CHAPTER 44
REID
It’s March, five months since we wrapped up School Pride. I’ve hung out with Tadd several times since then and Quinton twice. I haven’t seen or heard from anyone else. Now, the main cast is in Austin for a couple of days to do a photo spread for Vanity Fair. My flight arrived late, and no one’s up and about when I check into the hotel. Disoriented to be back in Austin, I fall asleep thinking of Emma. My dreams are vivid and unsettling, receding to the edges of my consciousness when I wake, yielding no clear details and leaving me anything but rested. Coffee and breakfast from room service delays the prospect of seeing any of them until the concierge calls to let me know the limo has arrived.
When I exit my room and turn the corner, she’s standing in front of the elevator. “Emma,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. Her shoulders tense slightly, but she turns with a pleasant, if artificial, expression.
“Hi, Reid.”
“You’re looking good,” I say, and she does.
“Thanks. You, too.”
The elevator doors part and we enter and stand a foot apart, staring at the descending numbers. Memories swirl around us, sharp and silent—how I would back her against a wall as soon as the elevator doors shut behind us, pinning her against the cold stainless steel panel while my hands skimmed her waist and my mouth moved over hers until neither of us could think straight. I wonder if she’s forgotten.
***
“Okay, Emma, lie back with your head in Reid’s lap. That’s good. Reid, one hand on her stomach.” The VF photographer is Virgil, one of those artists so well-known that a surname is unnecessary. He’s known for sensual, romantic photo spreads. Arranging Emma’s hair to cascade over my knee and pool on the blanket they’ve spread over the rough boards of the dock, he says, “Emma, at me. Reid, at her… longing, desire on your face.” No problem there.
Snap, snap, snap.
The next series has me perched on a stool while she sits on my lap, facing me, her legs locked around my hips. She’s making a concerted effort to keep her eyes averted—quite a feat in this position. “These are waist-up shots, but I need you guys close,” Virgil says. “Emma, arch into him.” Snap, snap, snap. “Good, now lean your head back, chin up.” Snap, snap.
“Back farther, eyes closed.” I press my mouth against her throat, and Virgil is euphoric. “Stunning.” Snap, snap. He crooks her arm, moving her hand to the back of my head, holding me in place over her heart, the beats echoing through me as we stare into the camera and Virgil snaps like there isn’t enough film in the world to capture this moment.
We stand back to back, our hands joined at our sides, while I look out over the lake, spotlighting what’s been termed my “archetypal male profile.” Resting her head between my shoulder blades, Emma stares into the camera as Virgil snaps off shots. “Emma, gaze over my shoulder. Imagine you’re far away, somewhere lovely and perfect...”
Off to the right, the others are gathered, talking and watching distractedly, waiting their turns. Quinton and Tadd stand behind the others, laughing. The girls sit in a semi-circle, Jenna reading, the others talking. Graham reclines just apart from them, legs out in front, ankles crossed, leaning back on his elbows, watching Emma. His mouth turns up on one side and I know she’s returning his gaze. His chin tips back, hey, and Virgil murmurs, “Perfect,” firing off rapid snaps.
The group shots are full of clowning around, some of which will make it into the spread, most of which won’t. Quinton, Tadd, Graham and I, holding Emma horizontally across our middles like a burlesque singer. A hands and knees pyramid, guys on bottom, then Brooke, MiShaun and Meredith, with Jenna and Emma on top. Tadd groans and pretends to crumple under the weight as tiny Jenna climbs atop Brooke and Meredith, and everyone screams and laughs as the whole thing nearly crashes to the mats covered in blankets and sand.
Tomorrow will be divided up, girls in the morning, guys in the afternoon. “No hangovers, dudes,” Virgil says. “The camera isn’t kind to dehydrated, red-eyed subjects.” He chuckles as our eyes roll and we drag ourselves to the waiting cars.
I duck into a car with Emma, Meredith and Jenna. Touching Emma’s shoulder, I draw her out of their conversation. She’s as wary of me as she was in the elevator this morning. “Still going off to college in the fall? Have you chosen one yet?”
Her hands are clasped in her lap, and I maintain a small empty space between us. “I’m visiting a couple next month, making a final decision.”
“Cool.”
The four of us talk about upcoming projects, and Jenna grills Emma on the colleges she’s chosen to visit next month and what she’ll be studying. I shouldn’t be surprised that they’re both in New York—for theatre it makes sense—but I wonder what this has to do with Graham, and if it has everything to do with him. We arrive at the hotel and everyone decides on room service in my room, sans Meredith, who’s staying in her room with Robby the Controlling Boyfriend.
“That guy is a total dick,” Tadd tells Emma, using the shaker from my bar to make margaritas. “How can she like that?”
“No idea,” she answers as he unscrews the shaker, pouring the mixture into three glasses, handing one to her, one to me.
“A friend of mine got into a seriously messed up relationship with a possessive guy,” he continues after taking a sip. “He checked his phone messages, separated him from his friends, hacked into his computer. It was a f*cking nightmare. Actually, he said the f*cking was pretty good, the rest was a nightmare.”
