I spin the cart away from Tourist Dad and attack with a Conan the Barbarian cry of rage. Brian retreats through the ballroom doors, disappearing into the dark mist of the dance party. He skids to a stop at the balustrade leading down to the dance floor and glances back.
“Oh sh—”
But I’ve already taken a flying leap. My shoulder slams into his chest and we tumble over the railing like King Kong off the Empire State Building. The ten-foot drop takes a lot longer than I expect. Long enough for me to regret this entire decision.
Well, at least I’m insured.
We crash onto the floor with enough force to knock the breath out of me. The DJ scratches a Pokérap remix to a halt. Avengers and Night elves and Jedi circle us. I roll onto my back, groaning. I don’t think I’ve broken any bones, but I can’t tell. It feels like I’ve cracked absolutely everything. Beside me, Brian rolls over too, and we stare up at the ceiling. It’s actually a pretty nice ceiling. Golden chromed like the rest of the hotel, fancy…
I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.
“You know what?” I sit up unsteadily. I’ve been bruised and beat up today more times than I ever was on set. I knew I wanted to stay away from this con for a reason. “We could’ve been friends. But it never would’ve worked, and not because I’m famous. Because you’re a dick, Brian. You stalked me, you yelled at me in front of my fans, you stole my freaking phone…”
Somewhere in the back of the ballroom I hear Gail yelling at people to get out of her way; she’s already calling our insurer to make sure my abs are covered for battle wounds.
Brian inhales a long, shuddery breath. “Maybe.” He glances over. “But I’m telling—ow—the truth.” He slowly gets to his feet. His lip is bloody from where I nailed him. He stretches out a hand and I take it, painfully standing up (okay, so I might’ve sprained something, or bruised something very, very bad). “He controls you, man. And you were gonna let him take that girl away too.”
Gail finally finds her way to us and takes me by the face. “Dare! Are you okay? Are you hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” I reply, realizing that Brian is no longer there. I whirl around, looking for him, but all I see is a black cape as he slips between two Orcs and disappears.
Gail yanks my face toward her again, inspecting my nose, then my lips, and muttering to herself in her mother-hen way about how much Mark is going to chew us out this time. “I always get into the worst trouble with you, Dare. We’re heading back to L.A. and I’m locking you in your apartment until the premiere. That’s a promise.”
“Actually…” I remember the words on the side of the food truck that Elle left in. The Magic Pumpkin, “Charleston’s Best Vegan Food Truck!” It’s all beginning to make sense now. The chimichangas. The jokes. She was already so close. Brian’s words echo like warning bells in my head.
You were gonna let him take that girl away too.
I should’ve told her the truth in the beginning. I shouldn’t have been so scared of the consequences because I’ll live through them, whatever they are. I just want to be real. For once. Without a mask, unscripted, unknown. I would rather live my life knowing that Elle hates me than live as fake Carmindor in her head.
“We’re going to take a nice long vacation. It’s going to be perfect—”
“No.” I hold my ribs, trying not to grimace. I think I definitely bruised them. “I need to talk to my dad first.”
—
THE PHONE RINGS ONCE, TWICE, BEFORE Mark picks up. I check my watch. 12:31 a.m. Way early out on the West Coast. He should still be up partying. Or going to some event sponsored by this film studio or that production company. Networking, he says. I remember the years he did nothing but network, night after night. My entire childhood was filled with it. I had more babysitters than I could name. And then one weekend, long after the divorce, he got me that toothpaste commercial gig, and three months later an audition for this OC-esque TV series called Seaside Cove. Then the headlines happened.
I rub the scar on my chin absently. I don’t know how much I believe Brian, but I don’t know whether I want to believe Mark either. I can’t remember much from those weeks in the tabloids. It was a whirlwind of paparazzi and press and headlines, and it never really died down afterward. There was my life before the headlines, and after.
I wonder, in Elle’s possible universe, who I would’ve become without them. Maybe in that universe I’d still have a father, and maybe I wouldn’t have blamed Brian.
Maybe I’d be no one at all.
“Hello?” Mark grumbles.
“Hey, old man,” I say brightly.
“Darien? What are you—what time is it?” I hear him shuffle around, and then he groans. “Darien, it’s late over there. Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight?”
“Supposed to,” I say. “It’s probably taking off. I don’t know.”
There’s an edge to his voice. “You don’t know?”
I swallow the knot in my throat and concentrate on my polished leather boots. They’re Carmindor’s boots, actually. I haven’t changed out of them yet. I’m fooling myself into thinking that maybe if I’m dressed like a hero, I can still act like one, holding on to the last ragged shred of courage left in me.
Lonny, sitting in a cushy hotel-room armchair, quietly sips a glass of sparkling water. Gail, in the chair beside him, scrolls through her phone. They’re both listening, and I don’t care. When I asked if they could stay in the room when I called Mark, they agreed without hesitation. It’s a comfort. I guess because they’re the closest thing I have to friends. Or parents.
“How do you not know? You are getting on that plane. You are coming home. Do you realize how much money those tickets are—”
“Did you leak those photos?” I blurt out. “The ones Brian took? From the yacht?” Gail looks up from her phone, her face pale with surprise. Mark stays quiet for a long moment.
“I realized that you needed to pick your friends carefully,” he replies slowly, choosing his words carefully, just like he wants to pick my friends. My career. My girlfriends. And everything else. My entire life. “When I saw he had those photos, I had to do something. So I did. That way we stayed ahead of the news.”
I sink onto the edge of the bed and stare at the beige carpet. “So you sacrificed my pride and privacy for a little fame.”
“Those headlines got you Carmindor, Darien.”
They got me Carmindor.
The words feel like a knife twisting in my gut; I remember the weeks after the headlines broke. Staying in my apartment, locking the doors, feeling the walls closing in around me. Then outside, wearing sunglasses and a hat everywhere, trying not to scroll through the headlines but reading them anyway. Feeling the shame solidify inside me, becoming hard, forming a wall.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Darien, it’s compli—”
“Were you?”
“Darien, I wanted what was in your best interest.”