ankles, but I haven’t left the house in about three weeks. Liliana’s filming a remake of
Chinatown
, and even though it’s being shot in LA, sometimes she doesn’t come home for a week or so. She says she’s too busy or too tired, so she stays at the little apartment she has kept since before
Tortured Desires
.
 

I don’t go outside because, just like I feared, helicopters circle the airspace above to catch a glimpse of me. When Roscoe demands an actual walk, I have to get one of the security guards to take him.

Brady and the boys say they’re coming out soon. Once they can, I’ll have the tickets in their hands. I need to see some regular people. I talk to Brady about every other day, but he has been busy at work, and I get the feeling he isn’t entirely comfortable with my new life. Being the friend of one of the world’s hottest commodities probably isn’t a lot of fun. He says he gets bombarded with interview requests and random people want more and more information about me.
 

Every now and then Natalie makes an appearance, and a few former cast mates will come out from time to time, but they’re all so weird with their new designer clothes and ridiculously expensive cars.
 

Last time Landon was here, he wore five thousand dollar shoes. “From Milan.”

What does someone like me say to something like that? I wanted to tell him how ugly they were and ask him if they were even comfortable, but I stayed quiet.
 

Mostly I work out and read books and scripts. The stack of scripts grows larger, even though I can read four or five a day. I put the ones I’m interested in one pile and then others I use as a Frisbee. It’s entertaining to see how far some of these piece of shit scripts can fly; Roscoe loves catching them.

A good chunk of them are teen romances. It’s like I’m the poster boy for shallow stories for lovesick teenagers. None of those stories make it into the
to keep
stack. My next role has to be a challenge, not only for me, but for those people who say they’re my fans. I need to see if they’re really
my
fans or if they really only love my
Tortured Desires’
character, Jamie.
 

If they knew I just sat around reading all day, they’d go back to lusting after the previous Sexist Man Alive.

I’m relieved that all three
Tortured
movies are in the bag. I just have one more promotional tour, and then I’m done with it. It starts in three months, but it won’t be quite so extensive. Both Lili and I have gotten out of the bulk of the promotion. The franchise is established and there is nothing left to gain by overexposure like before, so the studio is letting us off the hook.

As I stand watching the wind-driven water break against the beach, I hear the front door open. I don’t bother to call out to Liliana. She’ll find me when she’s ready. Who knows how long she’ll even stay. I doubt even superglue could keep her here for more than a few hours.

I don’t mind the time apart, but I have been wondering what the point of all of this is. I don’t think she likes me much anymore, and if I’m honest, I don’t like her. All of the things I thought unique about her, I’ve realized I’d already experienced in a string of ex-girlfriends who wanted fun and excitement more than a true bond.

Every once in a while, Lili wants sex from me, and I take her up on the offers, even though she does little to hide the fact that I’m not interesting to her between the sheets, either.

Oh, I can give her orgasms, but not how she wants it. There is a bossy side of her now, a need to dominate, to tell me exactly how to fuck her. I don’t know about anybody else, but being critiqued on my sexual style isn’t a turn on, not to mention I already have some crazy anxiety going on, so her constant nagging doesn’t help me perform any better.

“Hey,” Liliana says. She places a hand on my shoulder and lets it run down my arm. These are the moments—when she is soft and sweet—that I actually think she might care for me.
 

I look over at her. She looks like a windblown mess. “Top down again?” I ask, referring to her preference of driving with the top down in her convertible. She might just like the wind in her hair, but I suspect she likes how visible it makes her to people who want her picture.

Liliana smiles her response, then looks out to the ocean. “Anything interesting out there today?”

“Windy.”

“Want to take a walk?” She looks up at the sky with me and adds, “It’s too windy for helicopters, Dev.”

I shake my head. Photographers could be hiding anywhere. “I’m good in here.”

She sighs and walks away. “I can’t stay for long. I’m having dinner with—”

I don’t even let her tell me. It doesn’t matter. “Okay.”

“Do you want to come with? Everyone on set wants to meet you.”

What I hear is that everyone on set wants a piece of me, and I’m pretty sure one of those damn
inside sources
will have told all the Hollywood press, that there will be a gathering. People will take my picture, they’ll yell crazy things at me, they’ll provoke, flatter and harass to get me to respond.

