Acting Up (36 page)

“This gets better and better,” Addison said.

“How did those people get pictures of you?” Aunt Ruth asked.

“No idea.”

The newsgirl continued with her breaking story. “
We're joined now by none other than Merrick Carmichael himself. Mr. Carmichael, have you spoken to your ex-wife since she fled L.A.?”

Merrick's image came on the screen, and Addison caught her breath. Her ex was dressed in his signature interview suit looking as handsome as ever. Addison waited for the pain to hit, but for once she felt nothing.

“I haven't heard from Addison since her last day on the set,”
Merrick replied.

“Liar,” Addison spat out.

“Do you think he sent the pictures to the papers?” Aaron asked.

“I wouldn't put it past him, but I don't know how he would have gotten hold of them.”

The interview continued.
“What do you make of these sensational photos?”

“I don't know what to think, quite honestly,”
Merrick said.
“My ex-wife's behavior has been very erratic over the last year. As you know, she attacked a co-worker on set—”

“That would be Angela Brighton, your current fiancée, correct?”
the woman filled in.

Merrick gave the reporter a brief, irritated glance.
“Yes.”

“Miss Brighton is expecting, is she not?”
she asked.

Everyone in the den gasped, even Addison, and she'd known about the baby.

“That's why you hit her, isn't it?” Aaron asked.

Addison waved him off. Right now she wanted to see how Merrick squirmed his way out of this one.

Merrick was squirming all right. Addison could tell by the nostril flare he was livid.

“I'm not going to comment on my personal life with Angela. My only concern right now is for my ex-wife. I will always care about her, and frankly, I'm worried about her state of mind. I hope wherever she is she's sought help.”

The reporter took the bait easily.
“You mean therapy or at a clinic?”

“Yes, exactly,”
he said, striking the perfect blend of sincerity, sympathy and smugness.

“Turn it off,” Addison snapped.

The screen went blank.

“What just happened?” Aunt Ruth asked.

“Merrick was trying to ensure I never work again,” Addison said, ready to crawl through the television screen and strangle her ex-husband.

Aunt Ruth shook her head in confusion.

“He implied Addison went nuts and checked herself into a clinic or drug rehab,” Aaron explained.

“Right,” she said, still fuming. “Producers will be reluctant to hire a mentally unstable, or possibly drug-addicted, actress.”

“Why?” Aunt Ruth asked.

Why did Merrick do anything? “Because he's a vindictive son of a…”

With a snarl of disgust, Addison escaped to the kitchen. Unfortunately, the strongest liquid in the house was prune juice. Iced tea would have to do. She poured a tall glass and gulped it down without pause.

Aunt Ruth wheeled herself into the kitchen on her walker with Aaron on her heels. They both eyed her with concern as Addison chugged the cold brew.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to flip out on you,” Addison said.

The concern didn't disappear from Aunt Ruth's face. “I know. What will you do?”

“I don't—”

The phone rang. Since she was the closest, Addison grabbed it. “Hello.”

“I saw the news,” Ethan said. “Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn't I be? I've been painted as a crazy person who had to check herself into an institution before she hurts someone.”

“I could buy a plane ticket and go rearrange his perfect face.”

“You are so sweet, Sir Galahad, but Merrick would sue you into the next millennium,” Addison said. “Your great-great-grandkids would still be paying off the balance. Trust me, he's not worth the aggravation.”

“You are, though.”

Oh, why did Ethan have to be so sweet?
“There you go being a hero again,” she said, eyes filling.

“What can I do?”

“I think seeing you would help. Want to come over for dinner? Bring the boys, too.”

“Are you sure you want the dynamic duo running around?” he asked.

“I could use the distraction.”

“We'll be there soon.”

Addison hung up. Aunt Ruth and Aaron were staring again, only this time they were downright gleeful.

“What?” Addison said.

“Mr. Thomas is coming over for dinner?” Aaron asked.

“I'm allowed to have a friend over for dinner, aren't I?”

Aaron snorted. “You kiss all your friends that way?”

“Be polite,” Aunt Ruth said, swatting him in the arm. “Addison, you're always welcome to invite guests for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Addison said. “I need to go change.”

“For your friend?” Aaron asked, waggling his eyebrow.

“Yes,” Addison said, already headed for the hallway. “Plus, I'll need an outfit for tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?” Aunt Ruth asked.

“The vultures from the press will descend. I have to find something in my closet that screams
I am perfectly sane and substance free.
”

A smirk took over Aaron's face again. “There's an outfit for that?”

“There will be.”

It would be an exaggeration to say hordes of reporters descended on Aunt Ruth's front lawn. Certainly, the latest court appearance of whichever starlet was teetering on the edge of a meltdown drew more coverage than Addison Covington's possible stay at a mental ward. Addison stayed inside most of the day, letting the anticipation build. It wouldn't do to give the reporters too much too soon.

Aaron got to play celebrity for about thirty seconds, when Elizabeth came to pick him up for school. At first, the reporters didn't realize the teenager walking to the car was a big scoop. Then someone recognized him as Merrick's son, and cameras and microphones were shoved in Aaron's face. Her stepson wasn't intimidated in the least. He even stopped to talk, though, of course, Addison couldn't hear what he said from her perch at the second floor window.

Addison did have to venture out for play rehearsal. Sydney had once said being surrounded by reporters was like having bees crawl up your body and swallow you whole. They swarmed, they buzzed, they shoved, and no matter where you moved, they followed. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. After weeks of exile, Addison found the experience disorienting. She'd forgotten, or perhaps made herself forget, what it felt like to walk the gauntlet.

