738 Days: A Novel (20 page)

“… any idea of the trouble this has caused?” A strident voice comes through, slightly muffled.

The Chase-shaped shadow ducks his head and mumbles something I can’t hear.

“… call from the hotel … I had to pay for extra security, more barricades, not to mention the last-minute overtime … killing the budget, for Christ’s sake!” The shorter figure pulls at his hair, making it stand out in a wilder halo.

Extra security. Crap. Is this because of the photographers? Is this because of me? The plan wasn’t mine, but I went along with it, encouraged it, even, because I didn’t want to feel bad about getting something without giving in return.

“This is not
Starlight
, okay? This isn’t television. We can’t afford to fuck around, Chase. I only have so much money. Nobody is paying—”

“You know he’s using you, right?” Karen says.

I glance over to find her watching me in cool evaluation, taking my measure against some standard in her mind.

Irritation flashes through me. I’m not sure whether she’s holding me up against what she knows about Amanda Grace, the Miracle Girl, media darling, innocent victim, or if she’s comparing me to other girls she’s met in Chase’s company.

I suspect it’s the former and despise the idea of the latter, but either way, she doesn’t know me. I didn’t ask for her opinion, and her unsolicited, condescending “let me give you some good advice, sweetie” attitude, one I encounter frequently these days, is pissing me off.

Ignoring her, I turn my attention back to the door and the conversation happening outside.

“—cleared a guest, but she never said it was
that
Amanda Grace.” The man whom I suspect to be the director throws his hands in the air. “Jesus Christ, Chase, are you
trying
to mess this up?”

I wince.

“I’m not sure who’s pulling his strings these days, so it’s impossible to know exactly what he’s up to. Maybe he’s looking for a publicity boost by having you around,” Karen says. “Or maybe he wants to make himself look better. Soothing his guilty conscience or trying to give the haters something else to talk about.” I register her careless shrug out of the corner of my eye. “I don’t know, but he’s working an angle. You need to know that.”

Annoyed, I turn in my chair to face her. She’s not wrong, exactly, but the motives she’s ascribing to Chase are the least generous interpretation.

“What makes you say that?” I ask finally. I’m not going to deny it because then she’ll just waste time trying to convince me. But I am curious about
why
she’d say it.

“Because Chase doesn’t do anything that doesn’t benefit Chase,” she says, gathering up her brushes and sponges and putting them away.

That doesn’t match with my understanding of him at all. Maybe he was that way once, but now, in my experience, he’s been considerate, maybe even overly so, of my feelings.

So he’s a changed man, one who’s learned from his mistakes. Or maybe she never had the right measure of him in the first place.

But something in Karen’s air speaks of bitter experience.

Experience she’s obviously determined to share with me.

With a last, reluctant glance toward the door and the conversation going on just outside, I swivel my chair toward hers.

“Okay,” I say. “If that’s true—”

She frowns. “Of course it’s true.”

“Then why does it matter so much to you?” Because there’s a strong undercurrent of anger in the air in here. It tastes like betrayal, distrust, disappointment. Almost like … an ex-girlfriend?

No, that’s not quite right. The vibe is different. But then again, my real-world experience with ex-girlfriends is limited to what I’ve seen on
The Vampire Diaries
and old episodes of
One Tree Hill
, so what do I know?

Karen hears my unvoiced thought and laughs. “I didn’t sleep with him. You don’t get to write me off that easily.” She shakes her head. “Crazy ex-girlfriends never get the benefit of the doubt of being right,” she says with a wry twist of her mouth.

“I didn’t say that’s who you were,” I point out.

Karen sighs. “It’s more complicated than that.” She flips her braided pigtails behind her shoulders, where they don’t stay, and steps around her chair to sit down.

“You ever meet someone who’s really got something different, someone who is wildly, unfairly talented, and yet it’s still not enough?” she asks.

I shake my head.

She sighs. “Yeah, well, you have now.”

