Reality Check (5 page)

Charly eased her way into the space between Mr. Day and her dad. She didn't know where to stand, so she thought it best to be between them so she wouldn't seem as if she was taking anyone's side. “Daddy?” she said, putting on a little girl voice, then thought better of it. If she acted like a child, he'd continue to treat her like one. She cleared her throat. “Dad, I'm your daughter, so you know I worked for this. I earned this. I traveled for this. And if it weren't for this . . . this television thing you're so against, you and I wouldn't be reunited.” She hit him with a guilt trip, or at least hoped that she did.

Her father looked at her. Not a bit of guilt moved across his face, but his eyes softened. He blinked, then moved his gaze onto Mr. Day. “What's in this for Charly? I mean, what's in it for her later? Child stars come and go, then are left for the dogs because they lack education and get psychologically screwed up while you guys win. You get viewers, ratings, whatever, then move on to the next child star, the next show. In the meantime, she'll be putting food on your table and helping pay for your kid's tuition. What about her? What about her education and future?”

“Dad—” Charly began.

Her father held up a hand, silencing her.

Mr. Day smiled and nodded. “I understand where you're coming from. Trust me, she'll be compensated. She'll earn enough to cover her education and more.”

Her father shook his head. “No. Trust isn't enough. I need black and white. Change her contract to include college tuition—undergrad and graduate school—and while you're at it, make sure to include a clause that guarantees the rest of her high school tuition is covered too.” He gripped his hat, then nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Your studio is footing the bill for this online school she's in—summer classes and all—but I need to make sure that it's not a one-time deal. I mean, she does have to go to school online or have private tutors to finish, right? Especially if this reality show goes like you say it will.”

Mr. Day grimaced and nodded.

“Well, you want my daughter to help you with your show. Told me the show couldn't survive without her just minutes before she came in. So, in my opinion, you have to help her with her future.”

“Dad!” Charly protested. Her father was going to sink her ship before it arrived to carry her off to the life of stardom she'd dreamed of and had adventured for.

Her father held up one finger, and she quieted. There was no use fighting like she wanted to. She could challenge a map and travel across the states to get what and where she wanted, but there was no moving her father once his mind was made up, and she knew it. He was no Brigette.

Mr. Day scratched his head, then went and sat in front of his laptop. He clicked on the mouse and tapped on the keys for what seemed like forever. “Okay,” he finally said. “I guess I can get accounting to work it into the budget since we're in contract negotiations.”

Charly looked at Mr. Day like he'd grown a foot on his forehead, then cleared her throat until she got his attention. By now he surely had to know an “I guess” wouldn't be good enough for her father. “If it helps, I'll probably just attend a state college—not Ivy League or anything like that—so my tuition won't break the bank,” Charly added, making a work-with-me face at him.

“Okay. Okay. You win, Mr. St. James. Send me a round figure that'll cover the tuitions, and we'll work it into the contract. Guaranteed.” He stood and extended his hand.

Charly held her breath and prayed. With Brigette handling the contract with Mr. Day and the studio, she knew she could do anything she wanted as long as it equated to money her mother could spend. But her dad was different. He wasn't for sale, and her future wasn't up for negotiation. Either the studio would agree to his terms or talks would end. She wondered if Brigette's signature was enough. Did it really matter that her father now had custody if her mother had already given written permission for her to do a show?
Please, God. Please.
“He guaranteed,” she whispered to her dad.

Her father stood and shook Mr. Day's hand. He nodded. “It was good doing business with you, sir,” he said, then patted Charly on the head, placed his hat on his, and left.

Charly finally exhaled, and a huge smile spread her lips. She was going to be a star. She could feel it. “Yes,” she exclaimed, following out behind her dad, then stopped.

Sully was waiting in the hall with his fisherman hat pulled down over his brows. He adjusted one of his earrings and stuck his other hand deeper into his pocket. He wore a suppressed grin that was steadily trying to spread into a full smile but only made it to a half sneer. “So, I take it your pops agreed to let you do the show?”

Charly nodded. “He did. I can hardly believe it, but he did. Mr. Day was fantastic about it too. He really helped.” Her eyes widened, welcoming the face that now appeared behind Sully's. Liam was walking toward them.

Sully's lips finally spread and his top teeth gleamed. His version of a smile had won the battle and couldn't be suppressed anymore. “Great!”

Liam strolled up slowly, biting on his bottom lip. “So it's a yes now?” he asked as if he'd been there all along.

Sully's smile faded into a full sneer.

