The Accidental Movie Star (19 page)

Caz stood on the sidelines with Petra beside him, whispering in his ear.

So, Caz came. Ashley looked back to Garrett. “Thanks for the dance.”

“We’ll have to try it again, darling.” Garrett released her hands slowly. “Or we could grab a bite to eat? They have a snack area. It’s just miniatures, though, but I saw chocolate puffs.”

Ashley smiled noncommittally and took the time-honored easy way out. She scooted around him, off a side exit, and entered the women’s room.

Olive stood inside, dressed in denim, replacing the lid on a small pill bottle. “Headache.” Olive tightened the lid. “Because I work so much.” She stomped out.

Grateful she hadn’t asked for a temple rub, Ashley used the facilities, washed up, and went to the door. After she left the restroom, Garrett caught up to her again. “This is a great wrap party, reminds me of one Hogmanay in Edinburgh.”

“What’s that?”

Olive scooted around him and handed a drink to Ashley. “Here, Caz requested this. I’d take it but you know how he is.”

Ashley looked at the glass. Really? Work was over and she was still expected to carry his drinks? Garrett reached for the glass, but Ashley had her own agenda. She moved away, taking the drink over to Caz.

He said, “Thanks.”

Petra waved her hands in the air, demonstrating an audition she’d done. Diamonds sparkled on each of her fingers, and the fringe on her tight white suede cowgirl dress danced with each exaggerated gesture. The rhinestones on her matching white boots flashed with her accompanying stomps. “The part is a bikini-wearing ski instructor who is half mermaid, and she saves her students from Ukrainian bad guys.” Petra put her hands on her small waist and grinned. “I won the most coveted part in Hollywood. I start shooting next week.”

“The most coveted,” Olive said. “You’ll look great in an ocean film.”

“I know. And it’s shooting here in LA.” Petra squealed. “No out of town, out of touch for me. I’ll be here, where I can be around all the great shops and industry people.”

Caz said, “You don’t want a break?”

Petra widened her eyes and twisted her mouth. While shaking her head, she caught sight of the AD. “Yoo-hoo, have I told you—” Petra chased after him.

Caz looked at Ashley. “Dance with me.”

“No.”

Caz took a drink. “Please?”

“Maybe.”

“I want you to.” Caz downed the drink, then set the glass on a nearby table. He grabbed her hand and tugged her out onto the dance floor.

As they weaved through the couples, Ashley said, “How much have you had to drink?”

Caz peered at her through glassy eyes from beneath his untidy hair. “One.”

Once they were in the middle of the floor, Caz positioned Ashley in front of him, took a step toward her, ran two hands down the side of her hair, and stepped back. It was unlike any two-step she’d ever done. She couldn’t tell if he danced this way because he was European, or drunk, or both, but his movements were weird.

“That’s not how you two-step.”

Caz moved closer and danced to the left. “Why were you dancing with him?” He glared at Garrett.

She ignored the question, concentrating on his continued misinterpretation of the country and western dance. “I’ll show you how.” Ashley took his left hand with her right one and held it up.

Caz looked at the paired couples circling the dance floor around them. He placed his right hand against the back of her blue silk camisole and pulled her close. She put her left hand on his shoulder and pushed back a bit. Caz resisted her attempts to lead and they ended up in a type of junior-high clench, his arms around her waist, hers around his neck. Her boots saved her feet from his missed steps.

The position actually worked nicely as the song changed into the movie’s romantic theme, “Love’s Romantic Ruin.” The lights dimmed even darker and ceiling disco balls rotated, creating circles of light that highlighted their steps on the dance floor. “Our song,” Caz said.

Ashley relaxed in his arms.

He slid one hand against her jean-clad hips and one around her waist. He bent his head toward her. “I’m not having it,” his deep voice said into her ear. Then he jerked his head toward Garrett.

“It’s cute that you think you get an opinion,” Ashley said.

“You’re
my
assistant.”

“We’ve discussed this. No, I’m not.” She’d seen her fair share of party drunks back home. It wasn’t an attractive look as a rule.

Caz pulled her close to him and spoke intently in French as if she could understand. She could only catch one in four words, thanks to last year’s French Two. There was a big difference between slow and clear classroom French and actual conversational French. “You know I can’t understand you, right?”

