Imposter (17 page)

Against my will, I nod—an obedient puppy cowed into submission.

“Good boy,” says Brian. “You should get back to her now. You
ran out on her this morning, and it sounds like she's pretty cut up about it. Oh, and one more thing. That poor little girl isn't as quick on the uptake as you—has no idea what's going on here. I suggest you keep it that way.”

“You expect me to believe she didn't read the contract either?” I ask.

“She's a minor. Her parents signed it.” He gives the words time to sink in. “Oh yeah, they know exactly what's going on. But she doesn't.”

“She deserves to know.”

“If Annaleigh quits on us before tomorrow, she'll lose the money, and so will you. And as the whole world knows, her family needs that money to pay for Daddy's lawyer. You think she'll forgive you if her father ends up behind bars? Think she'll be okay that you've been playing her ever since you got here?”

“I haven't played her.”

“But that's not how she'll see it, is it? Not when she realizes you took a bribe to stay quiet.”

Brian and Tracie file out of the room. Gant follows. I remain a moment longer, taking in the sterile space, empty except for tables and chairs—an office that can be packed up and vacated in a matter of hours. Is that why they're telling me everything? Because our “movie” is nearing its conclusion?

Brian stops beside Gant's duffel bag. “Looks like you're heading home,” he says. “I'll give you a ride.”

“I'll take a bus,” says Gant.

“No, no, no. I insist. It's always a tough moment for an actor, bowing out. The least I can do is make sure it's a safe exit.”

Gant heaves his duffel bag over his shoulder. Standing at the door, head bowed, he finally looks his age. He's a sophomore, my
younger
brother, whom I swore to protect that terrible summer three and a half years ago.

I hug him. I honestly don't know if he's going to be a rag doll in my arms, or if he'll push me away. I certainly don't expect him to stare right at me, conveying anger and determination. As clearly as if he were speaking, I understand him: We may have lost this battle, but the war isn't over.

I hold him tight. Maybe this hug is my way of begging forgiveness, or a promise that we'll stick together. Probably both. But it's more than that too, and as I whisper into his ear, I hope that he understands.

Gant turns away and trails Brian through the door. I'm about to follow them when Tracie picks up my cell phone. “Forgetting something, Seth?”

She tosses it to me. I pretend to fumble it. Let it fall to the ground.

Then I stomp it into tiny pieces.

BACK INSIDE MY HOTEL ROOM, I
head straight for the bedside lamps. Isn't that where they hide spy cameras in the movies?

Nothing.

I check the desk, and the curtain rod, and the TV, but there are no cameras there either. It must amuse Ryder to see me scurrying around, frantically searching every nook and cranny. What will viewers make of my behavior when they see me on the big screen? Will they wonder if I was unaware of what was going on until this moment? Or will they say I'm just acting the role of innocent? Brian's revelations have me caught in a web of second-guessing, and my own mind is doing the spinning.

Someone knocks on the door. I answer it.

“Where have you been?” Annaleigh asks. “I've been calling.”

“I . . . I lost my phone.”

I try the bathroom, but again, it's clean. No cameras at all.

“Ryder came by,” she says, taking my video camera from the nightstand. “He took the memory card from my camera and gave me a new one. When he realized we haven't been filming each
other much, he got real pissed. Said we ought to have hours of video by now.”

She turns the camera on and films me. I don't speak, though. Don't even move, because it has suddenly hit me how Ryder got rid of the cameras in my room. Tracie sent him away from our meeting because he needed to get on with his
work,
but she wasn't talking about editing. Ryder has been here, clearing away the evidence. I never thought about it before, but he must have a key, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to leave all those clothes in my closet. No wonder he was able to copy Gant's photo from my laptop.

I want to know if Ryder has taken down the cameras from Annaleigh's room too, but it's unlikely. Not while she was still around to see him. In any case, I'm not going to ask her as long as there's a camera pointing at my face.

“Talk to me, Seth,” she says. “I can tell something's wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong,” I say. “Really.”

