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Authors: Brit Brinson

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BOOK: Dia of the Dead
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“They probably didn’t let you in because you’re seventeen.”

Kaci huffed and put her hands on her hips. Or where her hips should’ve been under the yards and yards of pink tulle that made up the skirt of her knee-length strapless dress. She was a wand and a dusting of shimmer away from looking like one of the Goody Sisters on The Bixby Network’
s
Witch Wart
s
.

“It isn’t fair. Reagan Bixby’s your age and she comes here all the time. She’s barely an actress. She isn’t on anything at the moment and her last show on Bixby flopped so hard—”

“She may be sixteen but her dad owns a network. You think they’d turn her away?”

“I would,” Kaci said matter-of-factly.

“Of course you would.”

“You wouldn’t?” Kaci raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Reagan Bixby and I didn’t have the best relationship. In fact, I was 99.99999999% sure she hated me.

“Yeah. I probably would too,” I grinned.

Kaci laughed and stepped aside, “Come on out of that stall. I want to see your outfit.”

I stepped out and threw my hands up in a lackluster “tada.”

“Why did you make that face? What’s the problem?” Kaci asked. “That dress is killer; you look amazing!”

“It’s not too tight?” I asked looking down at the dress, feeling a little self-conscious.

“No! It’s not tight enough in my opinion. But you know me…” she chuckled. “It kinda reminds me of Dia Muerto’s suit. It’s gonna do a great job of keeping the show on everyone’s mind. I’m glad I thought of it. I’m such a genius,” she beamed. She seemed close to giving herself a pat on the back.

“What am I suppose to do now? I’m not used to fancy Hollywood parties. I’ve only ever been to two. Th
e
Dia of the Dea
d
premiere and that weird circus thing Mason had in July. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Well, the first thing you have to do is relax. You’re stressing when you don’t have to.” Kaci started toward a collection of leather chairs in the carpeted lounge area just off the sinks before the door.

She sat down looking like a pink cotton candy fluff. I pulled at my dress again as I sat in a chair beside her.

“I’ve been to hundreds of these things in my time with Bixby. Four years of experience so I’m like, practically an expert now.  This is how these things usually work: Attend party. Schmooze with fellow actors, singers, entertainers, et cetera. Drink the drinks—they’re stellar though most are virgins—ha! Eat the food—it’s pretty okay most of the time.  Suck up to BB—tell her her new nose doesn’t make her look anything like a toucan. Suck up to Reagan—tell her how thin she looks or something. Voilà, zombie high school student Dia Muerto will protect Romero High from a monster-of-the-week for a second season.”

“You’re making this seem way too easy,” I sighed.

“You’re making it way too hard,” she huffed. “Mr. Bixby usually makes the announcement about new shows and renewals in October, after BB’s birthday. He always asks for BB and Reagan’s input. I wouldn’t call his process typical since other CEOs don’t ya know, ask their teenage daughters about programming. But that’s how Mr. Bixby rolls. Something about it being a ‘family business’ or something. He checks with his wife and daughters. And according to Taylor, their opinion is starting to matter a little more now that they’re older.”

“You’re friends with Taylor now?”

“This week? Sorta.” Kaci brushed a stray wisp of her strawberry blonde hair back into place among the rest of her loosely curled waves.

“I know it’s very Addison of me but I swear I’m only like my character when it’s important. And this is important. Addison Appleby might be a bitch but she’s a fun bitch to play. I’ll miss her if the show doesn’t get renewed. Please kiss Reagan and BB’s asses well, Dia. I don’t want to lose my job.” She smiled brightly at me then stood up.

“I’m going to go get a drink and give you a few minutes to pull it together.” She wiggled, tugging up the bodice of her dress. “No nip
slips tonight,” she mumbled to herself.

I shook my head.

“If you’re in here more than five minutes though, I’m coming back in and dragging your ass out,” she threatened playfully. “You don’t want to be in here when it’s time for the kiddies to have their candy.”