Caz moved even closer and brushed a hand against her hair, then said something insistently. Ashley smiled and let him talk. He paused and looked at her expectantly.

“You know I can’t understand half of that.”

Caz tilted his head down and kissed her. Her eyes closed and she leaned into him. He pulled away and spoke into her ear. “Mine.”

Ashley melted.

“My assistant, not Garrett’s.”

Oh. “I’m not your assistant anymore.”

“You aren’t Garrett’s.”

“I was never Garrett’s.” Ashley spoke slowly with firm words. “I was never yours.”

“Garrett asked you out.”

“And?” Ashley didn’t bother to explain that Garrett had no interest in her. His weakness may be girls, but his interest in Ashley extended only as far as it would irritate Caz.

Caz frowned. He slid an arm from her waist, threaded a hand through her hair, and played idly with the strands. “What do you think of the song?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Looking into his eyes, she saw a glint of something. She closed her eyes against it and leaned into him.

His arms tightened around her. “Yeah.”

Ashley felt his body stiffen and looked up. His gaze was beside her.

Garrett stood a step away tapping on Caz’s shoulder. “May I cut in? Darling PA looks so sweet tonight, I really can’t resist.”

Did Garrett even know her name or did he call every girl
darling
?

Caz’s body stiffened further, and she could clearly read his expression then —pissed drunk.

Caz released her and turned toward Garrett.

Spitting something out in French, Caz took an aggressive step closer to his ex-best friend.

Chapter 17

Ashley couldn’t understand the words, but Garrett must’ve. He stiffened, his fists clenched, and he said, “Get over it already.” Then he shoved Caz in the shoulder.

Caz threw the first punch. Garrett barreled back into him, and they hit the dance floor.

“Stop it!” Ashley yelled.

Couples scurried out of their path, and a flash went off behind them.

The big men shoved against each other, elbows, fists, and knees flying. It was a good thing Caz had martial arts training because as big as he was, Garrett was bigger. Another flash lit across the fight.

Paparazzi. They were near and they had cameras. A drunken brawl was the last thing Caz needed.

Boomer grabbed Garrett and pulled him up. Garrett strained against his hold, but Boomer looped his arms through Garrett’s, immobilizing him. Garrett threw his head back and popped Boomer in the face with the back of his skull. Boomer’s arms dropped and his hand cupped his nose to stop the gushing red blood.

Garrett reached for Caz, still on the floor.

Caz lashed out, catching Garrett in the thigh with a vicious kick. Garrett stumbled back a step. The next flash lit up Garrett’s face. He stopped, blinked, and turned away from the camera. He mumbled something about “not here” and retreated.

Caz got to his feet, eyes tracking Garrett.

Ashley grabbed his elbow and shook it. He weaved a little.

“Caz.”

No response.

“Caz. Stop it.” She slid one hand over his jaw so she could tilt his head toward her. “Reporters. We need to get out.” She shook his arm again. Caz resisted, blinked, then looked down at her with an unfocused expression.

Ashley took his hand. “Reporters. Come with me.” Leading him through the other dancers, past the restrooms, toward the back exit she’d seen earlier, Ashley hurried down a narrow corridor. Boxes of liquor were stacked in crates along the wall and the smell of beer was even stronger here. More flashes hit them. Crossing her fingers that an alarm wouldn’t sound, Ashley shoved into the exit bar on the door and pulled Caz out behind her. The exit door slammed shut.

The back lot was dark, lit only by a streetlamp a few feet from the Dumpster. Ashley hesitated a moment, uncertain where the drivers were parked, and looked back to the bar. The exit door didn’t have a handle on this side, so no returning. She bit her lip in indecision.

The glow of a cigarette off to the right clued her in to the drivers taking a cigarette break. Next, she spotted the Jaguar. Ashley pointed, but Caz, slumped against the wall, didn’t look up from the screen on his cell phone.

“Wait here,” she said in a firm voice that couldn’t be misunderstood by the drunkest of partiers. She ran to the Jaguar. Her boots crunched against a broken beer bottle when she took her eyes off the ground to wave at the driver. She kicked against the glass and threw herself into the back of the limo.

