CHAPTER 5
Emma
In the taxi between my hotel and the Hollywood studio where On the Air is recorded, I try to psyche myself up to see Reid. I have no idea what to expect. The last time I saw him, only a month ago, he’d apologized for what he put me through last fall. Forgive me, please.
I did forgive him, but not in the way he wanted.
He said he thought he could be different with me. That I could help him be something better. And I replied that I wanted someone who was already that, on his own, with or without me. Visions of Graham swam through my head as I said those words. I was so sure Graham belonged to Brooke. I was so sure he was impossible and unobtainable and not for me.
And now he is possible, obtainable, mine.
I expect Reid to be aloof. Resentful, possibly. But Reid Alexander doesn’t focus on one girl for long. He could have anyone he wants. Well, almost anyone. It would be ridiculous for him to have any residual feelings for me, but that might not stop him from being vindictive over my rejection, because one thing Reid Alexander doesn’t get is rejected.
I’ve exceeded my comfort level on confrontation lately. My initial conversation with Marcus went less well than I’d hoped. When he arrived Saturday night, he was in his usual upbeat mood. When he kissed me, a quick peck on the mouth, I knew we had to have the awkward conversation first thing. I don’t want to kiss anyone but Graham, even superficially.
“So what are we doing tonight? Hanging out with Em and Derek, or do I get you all to myself?”
For some inexplicable reason, it really bugs me when Marcus calls Emily Em. There’s no good reason for this. It doesn’t bother me when Dad does it. Or Derek, though he only calls her Em when he’s parodying some Jersey Shore guy, like he did last week: “Aaay, Em, babe, whaddaya mean we ain’t got time to make out? Badda-bing, five minutes—I’m happy, you’re happy, every-freakin-body’s copacetic.” Emily punched him in the arm, earning, “Ow, woman, whaddaya gotta do that for? I’m a sensitive guy.” And then she rolled her eyes and he dipped her backwards and kissed her so thoroughly that I felt it.
I ignored Marcus’s “Em,” as I had every other time he’d said it.
“It’s just us tonight. And, um, we need to talk.”
“Uh-oh, that sounds a little serious,” he said, still smiling. When I pressed my lips together and didn’t deny that it was, his smile wilted, and I turned and led the way to my room.
I’d never actually seen Marcus in a bad mood, except for a few times during rehearsals for It’s a Wonderful Life, when I thought he was somewhat overly-critical of our cast mates’ performances. We were doing community theatre, not Broadway. But I took him to be a typical serious, perfectionist theatre geek and let it pass. We started going out after the show wrapped, and he’d never showed any sign of irritation with anything.
We sat on my bed and he waited for me to explain. I cleared my throat and arranged the words in my head. There was no reason Marcus and I couldn’t remain friends. We’d had the rare kissing marathon, but hadn’t gone any further than that. Frankly, I’d had a hard time picturing myself with Marcus in any serious physical way. I’d assumed that the botched relationship attempts with Reid and Graham had stomped those desires right out of me.
The thought of Graham flooded my imagination with thoughts of him, and it took concerted effort to push those contemplations from my mind and direct my attention to the task at hand: letting Marcus down gently. “You know the, uh, movie I just filmed?”
He arched a brow and then laughed lightly. “Yeah, School Pride—I think everyone who knows you is familiar.”
I chewed my lip. “Well, I was close friends with a guy in the cast—”
“That would be… Graham Douglas?”
“Uh, yeah. How did you—? Nevermind. Not important.” I shook my head. Those tabloid stories I’d ignored hadn’t been ignored by everyone else. And everyone else apparently included Marcus. “I ran into him in New York. And… it appears that we have feelings for each other.” I watched the effect these words had on him—the confused frown, the tilt of his head as what I was saying started to become clear, the incredulous look when he got it.
“So wait. You go to New York and ‘run into’ a guy you haven’t seen for a month, and didn’t see for several months before that—or is there more to this that I need to know?” His anger took me by surprise, not because it was undeserved, but because it was so uncharacteristic.
“Uh, no...”
“You run into him, and the two of you just decide to embark on—what—a full-fledged relationship? Are you breaking up with me?”
I was stunned at his vehemence. And his assumption. “Marcus, we never agreed we were a couple—”
“Emma, we’ve been going out for almost four months, and neither of us—that I know of—has seen anyone else for the past couple of months. I’m not crazy to make assumptions.” His tone was spiteful. This wasn’t the Marcus I’d known for months. Not at all.
“I’m sorry.” It was lame, but it was the best I could do.
He stared at the bedspread, and I almost held my breath. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I gathered that his feelings had grown stronger than I’d comprehended. Wondering if I’d been blind to this, I thought back over the past few months and couldn’t pinpoint a thing he’d said or done that would have let me know he was growing possessive. But then, I hadn’t given him any reason to express it before. He’d felt safe in the knowledge that there was no one else.