Emma and I narrowly avoid spraying him with margarita.
“Getting everyone hammered already, are you, Tadd?” Brooke says as she joins us.
“Want one?” he asks. “They’re magically delicious.”
“Yes, please—one for Graham, too. He’ll be here in a sec. He’s on a call.”
I’m looking at Emma when Brooke mentions Graham, and I can’t unsee the split second of joy that crosses her face. The apprehension that follows it. After filming was over, speculation about the two of them fell off completely. According to the media, she and I managed to hook up a couple of times—rather unreasonable given the fact that we haven’t been in the same city since filming ended.
There won’t be any drinking games tonight in light of Virgil’s edict against hangovers. Everyone is relaxed and nostalgic, knowing that after this one night, there will be a few high profile premiers in May and that will be it. Even if any of us work together in the future, it will never be this group again.
Graham comes in, folding his legs and settling on the floor between Brooke and Emma. “Hey, Emma,” he says.
“Hi.” She returns the smile and looks away, listening to the discussion between the others. Nothing else passes between them that I see.
“Maybe they’ll want a sequel,” MiShaun says. “Will and Lizbeth get married and settle down to a life of brooding, bookishness and boredom.”
“That’s the way to ruin the idyllic dream of Darcy and Elizabeth for all time,” Tadd agrees. “Show what it was really like once they got married.” He turns to Quinton. “You’re a gloomy twat!” he says in a falsetto voice.
“And you’re just like your mother!” Quinton barks.
As everyone leaves a couple of hours later, I take Emma’s arm, gently. “Emma, hold up a moment. I want to ask you something.” She’s guarded, but nods her assent.
*** *** ***
Emma
“Come sit.” Reid takes my hand and leads me to the sofa.
“Um, we have to get up early—well, I have to get up early, I guess you don’t have to be there until later…” The excuses tumble through my brain disjointedly.
“It’s not that late,” he says, and I decide to just hear him out. We sit. “You looked gorgeous today.” He’s still holding my hand. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”
He’s as beautiful as ever, dark blue eyes sweeping over my face, his blondish hair a bit darker, a bit longer, still perfectly disordered. I blink, his words settling around me. “Reid, what are you—? I mean, I don’t…”
“Emma, I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I was upset when you disappeared that night, but I should have never given you an ultimatum; it was thoughtless and juvenile. I should’ve waited for you to talk to me. I could have explained. You’re reasonable and fair, and I’m sure you’d have listened.”
My heart slams out a rhythm in my chest, pulses it through my body. “But… you didn’t wait. You didn’t explain. You just went off with the first girl, and then the second, third, fourth, I mean Jesus, I stopped counting after that…”
“I was reactionary, just trying to make you jealous—”
“No, you were trying to show me how unimportant I was. And you succeeded.”
This is the combat zone we sidestepped when he took up with Blossom and I just let him go. There’d been no confrontation, no breakup. My throat closes up now as I fight tears. I didn’t think, at the time, that he’d actually injured me. I thought I was just pissed off at his attempts to humiliate me. An ambush of emotions takes over as I realize I sold the whole thing short. What he’d done had hurt. And apparently still did.
He wipes his thumbs under my eyes, carefully removing tears. “Emma, I’m an arrogant guy. I’m used to having things my way, every time, with every girl. You were different. That’s why I can’t get you out of my head.” He leans up, cradling my face between his palms. “Forgive me. Please.” His eyes are mesmerizing, dark blue, and I know there’s more depth to him than he’s allowed me to see, but it isn’t enough.
“I forgive you,” I say. “But I can’t forget. And I can’t trust you, Reid.”
He takes both of my hands in his. “I could be different with you.” He’s so sincere that it takes everything in me to think logically. “You may be the only one who’ll see through all my bullshit and help me try to be something more, something better.”
I stare at our intertwined hands. “I don’t want to help you try to be anything. I want someone who’s already something more. On his own. With or without me.”
He’s quiet then, and I don’t dare look at him yet. “Is there someone else?”
I think of Graham. Graham, who cannot be mine. “No, there isn’t. But that’s really not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” He tips my chin up with his fingers, making me look into his eyes again.
My chin trembles, tears spilling over onto his hand. “The point is, I’m not going to settle for less than I want, less than I deserve. Brooke trusted you, and you abandoned her—and yes,” I say before he can object, “maybe you were just too young to handle the situation at the time, but you never gave me a chance to find that out. You started screwing your way through the rest of the cast like my feelings didn’t matter. I forgive you, because I’m past it. But that’s the thing. I’m past it.”
With the last bit of effort I can manage, I get up and leave his room, shaking from head to toe. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t follow, but I can’t unclench my shoulders until I’m in my room, the door shut and bolted behind me. I flip on a light and fall onto the bed, crying and dialing.
“Emily,” I say when she answers, feeling ten times better the moment I hear her voice.