With a deep sigh, Annaleigh puts the camera away and turns on the TV instead. It's a gossip show masquerading as news. There's stock footage of Sabrina and the rehab center she's checked into. The only live pictures are of the photographers lined up at the electric gates, camping out for a long-distance shot of Hollywood's fallen star. And of her parents, still blaming each other for the mess their daughter's life has become; still loving the feel of cameras on their faces, the delusion that they matter long after they've stopped having any influence at all.

Annaleigh's eyes fill with tears. “I didn't know,” she says. “I swear, I didn't.”

I want to protect her from what's happening, but that's
impossible. The only thing I can control is whether to tell her the truth now, or put it off until later. Will she hate me more for perpetuating the lie, or for opening up and making her share it with me? One thing is certain: Annaleigh needs the money even more than I do. Even though he doesn't deserve it, she wants to help her father. Will she forgive me if I sabotage her only chance?

On the TV, the stock footage plays on endless repeat: Sabrina in a sleeveless white gown at the Academy Awards. Her seductive, husky voice as she banters with the red carpet reporters.

Blinking away tears, Annaleigh heads to the bathroom as another person knocks on the door.

“Room service,” calls a voice.

I open the door a crack. A waiter stands in the hallway, a large silver tray in his hands. There are two covered plates on it.

“I didn't order anything,” I say.

He looks at the ticket. “Says here it's for Annaleigh.”

I take the tray and thank him. Go back inside the room and realize that I forgot to tip. By the time I return to the corridor, he's gone.

I place the tray on the bedside table and remove one of the lids. On a spotless white plate is a small Post-it note:

$50,000-$500 = $49,500
.

I freeze, the silver lid swaying in my fingers. Stealing a shallow breath, I replace the first lid and lift the other.

There's a brand-new cell phone in the middle of the plate.

It begins to ring.

I snatch it up. The line is already dead, but the message is clear: They're always watching.

In the bathroom, Annaleigh shuts off the faucet. I don't know how to explain the tray and the two empty plates, let alone the note and the new phone, so I carry them out to the corridor.

“What did you order?” Annaleigh asks as I close the door.

“Nothing. Waiter got the wrong room.”

She glances at the TV. “I'm not hungry anyway.”

We lie side by side on the bed. I run my thumb over the tear running down her cheek, and she kisses me. Instead of enjoying it, all I think is how lucky I am that Ryder has cleared the room of cameras, so that at least this moment is ours. Even when I'm not being recorded, Ryder and Brian are still in my head.

We slide under the bedsheets, a barrier between us and the real world, and pull the covers over our heads. In that tiny space I hold her tight against me and we whisper like kids at a sleepover.

At 4:53 I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I don't want to leave Annaleigh, but I have to.

I head to the bathroom to get a drink. I'm only gone a minute, but when I emerge, she's perched at the end of the bed, eyes wide, lips quivering. I follow her gaze toward the TV screen, where the gossip show has found a new and perhaps even more tantalizing target.

Us.

We're two lovebirds caught beside her patio doors. The photo is a little hazy on account of the glass that separates us from the photographer, but in the glow from her bedside lamp, one thing is clear: We're both completely naked.

“Turn it off, Annaleigh.”

She turns the sound on instead.

The commentators are running through the full repertoire of facial expressions: surprised, amused, appalled. A woman with big blond hair argues that we're cute, and isn't it good that Seth got away from Sabrina Layton before she pulled him into her sordid world. A ponytailed guy with sleeves of tattoos responds that having sex with a minor is hardly cool, and what must our parents think?

“Please,” I beg. “Turn it—”

The TV goes blank, and nothing remains but the sound of our breathing, and yards of empty room between us.

“Why?” she murmurs. “Why is all this happening?”

I don't know what to tell her. Ryder has far more scandalous footage than that.

“Do photographers just hang out there?” she demands. “Do they sleep on sidewalks? In bushes? Or don't they sleep at all?”

I traipse to the patio doors and lean my head against the cool glass. There's no way any photographer could've gotten that shot, not with her room being on the fourth floor. But a camera mounted to the balcony rail would've captured it perfectly.