“I don’t—”

“His first day on
Starlight
was mine, too. He’s from Texas; I’m from Alabama. Red-state refugees, you know? We bonded. We were both terrified and desperate to be there and stay there,” she says with a small reminiscent smile that triggers an ugly burst of jealousy in me. Regardless of the current status of their non-relationship, they were once close, and some part of me envies that.

Karen pauses. “I don’t know how much you know about television production, but it’s a bitch. The hours are grueling, and the pace for a weekly show is brutal. And Chase worked harder than anyone. Even harder than me,” she adds with an arched eyebrow, as if this were some impossible, herculean-type feat.

Who is this girl?

“You don’t really have time for a life outside of work, so you better have one at work.” She shrugs. “Your coworkers become your friends, your on-set family. And most of the time, that works out okay. It did for us, in the beginning. We had fun.” That fond smile returns but with sadness. “I crashed on Chase’s sofa for three weeks when my girlfriend bailed on me and the rent. He’s … he was a good guy.”

“I sense a ‘but,’” I say.

She sits back, hesitant for the first time. “I don’t know how much he’s told you about his family.”

I frown. That’s a twist I wasn’t expecting. “Not much,” I admit cautiously. “I know he has a brother, Aidan. And he grew up on a ranch.”
Thank you, question-and-answer game.

Karen looks surprised. “He told you about that?”

I hate that she already seems to know the few details I have about Chase’s personal life. I bet she knows his real last name for sure, without Googling it. “Yes,” I say.

Karen fusses with her bangs, straightening a few stray strands until they fall in line with the others, all without looking in the mirror. “Look, I don’t know them, never met them, don’t want to, but something there…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. All I can say is that nothing he did was good enough.”

I open my mouth to protest.

“I don’t mean for me or the show; I mean for him. He was always pushing so hard. He was driven, but past the point of ambitious, to the point of self-destruction. He needed something he couldn’t find. Nothing was ever good enough, and that just left this huge … hole in him.”

She lifts her hands, revealing an ornate and beautiful diamond pattern on the insides of her arms. Her skin looks almost like jeweled fish scales, as if she’s secretly a mermaid underneath. “I tried to help him, when the drinking and gambling and other stupid stuff started. But Eric was louder than me.” Her mouth curls in distaste, as if just saying the name disgusts her. “You know how that is?”

I nod because I know what she means, though I’m not absolutely sure who Eric is. He’s either the one who played Skye’s overprotective brother or the goody-goody boyfriend. I can’t ask without giving away my earlier lie of being a fan.

“Eric made Chase feel like he needed Eric’s approval,” Karen says. “Eric’s dad is a producer. Rawley Stone. He’s been around forever. You know the big TV show in the mid-2000s about runway models who were also international espionage experts?”

“
SpyWear
?” I vaguely remember it from reruns on the higher cable channels.

She nods. “That’s Eric’s dad. And he’s had a bunch of others. Eric’s never worried about a damn thing a day in his life.” Disdain drips from her words. “I think Chase felt if he had Eric’s stamp, that would be enough. He would belong. And that would fill … whatever it is.” She waves a hand vaguely about her middle as if indicating the general location of the hole she mentioned.

She leans forward, then, her expression intense. “But I can tell you this: Eric Stone has
nothing
on Chase. Eric is coasting, one or two bad movies from being a lifelong has-been, famous for nothing but being Rawley’s kid, but Chase is the real deal.” Her mouth pinches in. “Or he was until he messed it up.”

For the first time, I catch a glimpse of the fear and sadness beneath her hardened exterior. She seems smaller, more vulnerable. Like someone missing a friend.

“He’s lost,” she says, staring down at her hands. “He doesn’t know how to be okay with himself, so he’s always chasing some quick fix or a better way to hide. I’ve seen it happen to other people. I watched it happen to Chase in slow motion over five years.” She looks up fiercely. “I don’t care what he says, how sorry he is, how much better he says he is now. He’s not done fucking up yet, but I’m done trying to help.”