Liam patted Sully on the arm as he walked past. He grabbed Charly and pulled her in with a quick one-armed hug. Charly closed her eyes and took a whiff of the fabric softener smell of his shirt. “That's the best news I've had all summer,” he said, moving the other arm from around his back and presenting her with flowers. “Nothing much . . . But I thought congratulations were in order.”

Charly took the flowers and smiled. Who cared if they were mismatched and a couple of them were wilted. “Thank you! You're the best.”

Liam's hands were now in his jeans pockets, and he seemed to be blushing. “I
just
swiped them off a cart that was rolling by when I was walking over here. I guess someone's going to be disappointed their flowers didn't get delivered,” he admitted, laughing. “Not a big deal, really. I just overheard your father talking to someone on his cell on his way out, and he mentioned letting you do the show. You know that without you it was dead, I suppose, at least for now. We needed two girls and two guys.” He shrugged. “So that means with you doing it, we don't have to wait to find someone else. Trust me, the guys around here—me included—don't want someone else. She may not be as beautiful to look at.”

Before Charly knew it, she'd wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. No one had ever brought her flowers before, and even if Liam had just swiped them, it didn't matter. It was the thought.

Three deliberate handclaps pulled her attention, and she released Liam. “Nice. Nice,” Mr. Day was saying while approaching them. “That display. What chemistry. I think the viewers will eat it up. We're gonna have to play it up for the cameras.”

Charly cringed. “There was no chemistry. It was only a friendly hug,” she began, then turned to the side, hoping Sully would help her out. He'd somehow disappeared, but down the hall another pair of eyes was on her. She locked looks with a glaring and obviously rattled Mason, who was standing too far away to hear the conversation.

He threw up two fingers in the air, giving her the deuces-I'm-out sign, then turned his back on her and walked away.

Charly just stood there. She wanted to run after him but couldn't. She was at work, and there was no way she was going to risk losing the series because of Mason. She also wouldn't chance giving Mr. Day a reason to question if she was mature enough to handle such responsibility.

“Okay, it's all set then,” Mr. Day was saying, backing up. He went into his office.

Liam smiled, then his eyes widened at something behind her back.

“What is it?” Charly asked, turning around. Her heart dropped, then skipped a little. Mason was walking toward them, and she couldn't read his expression. It was one she'd never seen before.

“Oh, I forgot to give you something,” he was saying while approaching.

Her brows raised in question as he came nearer.

Mason walked between her and Liam, then reached out and pulled her to him. He held her tightly, then put his lips on hers before she knew it. It was a sweet kiss. “Congratulations, baby. I knew you could do it. Call me when you finish here.”

S
uitcases were strewn on the bed, clothes were everywhere, shoes polka-dotted the floor, and Marlow was sniffing the gadgets that were on top of the mattress. Charly sighed. It seemed as if she'd never be ready. She'd gone over her bulleted list of things to pack, and for some reason couldn't get it together. The list kept growing longer and longer by the hour. Worse still, she couldn't concentrate. The pressure was on. Annison was geared up and ready to roll, at least she'd said so each of the trillion times she'd texted. Sully was her newest fan according to his messages, though he'd accused her of falling for Liam's trick to get her attention, which she assumed was her accepting the swiped flowers. In addition, Stormy's tears had all but seeped through the lines of her texts, coupled with a “Do you have to go?” and “I'm going to miss you, Charly,” as if they still lived in the same city. Lola, her best friend in the whole world, had texted that she was pissed to the second degree and was divorcing Charly for abandoning her, then took it back after Charly promised that she could probably tag along on a couple of tapings because Annison was bringing a friend as well. She sighed, picking up her cell, seeing that the pressure of all pressures wasn't dissipating, namely Mason. She still hadn't seen him. After he'd left, his family had had some sort of emergency, so he was stuck babysitting at some relative's house in Brooklyn, and her father wouldn't let her leave the house. Now she couldn't get through to him, and it was killing her glee. She needed to see him before she left. She hoped he wasn't harboring bad feelings about Liam. Liam was cute and nice, but not for her. Her heart was for one guy and one guy only. Plus, Liam hadn't seemed interested. After the hug and stolen flowers, she hadn't heard from him. She tossed the phone onto the bedspread. She didn't have time to hunt down Mason, but she had his luggage. She'd texted him, and he replied that he couldn't get them before she left. Now her attitude was growing. If all of a sudden he financially had it like that to replace all the clothing he'd brought with him to New York, who was she to complain? She shook her head. She knew Mason didn't have money like that. He'd been waiting on his mother to wire him some cash; at least that's what he'd told her. But if he wanted to act like he didn't need his clothes, he could. She had her gear, and was looking at most of it in front of her.