The driver stomped out his cigarette, and by the time the Jaguar crawled onto the street and got near enough to Caz, the paparazzi had surrounded him. Ashley flung open the door, then ducked back against gray leather seat. Caz struggled through the reporters and to the limo, landing inside with a pinched expression. “They—”

Caz’s phone beeped. “It’s from my mum.” He read his text message out loud with a voice full of sarcasm and heavy with a British accent. “It’s going to be different this time. When your film wraps, I want you to have dinner with your father and me.”

“They’re together again?”

He glared down at his phone. “Sure.” The speaker rang under his stare and he swiped a clumsy finger at the answer key, and put the receiver to his ear.

Ashley heard only his part of the conversation. “No…When?...You’re wrong.” Caz hung up and grabbed her black evening purse from the seat. Before she could stop him, he unzipped it and dumped the contents on the seat.

A small prescription bottle fell out amid the rest of her stuff: wallet, keys, lipstick.

“Why are you in my purse? Give it.”

Caz tossed the small purse back to her and clutched the bottle in both hands, staring at it.

The pill bottle wasn’t hers, but she’d seen one like it in the women’s room earlier this evening—Olive’s headache pills. “How weird, what are those—”

“Why do you have these?” The beep on his phone distracted him. “It’s my agent,” he said then read aloud, “Online press have you slumped in alley behind club. Meet me about damage control.” The phone beeped again and Caz read the second text. “You lost the part in a Moliere because of your insistence on a vacation.” He flung it, and the phone clattered against the wall.

Ashley watched his loss of control with shock. This was not like him at all.

Caz jabbed a hand toward the window. “The press is out there.”

“Okay,” Ashley said, confused. He was all over the place.

“You told them.”

“Told them what?”

“That I’m here.”

“What?”

“You told the press where I’d be.”

“No. Why would you say that?”

“Make me understand,” Caz said. “You say you want to be an architect, but you’re interning on a movie.”

“I like movies. It doesn’t mean I want to do this for a living. I want a job on my college applications, an interesting one.

Marissa’s going to be a chef, and she works at the Fry Hut. It’s what we normal teenagers do. Get a summer job.”

“Yet somehow you’re actually on film.”

“The back of me, in a wig, and it’ll probably be cut. I’ve done background before. Scenes get cut.”

“You admit it. You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah. Once, when I was little, I sat on a bench as part of the background. Big deal.”

“Stop lying.” Caz leaned forward, his hands against the edge of the seat. “I’m in this business. I don’t care if you want to be famous. If you want a career, just be honest.”

Ashley’s mouth fell open and she stared at him. Shaking her head, she didn’t know what to say.

“You sought attention from the first day. You ended up in my car. You ended up on my set.”

“This movie began filming during my visit with my dad. Did I arrange that too? Ask them to hold shooting until it was time for my summer break?”

Caz ignored her words.

“Then you gave me that sexy gift,” Caz said. “You got my attention.”

“No. I was being nice. You
know
what I heard.”

“I don’t know, you never told me. And you weren’t that nice. We never opened the box.”

She was a happy, nonviolent person who now wanted to throw something at his stupid head. “What is this about? Why are you so mad at me?”

“Petra told me.” Caz slurred her name. “She called me because she’s worried.” He jerked a hand toward his discarded phone.

“Told you what?”

He shook the pill bottle and glared. “What’s in this? This bottle?”

“Pills, they’re—”

He didn’t give her time to finish. Throwing the pill bottle onto the floor, he said, “Yours.”

“No. What did Petra tell you?”

“She saw you with the bottle.” Caz pointed at the small prescription bottle. “And I found ’em. You didn’t hide the bottle very well. It was in your bag.”

Ashley gasped. “Petra said she saw me with Olive’s headache pills?”

“You acted so innocent, like you were trying to help me. When you’re the one who used them on me, and she also saw you with Garrett. Everyone saw you with Garrett.” His words were a crazy mix of slurred paranoia and accusation.

Ashley shook her head. “Why would I give you one of Olive’s migraine pills?” She lifted the bottle from the floor and stared at a label that had no meaning to her. “What are these?”

“Those aren’t for headaches.” Caz bit the words out between clenched teeth. “Petra thinks you gave them to Lorene too, so you could take her part.”