I can’t seem to smile through all that bullshit anymore. I don’t know how Cole does it because unlike Liliana, Cole doesn’t enjoy that kind of limelight. I don’t know why I ever thought I could have a regular relationship with her. If Cole and I had even tried to date openly, flashbulbs would have gone off every second of our date.
 

I feel like an idiot for ever having thought Cole was silly for her secrecy. I guess I just thought we could be like everyone else. It hadn’t dawned on me then what Cole said was true. Fame changes everything and we no longer belong to ourselves. We are a commodity to be bought and sold. I had no idea it would be like this.

“Maybe some other time.” I want to add that she could stay with me, but I don’t because I know she won’t. No one can see her inside this house. No one but me, and what fun would that be to hangout alone with your boyfriend?

Lili’s a bad girlfriend for never staying with me, and I’m a bad boyfriend for never going with her. It’s with this thought that I blurt out: “Do you even want to do this anymore?”

I don’t turn to look at her, but I can see her reflection in the glass. It makes her translucent, like she is a ghost. It suits her. She is here, but not really.

“What?” she asks with a little laugh, like she can’t quite understand what I’m asking.

“With me. Do you even want to be together?”

“We’ve been through this already, right? When I asked you that very same question you acted like you’d die if we weren’t together.” Lili is next to me again with her hands on my chest as she slides between me and the glass.
 

“I know what I said, but there’s a difference between what I’m asking and me saying I want you to stay. I’m asking if
you
want to stay with
me
.”

I don’t know if she wants to figure out what to say or how she feels, or if she’s trying to take my mental health into consideration, but she takes her time coming up with a reply. “You know I love you. I just like going out sometimes, too. I think maybe you should see someone. It’s not healthy to—”

I back away. “I love you, too.” But I’m not sure I truly feel it. I leave her standing there as I go to the kitchen to fix myself a drink.

She comes in long enough to say, “I’m going to grab some stuff, then I’ve got to head back. Call you tonight?”

She doesn’t call, but it’s not like I’m waiting for her. As I watch the Hollywood news show with Roscoe next to me, my heart starts crashing around in my chest like the waves a few yards away from the house.
 

My house is pictured and as the camera zooms in, I can see Liliana’s back against the glass and just the faintest of outlines of me right behind her.
 

An upbeat newswoman says, “Try as they might, the couple can’t hide their love from the watchful eyes of the world. Take a look at the lovebirds caught in this steamy embrace inside Devon’s Santa Monica home.”

I shut the television off quickly. This house isn’t private at all. I’m surprised the press hasn’t rigged the inside for motion sensors and spy cameras to track my every move.

I pick up my cell to text Cole, but first I have to get my heart to slow down with a few deep breaths. Yoga breathing, taught to me by Cole.

A few weeks ago I texted her a one word question.

Friends?

It took a few days, but she finally answered.
 

Friends.

That one word reply opened up the world to me, and unlike almost everyone in the world, I know the friendship Cole extends me is free from strings. She doesn’t want or need anything from me. Unlike Brady and the guys, who seem to shy away now that the cameras are always on me, Cole’s used to all that, so she can truly be a friend without reservation. Well, at least without reservation caused by my public life.

I know I hurt her with the foolish choice I made, but I can make it up to her. I should have never picked Lili and the freedom I thought she brought. I wasn’t free with Lili, just manipulated into thinking I was, when really it was carefully thought out publicity for her. Even if all Cole and I ever are is friends, it will lighten my life to have
someone
in it who can understand.

I get my cell, pick her name from my contacts, and type.
 

How do u deal w/the media writing or telling lies?

Cole must be just sitting around, too, because her text comes right away.
 

I stop paying attention. What’s happening?

I take a bit to think of my answer.
 

Nothing. Just being a baby.

She responds.
 

You need to get away.

I’m quick to text back.
 

Where?

She texts back.
 

Somewhere no one cares about who you are.

She’s the experienced one, so I don’t hesitate to ask.

Suggestions?

Her text comes back after a minute.
 

Scotland works for me. Where’s your happy place?

I want to text back that it’s with her, but I don’t, because I don’t think I have the right since I’m the one who broke it off like I did. Instead, I text back.
 

Don’t know. I’ll let you know when I do.