“I guess I’m going to my prom alone.” His voice was sullen, hostile.
“No, I’d be happy to still go with you, if you want me to…”
His eyes flashed up to mine. “So he’ll allow you to go with me?”
I frowned. “What do you mean, allow me to go—this is my decision, and I told you I’d go with you, so I’m willing to go—”
“Hey, don’t do me any favors, okay?” He stood, fists clenched at his sides. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I don’t know if I want to see you again, Emma, prom or not. This is so out of left field. I didn’t think you had it in you to lead someone on like that. I guess you’re more Hollywood girl than I thought.”
My eyes filled with tears as he stomped from the room, down the stairs and out the front door.
*** *** ***
REID
The studio valet takes the keys to my Lotus. It’s over a year old now, and I’m utterly bored with it. I’ve been thinking about getting a Porsche. Something sleek and black. Sexy. I have no idea what the hell I was thinking buying a yellow car. Dad’s “douche taxi” comments aside, it’s way too happy-smiley-sunny for me now. I’m nineteen as of last month. Yellow is something a kid chooses, not a man.
I’m psyched to see Emma, though I’m going to have to play that way down. Brooke warned me to do nothing beyond being civil and warm. Absolutely no flirting. “The last time you saw her you tried to pull her back into a relationship. She’s going to expect you to either be resentful or flirtatious. Be neither. Just be… sweet. You can fake that, right?”
I gave her a look that clearly said, You are a grade-A bitch, and she laughed. Brooke is a calculating genius, and I’m glad that for once I’m on her side. Sort of.
“Oh and by the way, no screwing around. At all. You nail-gunned your own coffin with that shit last fall. If you’re going to convince Emma that you’re a changed man, you’ve gotta start by keeping your dick in your pants.”
“Classy, Brooke.”
“Bite me, Reid—and tell me this: was Blossom, or whatever the hell her name was, worth losing Emma for? Because that’s what did it. Emma’s too forgiving for her own good, and I’m positive she’d have given you another shot if you hadn’t screwed it up for yourself—literally.”
Ouch. Bullseye.
As the valet steers the Lotus away from the curb (carefully, because he knows I’m watching), a taxi pulls up. Wearing a floral sundress, her hair piled adorably at her crown and looking as though it will all tumble down any moment, Emma steps from the back seat, watching me warily. “Hey, beautiful,” I smile. Oops. So much for not flirting.
“Hi, Reid.” She looks equal parts reserved and relieved, so I haven’t blown it yet.
Focus on sweet and friendly. No flirting. So I guess pulling her forward and seeing if she’ll let me kiss her is out. As is telling her she looks good enough to eat. “So. Um. Ready to meet Ryan?” I assume Seacrest hasn’t been on her list of interviewers before now.
She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Nervous. “I guess so.”
“No worries. He’s as cool as they come—he won’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.” I hook my thumbs into my front jeans pockets and offer her an elbow. “So… I suppose you got the word from the powers that be on how we’re supposed to play up the Darcy-and-Lizbeth-in-love angle, huh?”
She slides her hand into the crook of my arm and we walk up to the studio doors. I glance down at her and she looks up, a small crease between her brows. “Yeah, my agent told me. I’m not really—”
“Don’t worry.” I lean closer and lower my voice. “This will be a piece of cake. I’ve had to do it once before, and I couldn’t stand my costar. It took everything in me not to stuff a sock into her mouth any time she started talking. We managed to keep up the pretense until the initial release was over. You and I won’t have the same problem… unless you find yourself wanting to stuff a sock in my mouth.”
One corner of her mouth turns up and she smirks, and I know we’re good. “I don’t feel the need so far,” she retorts. “But I’ll let you know.”
The interview goes well. When questioned, we issue polite denials of any romantic ties between us, stating that the whole cast was cozy last fall, what with the close quarters and our similar respective ages. Ryan quirks an eyebrow when I bump Emma softly with my shoulder and smile down at her like we have a secret. We’ve definitely fulfilled what the studio wants from us—ambiguity in our answers about a possible relationship, coupled with seemingly minor physical displays of affection.
What the public believes or doesn’t about Emma and me is irrelevant to me personally, and I know she won’t be swayed into (or out of) a relationship because of fan reaction, especially considering her upcoming exit from Hollywood this fall. Whatever’s going on between her and Graham Douglas can’t possibly be all that significant yet. They live too far apart and have hardly seen each other in months. He’s a wild card, though. I never did figure him out. Brooke seems to think she can manipulate this with my help, and both of us will end up with what we want.
I’m less sure of that, but perfectly willing to play my part. Losing Emma was a massive disappointment. One I’d like to reverse.