“Whatever. Right, Marlow?” she said under her breath, trying to make herself angry with Mason. But the truth was, she was hurt. Hurt and disappointed that she wouldn't be able to see him before she left.

Her phone vibrated on top of the covers. She picked it up as quickly as she could, then smiled. He loved her. That's what his text said. Mason, like his usual self, had just made it all better, which is why she was crazy about him. A knock on her door pulled her attention. “Yes, Dad?”

The door opened. Her father walked in, eyeing the room from one wall to the next, then exhaled, looking at Marlow on top of the mattress. The untidiness from packing and her dog on the bed were probably getting to him. Since she'd been there she hadn't seen one thing out of order in the house, and had joked with him about being obsessive-compulsive, which, to her surprise, he admitted to. Everything had its place—one place—and that was all there was to it, he'd said with such authority that Charly knew he was forewarning her not to be messy. He pressed his lips together. “There's someone at the door for you.”

Charly raised her brows. She wasn't expecting anyone, and knew it wasn't Mason. “Really?”

He nodded. “
Really
. And I don't know how I feel about it, Charly. It's a man.”

Her eyebrows crunched together as she went temporarily dumb. She didn't know any men, at least not in New York. Her expression smoothed out when a clarifying thought surfaced. There could only be one man at the door. “You don't really think there's a problem with Mr. Day coming to get me, do you? I guess they decided against sending a car—”

He held up his hand, silencing her. “It's not Mr. Day. It's some dirty-looking man named Sully. Some man with a Southern accent and huge holes in his ears that I can see straight through. And there's someone else sitting in the car. A person I can't see.”

Charly's heart raced and she laughed nervously. Her father's uncomfortable disposition had rubbed off on her, and now she was starting to question herself and her ears. Sully didn't have an accent.
Did he?
Like her bedroom, her thoughts were a mess. She looked at herself in the standing mirror across the room. Her appearance was even worse. “Sully's not a man, Dad. He's a teenager and my costar. And he doesn't have an accent.”

Her father's uncomfortable expression twisted into something almost sinister. “Absolutely not. He's absolutely not your costar! You're not going on the road with all that . . . all that testosterone. I know what boys like him are up to. I was young once too.”

“Dad, Mr. Day said girls and guys will be separate. Remember? Well, Sully's my costar who'll be traveling
separately
. The guys do the carpentry
and
have their own chaperones
and
stay in separate quarters. It's in the contract,” she said, recovering. “Don't kill my dream, Dad. Please. Brigette's dream-massacring was enough. I worked hard for this. You of all people should be able to appreciate that,” she said, hitting him with something she knew would flatter him and get under his skin and, hopefully, soften him up to the idea. “Can you please tell Sully that I'll be right out?” she asked when she saw him relax a little, but silently wondered who the mystery person in the car was.

When Charly exited the house, Sully jumped out of a new monster truck that definitely cost more than most people made in a year. He wore tattered jeans, a black T-shirt, rough-looking dreadlocks, nerdy spectacles, and a welcoming smile. He also had hair on his face. Charly's eyes zeroed in on him. He was haphazardly interesting looking, and the fact that he didn't seem to mind wearing weird-looking prescription glasses and hair that looked as if it'd been spun in a blender, made him kind of appealing. “Whaddya think? My new truck,” he said, nodding.

“Hey . . . you, looking like a younger version of . . . I don't know? Rastafarian meets major nerd? I didn't know you wore glasses and dreads. The truck is nice. It fits you,” she said, looking at the truck, and then at his hair. She wondered why she hadn't noticed how long it was before. It was too much to hide under a fisherman hat, and it was disarrayed, but the unkempt style looked good.

Sully ran his hand over his dreadlocks, then whisked it over the few hairs on his chin. “I'll take that as a compliment. I think the kinkiness will help on the road. No telling what kind of barbers—I mean, groomers—we'll have cutting us. It's better if all they have to do is line me up, and I may not let them do that.” He shrugged. “Maybe I'll grow a beard to make Mr. Day lose it.”

Charly shook her head. “Why would you do that, Sully?”

Sully laughed. “When I was doing that teen show, the dudes they had cutting us messed me up all the time. I'm not letting them do that again. TV can change you, if you're not careful. Like they didn't want me to pierce these like this.” He pointed to the holes in his ears. “They said I looked like I was from an African village or a punk rock video. They don't get it. And this,” he said, touching his hair. “If you like it . . .” He paused, then pulled at one of the locks. “Then that's a good sign. You don't seem like a fad person. I'm original, so I like original.”