“Oh,” I said dumbly. I’d come to learn that “candy” around Bixby studios meant drugs. I wasn’t sure what kind exactly but I knew I didn’t want to be around when people started smoking, snorting, or injectin
g
.

“You’ll do fine,” Kaci said, putting a hand on my shoulder before heading toward the door. “Love your hair by the way. It’s so big. And curly,” she called over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” I said half-heartedly.

She opened the door
, letting in some fast-paced EDM music and disappeared into the party.

The impromptu pep talk left my stomach in knots. I don’t think Kaci meant to make me more nervous but somehow she managed to do it.  I got up from my seat, adjusted my dress once more, and went over to the row of sinks. 

“You can do thi
s,
Dia Summers,” I whispered to the sweet-faced girl in the mirror. I looked at her button nose and dark eyes and raised my hand to tousle her large mane of curly dark brown hair, watching the movement reflected. “Mess it up and you and mom will be back in Santa Barbara eating Ramen like the not-so-good ol’ days.”

I took a breath to steel my nerves and headed toward the door.

I can do this.

The party had shifted into high gear. Looking over the rail of the VIP section, I could see almost everything. DJ Pantomime had found his groove on the stage set up in the center of a packed dance floor. He dropped the bass from behind the MacBook that rested on top of the table with the rest of his DJ equipment. Underneath the swaying pieces of sheer lilac fabric hanging from the ceiling, guests danced in their best party attire while photographers roamed the crowd snapping pictures. White clothed tables were set up around the outskirts of the dance floor; waiters and waitresses dressed in white tuxedos with lilac accessories offered trays filled with drinks and hors d'oeuvres to those sitting around the soft glow of floating candle and lily centerpieces.

I took a minute to let it all soak in. A year ago, I was an ordinary teenager who spent most of her time learning bits of dialogue from movies and TV shows in a crappy one bedroom apartment while her mom worked a thousand jobs to make ends meet. This year, at the urging of my momager Trisha Summers and a bit of luck at a cattle call, my dream of becoming an actress had come true. I pushed up the sleeves of my leather motorcycle jacket and pinched myself to see if this was really happening.

“Ouch.” I rubbed the tender spot on my forearm.

This was real.

I turned away from the people grinding to a remix of some hip-hop song about butts and went looking for Kaci. The VIP area of Lavender was a large open space with a fully stocked bar at either end of the room.  The space had been divided into smaller “rooms” with the aid of sheer lilac fabric that enclosed a cluster of seating around a large cube. I walked in front of them, smiling and waving to people I recognized from wandering the Bixby lot between shoots. I spotted several familiar faces but none of them belonged to Kaci. I stopped by the bar and ordered a soda. The bartender brought me a glass
of Coke with a cherry garnish. Fancy. I thanked him, tipping him a folded five-dollar bill and swiveled in my seat toward the party.

“Dia, there you are!” Kaci yelled over the music as she marched toward me. “I was just about to come get you!” 

She’d cleared the space between us quickly, stopping right in my face.

“Too close,” I said, leaning away from her.

“Oh, sorry.” She took a step back. “Oooooooo, what are you drinking?” she asked, leaning in again.

“Coke.” I moved away from her once more.

“That’s it?” She put her hands on her hips.

“Yep.”  I took a sip.

“How boring. Come on. We’re in there.” She pointed in the direction of one of the rooms. Before I had a chance to ask who “we” were, she’d dragged me off of my chair and led me by the arm toward an unknown destination, leaving behind a trail of spilled soda. She stopped outside one of the rooms and let go of me. She moved the fabric aside and popped her head inside. She turned back toward me.

“Don’t freak out, okay.”

“Freak out? Why would I freak out?”

Kaci smirked.  She turned away and pushed through the curtains.