“How do the paparazzi know which our rooms are, huh?” Her voice is a tortured growl. “Or that we were both there?”

I could answer her questions, but I won't. I won't tell her that Ryder has listened to our nocturnal conversations through Annaleigh's bugged cell phone, and set up enough cameras to capture every money shot. But I won't play along anymore, either.

The clock says 4:58. I'm going to be late.

“We'll get through this,” I tell her.

She continues to stare at the blank TV screen. “We just have to keep going, right?” She says the words like she means them. Like this phrase I've been rolling out for the past three-plus years isn't as meaningless as it is unconvincing.

“I should go,” I say.

She wraps her arms around herself. “Why?”

“I just have to. But I'll meet you downstairs before the party, I promise. I'm not going to leave you for a single second tonight.”

“Even when I go to the bathroom?”

I pretend to think about it. “Yup. Even then.”

She chokes out a single laugh, grabs a pillow, and tosses it at me. I take the blow with a smile I don't feel.

“What if my parents don't let me stay?” She slides back along the bed and pulls the sheets up to her chin. “When they see the news, they're going to be pissed. If we're together tonight, we should enjoy every moment, 'cause they'll find a way to screw this up. Trust me. That's all they ever do—screw up my life.”

I want to reassure her that we'll have tonight, no matter what. Her parents are counting on tomorrow's payout, and they won't jeopardize it with only a few hours to go. But now that I think of it, she's right. What are the chances that her parents will let us stay together when everything is over? They're about to get what they came for, and they won't want any loose ends.

As for Annaleigh and me, we'll be collateral damage, a sweet story that blossomed fast and will pass away with similar quickness.

Unless I can write us a new ending.

I RUN THE FEW BLOCKS TO
the coffee shop. Gant's exactly where I told him to be, sitting in the back corner, two lattes waiting on the dark wood table.

The wall-mounted speaker plays soft jazz on a never-ending cycle. I place the phone gently on a shelf beside it, and go through the motions of ordering a coffee. Only, no one's listening to me. Well, no one except Ryder and Brian.

I join my brother at the small circular table across the store.

“Thank you, Gant.” The words are hopelessly inadequate. “I wasn't sure you heard me in the office.”

“I heard you.” He glances at the door, looking anxious. “That Brian is scary. He waited until I got inside our house. Then he drove to the end of the block and hung around for another ten minutes. He wants me out of the picture.”

“No wonder. If he's been listening in, he knows you're smart. Did you see Dad?”

“No. He's at work.”

At work
. Hard to remember now, but watching Dad go to a job interview convinced me more than ever to audition for
Whirlwind
. I thought what he was doing was courageous, and figured
I'd do something courageous too. I don't feel so noble anymore.

Gant tilts his head toward the phone on the shelf. “We'd better hurry. If they can record you even when your phone is off, they can probably get a GPS signal. Either that, or they'll turn the phone on remotely and activate the GPS that way. Hackers do it all the time. Cops too.” He sounds completely matter-of-fact. “As long as they can hear you, or you're moving, they'll lay off. Go off the grid and radio silent, like now, and they'll track you down.”

“Like the guy in the green Mazda, you mean?”

“Exactly. Whoever he is, I figure he must be working for Brian and Ryder.” Gant bites his thumbnail. “Look, they've got us where they want us. The way I see it, you have two choices: Play along and hope they go easy on us, or call a reporter and do a tell-all interview. A story like this'll get printed overnight. By tomorrow everyone will know what's going on.”

“Yeah, and they'll blame me for it. Ryder's got video of me taking a bribe, remember? He's also got footage of me saying I want Sabrina gone from the movie. It'll look like I'm the bad guy.” I take a sip of coffee. “Chances are, he'll come off looking completely innocent. He might even get to do this thing all over again with a different cast.”

“Which is why you've got to tell your side of the story.”

“I can't. I signed a nondisclosure agreement. They only told us what's going on because they know we can't repeat any of it. If we do, they'll sue us for everything we've got.”

