Under the Lights (11 page)

“Well, somebody's in a sunshine-y mood,” Josh observes when I return to set to try the scene again.

Trust Josh to observe my crankiness the second I drop the fake smile I'd pasted on for Brianna's sake. “Somebody wishes she didn't have Hollywood's biggest sociopath trying to move in on her show,” I correct him. “And if you think I'm okay with the fact that I have to subject myself to your diseased mouth for this next scene, you're out of your freaking mind. I hope you at least had the courtesy to gargle mouthwash during this break.”

“Funny, I didn't see you gargling anything but your drool over me,” Josh says casually, “so let's call it even.”

Have I mentioned I loathe Josh Chester?

“All right, everyone, places!” I force myself to re-inhabit Bailey's body and let her inhabit mine as we get into places for the next scene, an infuriating one in which Josh's natural smugness will be quite the asset. In fact, he's pretty spot on with his character, Luke—an egomaniacal jackass who gets everything he wants. The difference is, Luke and Bailey are totally into each other.

Josh and I would rather die.

I practiced these lines a thousand times on my treadmill at home last night, and they come back to me with ease now. “You need to stop chasing me, Luke. Accept that I'm not yours and I'm never gonna
be
yours.”

“Accept that?” Josh-as-Luke spits, his amber eyes flashing. “Why should
I
accept that when deep down,
you
haven't?”

For some reason, Brianna pops in my head just then. I quickly replace the image with Zander, and
realize that's no better. I just need to clear my mind and stop letting Josh get to me.

“You have no idea what I think,” I return, letting my voice quiver a little. Bailey's a bit of a drama queen—nothing like me in real life. “You have no idea how I feel.”

“Oh, I know how you feel,” Josh-as-Luke says, stepping closer, close enough that I can smell the cinnamon gum on his breath that proves he did prepare for this scene, at least a little bit. He reaches out and strokes my cheek, his fingertips caressing my jaw. “I know
exactly
how you feel.”

And then he pulls me close and kisses me, just as the script demands. I tell myself to imagine it's Zander's mouth on mine, but that's not helping me muster up the enthusiasm I need. Especially since I'm all too aware of Brianna's laser-green eyes on me, imagining those lips in their naturally smug curve—

I don't even realize I've opened my mouth until I get the strong, sharp taste of cinnamon on my tongue, and I shove him away. I'm grateful we're still in mid-scene, because I know Josh would be grinning at me like a wolf if we weren't, sure I'd succumbed to his charms, ignorant of the fact that I'd forgotten I was kissing him at all. But he's Luke now, not Josh, and his face flashes with hurt and confusion and heat instead.

“You want me,” he says determinedly. “I know you do. And you may think you want Monroe, but he'll never kiss you like I do. So before you decide to toss me aside for that surf bum, you better be sure you're okay with losing what you're giving up.” One more hard kiss, and then he walks out.

Cut.

Everyone seems pretty pleased with the scene, but of course, we have to film it again. We get back
into place, and as we do, I catch a glimpse of Brianna standing next to an empty chair, thumbs tucked into the belt loops of her denim miniskirt, jaw clenched tight until she notices me noticing her.

If I didn't know better, I'd say she wasn't all that thrilled with that scene.

And for some reason, that gets me excited to do it all over again.

“You and Josh have some pretty crazy chemistry,” Carly observes as the two of us walk back to the trailer we share once filming is done for the day. “Is this one of those things where you guys pretend to hate each other when you're actually totally in love?”

I snort. “Trust me when I say there are no positive feelings between me and Josh, unless you count that he throws good parties. That, I'll give him.”

As if just talking about him summoned the devil, I feel a hand clap me on the shoulder, and turn to see another one land on Carly's. “Ladies,” Josh says genially.

“Lord Douchington,” I reply with a nod of my head. “Don't you think you've touched me enough today?” I pry his fingers from my shoulder. “What do you want?”

He grins, not remotely affected by any of my insults, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest. “Actually, I have a question for you.” He nods toward my half of the trailer. “May I?”

“If the question is whether I'll sleep with you, the answer is going to be vomit on your shoes. I'm warning you now.”

Carly laughs and flutterwaves goodbye as she disappears into her half, and I reluctantly let Josh in to
mine. “What is it?” I sit down at the mirror and douse some cotton balls in makeup remover, anxious to get this crap off my face.

He coughs. “I…I need your help with something.”

“If you think I'm gonna run lines with you right now, after all the ad-libbing you did in there, you're crazy.”

“Oh, please—like my lines weren't a thousand times better than the cheesy shit they write for us. But no, this has nothing to do with the show. This is more assistance of the…parental-pleasing variety. As in, I have no idea how to, and I kind of need to. At dinner. Tonight.”

He looks so convinced that this is something I actually have vast experience in that I almost feel bad laughing at his face in the mirror. Almost. “Oh, you're serious,” I say after a minute, wiping my eyes. “Josh, if I was capable of pleasing parents, trust me, I'd be doing it. My parents think I'm just as much of a waste of space as yours probably do.”

“You?” He snorts. “What's your parents' issue? Were you five minutes late to church on Sunday?”

I whirl around in my seat. “Has anyone ever told you that when you ask a favor, you're supposed to be nice to the person you're asking?”

“Yeah, but you know I never listen to Ally.”

“God, you're the worst.” I shake my head at his stupid grin, but curiosity at why Josh suddenly wants to be a parent-pleaser wins out. “So, what do you need and why?”

He hesitates, and I think it might be the first time I've seen Josh Chester look…embarrassed.

“Um, did you think you were gonna be able to ask my help
without
telling me what it was for?”