Charly smiled, now only feet from him. She appreciated the compliment. “So, why are you here?” she asked, not knowing what else to say. “I mean, what's up?” She didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable or unwanted.

He nodded toward the truck. “Thought I'd pick you up. I didn't see the need for some stranger in a limo to come get you, not when I'm going the same way and have this. So, here I am. Besides, limos are so boring, and who wants to be chauffeured and treated like a star, anyway?” he asked with a sarcastic grin, being silly.

Charly mockingly rolled her eyes. “I know, right. Who does that? Limos are so . . . everyday.” They both laughed. “But I'm gonna need like fifteen, and, you know, Marlow, my dog, is coming with. Is that okay?” She started to walk away, then stopped. “Who's in there? My dad said you had someone with you?”

Sully nodded, then crouched down, petting Marlow. “Oh. Nobody. He probably saw all the bags of donation stuff I'm dropping off at the hospital. I was moving so fast, I tossed them in the front.”

“Sully! That's sweet. Like books and stuff?” Charly asked.

Sully shook his head. “No! What kids want books when they're stuck in the hospital? I wouldn't. I got some autographed CDs, posters, video games, sports memorabilia, and some skateboards. The skateboards will be sent to shelters.” He tapped his watch. “We have a schedule to keep, Charly. It's not a problem bringing Marlow along. There's not even a problem with the fifteen minutes, but we can't push for more than that. I have an errand too. While you're getting ready, I'll run up to the store, pick up a few things I know I forgot, put the donation bags in the back, then come back for you two,” he said, scooping up Marlow in one arm, then standing. He ran his hand through Marlow's coat, handed her to Charly, then climbed into the truck.

Sully started his ride and pulled off. When he was finally out of sight, she breezed into the house like a hurricane to throw her stuff into the suitcases and convince her dad that going with Sully was okay. Fifteen minutes weren't nearly enough, but it was all she had.

 

The wind blew in through the windows, making her hair dance, and the music vibrated through the stereo system. Charly nodded and lip-synced B.o.B.'s lyrics while stealing glimpses of Sully, who was doing the same, except sound was coming out of his mouth. The more she was around him, the higher his friend-stock grew. Now he was funny, smart, sarcastic, and he could sing. Well, a little. But his okay-sounding voice was so much better than hers. He reached over and turned down the volume, stopping at a red stoplight and looking at her.

“What?” Charly asked, feeling a different vibe coming from Sully.

“
What?
That's how we talk to each other now?” he said with his sneer-like grin. Suddenly he paused his half smile, replacing it with a serious look. “So, about your problem?”

Charly watched as a couple of pedestrians passed the front of the truck while crossing the street. She looked at Sully. “Problem?” she asked, curious about which one he could've been referring to. “Which problem?”

He smiled at her, then winked, pressing his foot on the accelerator when the light changed to green. “You know, your
problem
problem. Your problem that weighs around one-eighty, is around my height, and likes to wear a Yankees cap. And runs away from what he thinks is competition. And you have another problem too.”

Charly playfully punched him. “Mason's not a problem.”

“Well, what is he then?” Sully threw her a quick look before turning his attention back on the road.

“He's my . . . well, he's my boyfriend,” Charly said matter-of-factly. “And what other problem do I have?”

“Huh?” Sully hunched his shoulders and snickered. “Never mind the other problem. We'll see enough of him on the road,” he said, letting Charly know he was talking about Liam. “But as I said: Mason, a problem. Your boyfriend, your problem. Trust me, if he doesn't change—if he doesn't realize that some things are good for the show, for your career, it's going to become a major problem. It's hard being on the road, and for some reason, boyfriends and girlfriends never get it.” His eyes never left the traffic in front of them when he spoke. Charly just looked at him. The tone of his words said he was joking, but his look was serious. He'd become a friendly contradiction, and that worried her. She didn't know why though. Sully whipped the truck into a parking lot not far from the studio, then drove up ramp after ramp and level after level, finally parking in a numbered stall that she didn't think they'd fit into because the truck was so huge. “We're here,” he said. “You take Marlow, and I'll take your bags.”

Charly pressed her lips together. “What about your luggage?”

Sully flashed his version of a grin. “Oh, the only bags I have are for the sick and homeless, and my baggage for the show was picked up earlier.”

“But I thought you were on your way here to the studio already . . . that picking me up was—”

“Optional?” he asked, moving his locks out of his face as he hopped out of the truck.