Gant exhales slowly. “All this footage they've got—is it really good enough for movie theaters?”

“Ryder thinks so.”

“And the sound? I get that they can do amazing things in postproduction, but when the cell phone was in your pocket, the quality's going to be useless.”

“It's good enough for blackmailing me, I know that much. That's why we can't afford to get into a fight with them. No, what we need to do is destroy them.” I press on before he can interrupt. “I'm thinking we both go to the office and I threaten to stay away from tonight's party—that'll make them take notice. While I keep them busy talking in the rehearsal room, you go to Ryder's editing suite and copy the files.”

“No way. First of all, Brian's going to smell something fishy the moment I show up. Second, what are you going to do with the files anyway?”

“Release them on YouTube. No one'll pay to see a movie when most of it's available free.”

Gant purses his lips. “You said yourself: The footage shows you fighting with Sabrina, threatening people, taking a bribe—”

“But only if Ryder edits it a certain way. If we could show people the whole of those scenes, they'd know the truth.”

Gant rests his elbows on the table, knuckles pressed tight together. “All right, I'll do it. But not now. Later.”

“I'm busy later.”

“Yeah. And so are Brian and Ryder and Tracie. They said they're going to be watching you at tonight's party, which means I'll have all the time in the world.”

“You won't be able to get into the office.”

“If I had a key, I could. And the code for the alarm.”

“So all you need is a key we don't have and a code we don't
know.” I pretend to take inventory. “You want me to ask Ryder or Tracie? Or should I go straight to Brian?”

I wait for Gant to smile too, to reassure me we're in the realm of fantasy here. “You ask Maggie,” he says.

“I told you, they fired her. She sold them out.”

“You really think Brian would let her walk away? This is a tight ship. Ryder's a trained editor. Brian's the heavy. I'd bet anything that Tracie's a legit attorney, 'cause they need to be sure the contracts are cast iron. So what was Maggie's role?”

“She was an intern. She's at USC film school.”

“And I'm on scholarship at Stanford.” He takes a gulp of coffee, and wipes his sleeve across his mouth. “Until today, Brian and Ryder had everyone believing in this movie. You and Annaleigh. Sabrina and Kris. Even the movie news sites. How could they manage that if they're the ones selling cast stories and photographs, huh? No, they're using a go-between, and Maggie's perfect—completely out of the limelight.”

“You didn't see the way Brian looked at her when she admitted selling the story. It was like he wanted to rip her throat out.”

“Maybe she's ready to switch sides, then. Especially if you can make her a better offer than them.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Whatever it takes, I guess. Look, what's the worst-case scenario? She reports back to Brian and Ryder, who carry on like nothing happened. As long as they need you to show up this evening, they can't mess with you.”

I stare at my latte. The foam has congealed. “And what about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow they're going to do whatever the hell they want.” He leans back, his right fist rubbing small circles in his forehead. “You realize, school's starting again in a week. You thought you were going to be here, filming a movie and working with a private tutor. But you're not. So ask yourself: How are people going to look at us if we can't make this right?”

I glance at my watch. We've been here too long already. “Ryder's computers will be password protected.”

“So's your laptop, and look how that's worked out for you.”

I let the comment slide. I want to tell Gant that I'm worried for him, but he's already made up his mind.

“You got some dark clothing?” I ask.

“I can get some.”

“Good. I'll pay Maggie a visit. Let's meet back here in an hour.”

“No. Better go someplace else. Where's the nearest park?”

“Top of Rodeo Drive. Beverly Gardens Park.”

“Okay.” He points at the speaker across the room. “I'm going to need your phone, or they'll track you right to Maggie's apartment.”

“If they hear your voice, they'll realize you're still around.”

“I'll wrap it up so the microphone won't pick up anything. And I'll keep moving, so they won't bother tracking me.” He rolls his eyes. “It's for an hour, Seth. You're going to have to trust me.”

If he'd said anything else, I might still argue. But I really do need to trust him. We're on our own now. And the stakes are higher than ever.