Reporters were camped out at the school, too. Marjorie had called and told Addison to drive around to the gymnasium entrance.

“We've been getting calls all day,” Marjorie said. “The reporters are talking to the students. Since the pictures were taken here, they came to the source to ferret out the identity of your mystery man. They figured it out, by the way.”

“How?”

“One of them walked right in the front door. Ethan's picture is in the main hallway, along with all the former principals.”

Addison's lips pursed in aggravation. “Great.”

“Any luck figuring out who gave the pictures to the press?”

“No. I'm going to track down Stanley, though. If anyone knows what happened, it's him.”

“He's probably still here,” Marjorie said. “Stanley spends most afternoons in the journalism room.”

“How do I get there?”

“I can take you,” she said.

“No need.”

Something flickered across Marjorie's eyes. Apprehension maybe. “Are you sure? Maybe I can help—”

“Marjorie, I'm not going to hurt him,” Addison said, the heavy weight of disappointment settled in her chest. “I only need to ask him some questions so I can get to the bottom of this fiasco.”

“Of course,” Marjorie said, her face reflecting concern once more.

Addison shrugged off her friend's sympathy. After receiving the proper directions, she set off for the journalism room. Stanley was indeed still at school. He was sitting at one of the computers, manipulating some digital images.

Addison walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. The budding journalist nearly fell off his chair.

“Hi, Stanley.”

The kid swallowed. Hard. “Ms. Covington?”

“I guess you know why I'm here.”

Stanley hung his head like a puppy that had peed on the carpet. “I never meant for things to get so out of control.”

Addison pulled a chair over and sank down onto it. “What happened?”

“I sent the pictures to the
Covington Falls Gazette
,” Stanley said. “They always do a section on the high school events.”

“Hmm… so how did an article in a local paper go national?”

“The paper is digital, you know. Anyone with a computer can read it. I guess someone found them. When the first one hit, I was excited! I mean, my pictures in a national paper. Then things went crazy. I didn't know all those reporters would show up and start stalking everybody. I'm sorry if I messed things up for you.”

“It's all right, Stanley,” Addison said, though a part of her knew everything had changed. “My little escape from reality had to end sooner or later. Now, I have to figure out how to face the music.”

Reporters were still camped out at her aunt's lawn when Addison got home. The drive from school had given her time to formulate a plan. She took a moment to scan the faces. Finally, she spotted her choice. Helen Gridley was an entertainment correspondent for one of those twenty-four-hour news organizations. She'd been one of the few reporters to come down on Addison's side after the Broken-Nosegate incident.

Addison opened the car door and slipped out. She didn't move, and the group seemed to realize she was about to make her stand.

Addison zeroed in on Helen. “Tonight. Eight ‘o clock. Knock on the door.”

Helen's mouth dropped open. Then she recovered and nodded.

Addison made her way through the sea of cameras to the house, without saying another word. Over the next few hours, she turned herself back into a Hollywood starlet. Hair styled, nails done, clothes impeccable.

When Helen showed up at eight on the dot, Addison Covington answered the door. Any traces of Alice Faye Jones had been buried.

“Helen, it's nice to see you again,” Addison said, letting the reporter in.

“Likewise,” Helen quipped. “You pulled one amazing disappearing act.”

“I only took a vacation.”

Helen studied Addison from head to toe. “You don't look deranged or strung out.”

“I should hope not.” Addison allowed a small laugh. “Honestly, if I'd known coming home to help an elderly aunt recover from a fall would turn into a media circus, I would have volunteered the information about my whereabouts weeks ago.”

“You haven't been hiding out then?” Helen asked, her skepticism clear.

“Why would I need to go into hiding?” Addison returned, eyes wide and open with guileless innocence.

“No reason I can find,” Helen said with wry good humor. “Shall I have my crew set up now?”

“Certainly.”

Helen turned to summon her people and then hesitated. “How long has Mr. Carmichael's son been living with you?”

“Several weeks.”

A brow shot up. “Does Merrick know—”

“Of course. It was a mutual decision to have Aaron stay with me.”

“Uh-huh.” The veteran reporter filed away the tidbit of information. “I'll get my crew.”

Twenty minutes later, the cameras were rolling.

Helen didn't waste time. “Ms. Covington, the world wants to know. Are you planning a return to Hollywood?”

A trademark tilting of the head, borrowed from Corrine Barrett right before she went in for the kill. “Of course…”

****

The interview aired the next day. Addison appeared polished, professional, and serious. She waved off the rumors of clinic stays, mental and chemical, and thanked Merrick with all sincerity for his concern. She wished him well with his new baby and let him know his son was doing fine. Addison even managed to slip in the information about directing the musical, which resulted in a stunned silence, followed by a look of unadulterated awe. Helen knew how to play up the Hollywood-star-gives-back angle without any prompting.

Addison thought it was one of her best performances. Oscar-worthy even.

“Slam dunk, Addison,” Aaron said as the segment ended.

“That was the most fun I've had in years,” Addison said, feeling smug and back in power once again. Having the upper hand was a huge adrenaline rush.

Aaron gave her a high-five and escaped to his room.

The pleased grin slipped when Addison turned back and found her aunt staring with a puzzled expression.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Aunt Ruth said, going back to her quilting.

“Oh, come on. You might as well tell me.”