I followed her. “Kaci, why would I freak ou—“ I stopped dead in my tracks. My heart skipped a beat o
r,
like, a million. I’d died and gone to super crush heaven. Kaci’s “we” included ou
r
Dia of the Dea
d
co-star, Mason Jackson and Taylor Quinn, who played the evil Morgan twins o
n
Witch Wart
s
. Brendan Baker joined them. Brendan. Bake
r
.

With piercing blue eyes—the same color as the crashing waves of Goleta Beach—perfect dark brown hair, a set of sick tan abs, and a face full of handsome, Brendan Baker was the Bixby heartthrob. After a few guest appearances as Maddie’s boyfriend, Luke o
n
OMG
!
, Brendan landed the lead role i
n
Cumberland Height
s
. The show was about Dillon; a young man who’d recently found out he was adopted and documented his search for his biological parents. It was The Bixby Network’s first drama and was well received by viewers. It helped Brendan land a role in his first real movie—not something that aired exclusively on Bixby.  He was on his way to becoming the next big thing.

And he was only a few feet away from me. Kaci was right in telling me not to freak though I was failing miserably. Brendan sat on the overstuffed beige leather couch chatting with Mason. He looked like he’d stepped out of one of the several posters of him I had hanging up in my locker freshman year at SBHS. He wore dark washed jeans and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A few of the buttons on his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a small silver pendant on a silver chain. He had done something different with his hair. Instead of his signature shag cut with a fringe obscuring his beautiful eyes, he’d trimmed the sides low while the fringe remained intact. Using what must’ve been super hold hair gel or the power of Zeus, it was styled away from his face, reminding me a little of a bird. A really hot bird with really sexy hair.

“Dia!” Mason jumped up from his seat and came over to me, grabbing me in a tight hug and lifting me off the floor briefly before setting me dow
n.
“Lookin’ good girl!”

I straightened out my dress, looking down at the near-empty glass in my hand and sighed a “thank you”.

“You almost look as good as me.” He ran his hands over his dreadlocks and flashed a smile that made two dimples appear in his cheeks. He lifted the black Henley shirt he wore underneath a red and black varsity jacket. He wanted me to ask if he’d been working out lately when I laid eyes on his mahogany brown abs. It was a Mason trap that I wasn’t going to fall for.

I smiled politely,
sidestepping him and set my glass on the cube coffee table. I made sure Brendan Baker wouldn’t see my superhero underwear before I took a seat in a chair next to the couch where he sat with Taylor.

“You look hot, Mase. Love your jacket. Where’d you get it?” Kaci asked, running her hand along the jacket’s leather sleeve with a flirty smile.

“I had it custom made. The ‘M’ stands for Mason,” he said, pointing to the letter stitched over his chest.

“Cool. I have to have one. I think it’d look cute on me. What do you think? Do you think it’d be cute on me?” Kaci gazed at him with lovestruck eyes.

Mason portrayed Addison’s jock boyfriend, Deuce Cunningham and it was obvious that Kaci wanted to take their on-screen romance off-screen. 

“It probably won’t look as good on you as it does on me, but I’ll give you the designer’s number.”

“Oh.”

I grimaced at Mason’s rebuff. It was rough. At least I didn’t have to tell Kaci to chill out with mooning over him. Her smile had turned into a tight line. She shook her head, recovering quickly and straightened up. She took a seat next to Taylor. I could focus my attention back on the mini heart attack I was having. Brendan Baker had his eyes on me and a smirk on his lips.

“H
i.
” He gave a small wave.

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out but a gurgle. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hi.”

“Dia, it’s great seeing you,” Taylor said, interrupting the moment Brendan and I were maybe having.

“Huh?” I muttered dreamily.

“It’s great seeing you,” she said louder than before, bobbing her head into my line of vision.

A quick shake of my head and the god-like glow around Brendan disappeared and the choir of angelic voices shut their traps. I looked at the olive-skinned glamazon perched on the couch in a short-short, tight-tight emerald green dress.

BOOK: Dia of the Dead
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