“No, I'm just bracing myself for how big of a bitch you're gonna be about it.”

“A pretty huge one, now,” I say sweetly.

“I knew this was a mistake.” He turns to go, and I let him; I know he'll be back in two seconds. Who else is he gonna ask?

Unsurprisingly, he turns around and walks back in before he can even close my trailer door behind him. “Okay, fine. Just…keep it to yourself, will you?” He shuts the door and makes himself comfortable on my couch while I return to tending to my face in the mirror. “My mother's pressuring me to do this reality show thing in order to keep my house, and I need to please her until I can get her to sign over the deed. But every single thing I do seems to piss her off, starting with how I dress. So can you please come over and help me find something that screams ‘let's mutually cooperate'?”

Again, this seems ironic, since my mother's response to me upon leaving the house this morning was, “Shouldn't you wear a real shirt over that shirt?” But I'm pretty sure that Josh's mom at least lives in this century, so this should be easy enough.

The question is, what do I want in return?

“I have plans with Zander tonight.” I say it to inform him that I'm busy, but as I do, I realize that maybe he can help me after all. Not that I would ever admit to Josh that our relationship is every bit as lame as he thinks it is. Or that we've barely done more than make out. But while meaningful relationships aren't exactly Josh's thing, getting them to move faster certainly is. If anyone can tell me how to kick this whole thing with Zander up a notch, sadly, it's Josh Chester.

Of course, Josh rolls his eyes at the mere mention of Zander's name. “Not to worry. I'll get you to your
date at a proper hour. What time
are
the kids eating the early bird special these days? Wouldn't want him to miss out on any of his beauty sleep. How
would
his hair stand up that way otherwise?”

“Your jealousy is so cute. Sorry my boyfriend has a fan club of a zillion while you can barely get your agent to remember your name.” I examine my skin in the mirror, and, satisfied it looks makeup free, I rub on some moisturizing sunscreen. “But, yes, if you get me back on time—and do something for me—I'll help you.”

“And what would you like me to do for you, K-drama? Lie down in the lot while you reverse your car over my face?”

“I'm not sure yet,” I admit. “But I'm reserving a favor. Right now. You are in my debt. Say it.”

He narrows his eyes.

I shrug and put my focus back on rimming my eyes with black liner.

“Fine. Ronen's already here. Finish putting on your face, and you can follow us up.”

“Hey, you want my help, then you can drive me up and back to my car. If I'm sitting in the traffic up to Malibu, I'm not doing it behind the wheel.” The truth is, I hate driving long distances by myself, but that's yet another factoid to file under “Things I Will Never Tell Josh Chester.”

“Fine,” he says with a huffy sigh. “Two minutes. And take it easy on the eyeliner—we're going to my house, not your second job at the strip club.”

“You're leaving now.”

He rolls his eyes but lets himself out, calling out “One minute!” behind him.

You can't wear that,” K-drama declares the second I step out of my walk-in closet. “Oh, come on.”

“Josh, you
asked
me here to help you pick an outfit. I'm telling you it's not gonna be that one.”

“It's just dinner with my parents,” I remind her, even though she's right that this is exactly the reason I asked her over. Which was obviously a huge mistake, much like I can already tell this entire night is gonna be. “Who gives a shit what I wear?”

“Your mother does, from what you've told me, and if you wear a T-shirt and jeans to dinner—again—you're not gonna get what you want.”

“What I
want
is for her to get off my back.”

“Well, your passive-aggressive clothing decisions aren't going to make that happen.” She crosses her arms and nods toward my closet. “Pick something that actually requires a hanger. And make it designer. In a calming shade of blue. It'll go a long way.”

I know she's right, but I don't need her knowing she's right. “What I'm wearing is fine. I look good, don't I?”

I do, but she just rolls her eyes and does her best “Vanessa Park is not impressed.” It's pretty much her default reaction pose to anything I do. Ally would be
proud. “Don't say I didn't warn you,” she says, and then she turns and walks out.

Goddammit.
I wait until she's gone and then I change into decent pants and a blue button-down. If I could avoid her seeing I've taken her advice, I'd do it in a second. She's such a pain in my ass. But I know wearing this crap will make my mom feel like I'm actually listening to her and is my best shot at getting her to listen to me in return.

I take a shot of Patrón from the minibar in my bedroom, then brush my teeth until the smell of tequila is gone. There's no way I'm making it through this night on no alcohol, and the fact that I don't do my own driving means I never have to think twice about it. If I still did any of the harder stuff, now would be the perfect time to whip it out. But my dad can tell that shit from a mile away—it's one of his only interpersonal skills—so alas, all I can do tonight is get good and liquored up.

“Ronen's here!” Vanessa calls up, and I debate taking another shot, but I don't have time to mask the smell a second time. I head out into the car with her on my heels—I'd avoid her completely if I hadn't promised her a ride home in time for her to get ready for some bullshit date with her bullshit boyfriend—and make the mistake of glancing at her just long enough to catch her annoying smirk.

My nerves are jacked up the whole ride. Sending dirty texts to a bunch of different standbys doesn't help, even though I've got plenty of offers I know will help alleviate the awfulness for a few hours after dinner. Everything else is more of the same—Paz trying to get me on a double-date in the hopes he'll get some ass; Royce lauding some club we gotta go to; Jeremy
sending me pervy pics of some chick he got with last night; no word from Liam.

By the time I reach the mansion, I'm in an even shittier mood, and I head straight for the bar as soon as I let myself in. I'm about to help myself to the Snow Queen—my dad's favorite vodka—when I hear steps behind me and remember that I'm being fucking
filmed.