And just like that, the bitterness and anger are back.

“So why are you telling me this if you don’t care anymore?” I ask. I can’t figure out if she’s trying to punish Chase, warn me off, or remind herself why they’re no longer friends.

“I never said I don’t care,” she says, offended and maybe a little hurt. “I just don’t believe him. I can’t. And as for why: you.”

“Me?” My hand flies up to my chest.

“He’s taking advantage of you, whether you see it or not. Maybe just for company or comfort or something bigger—who knows? I don’t want anyone else caught up in the fallout.” She levels a knowing look at me. “You’ve had enough trouble in your life. You don’t need this. Trust me.”

In the momentary gap of our conversation, words filter in from outside.

“… want me to give you another chance, but I don’t have time for this, Chase. If this is the start of more trouble—”

“It’s not. I promise.” Chase’s “I” sounds more like “Ah.” His accent is stronger when he’s upset, I think. “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“You never mean for it to—that’s the problem!”

When I glance out the window again, Chase’s outline seems shrunken, like he’s pulled into himself. My heart contracts hard in sympathy.

Maybe he deserves this treatment because of his past sins, maybe he doesn’t. But he hasn’t done a damn thing wrong in front of me, and I can see him trying, so hard. Why can’t they? How are you ever supposed to start over if people won’t give you a chance?

Suddenly, I’m angry on his behalf and mine. Are we always going to be trapped by our histories? Is Chase forever going to be the guy who had it all but messed it up? Am I always going to be the girl who got taken, the innocent who was tainted? Or, worse, the girl so damaged, so ruined by what happened to her that she can’t have a real life after? Perpetually to be spoken of in solemn whispers.

Screw this.

I stand and head for the door.

Karen shakes her head, her mouth turned down. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she mutters.

“Thanks, I’ve got it covered,” I say and shove open the trailer door and head down the stairs.

The door bangs shut behind me, and I stop.

In front of me, a few feet away, Chase and Max are still arguing. Rather, Max is arguing. Chase is just standing there, shoulders stiff but his head ducked down, as if he wants to fight but knows better. Like a kid being shamed by the principal.

My anger flares immediately.

Chase has his back to me, but Max catches sight of me right away.

His mouth clamps shut, and his face flushes red, his gaze skating wildly from side to side as if he doesn’t know where to look.

And then I know exactly what to do.

As Chase turns to see what’s going on, I move toward him, keeping my pace brisk, businesslike. People like Max don’t know how to handle someone like me; they don’t know how to relate, so they pretend not to see me. But I can use that.

Chase frowns. “What’s going on?” he asks, clearly not sure why I’m out here so suddenly.

I ignore him, focusing on Max, who can barely stand still now. He’s practically vibrating with the need to leave.

“I just wanted to say thank you so much for letting me visit,” I say, forcing a smile. “I can’t wait to tell everyone about what a great experience it’s been and will be over the next couple of days.” I pause, waiting a beat for him to get it.

His forehead wrinkles in confusion.

Come on; you can do it. Put the pieces together. This can be very good or very bad for you.

“Um, yes, I … we…,” Max stutters. “Well, it’s not something we had planned so I’m not sure—”

“
People
magazine has been asking what I’ve been up to,” I continue. “I know they’ll be so happy to hear about my visit to the set and the good work that you’re all doing here.”

Or not. It depends on you.

Max’s gaze jerks toward me involuntarily in surprise, and I meet it without flinching.

Then, I watch as his expression shifts lightning fast from reluctance to naked avarice.

There it is. Now you’re with me.

Max gives me a grudging nod of respect. “Of course,” he says. “We’re pleased to have you here for as long as you want to stay.”

An awkward moment of silence passes among the three of us, before his attention returns to Chase. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says in a slightly less snarly tone.

Then he turns and stalks away.

Chase rubs the back of his neck, ruffling the deliberately mussed look Karen created. “You shouldn’t have to do that,” he says to me, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “You’re already doing more than—”

“He was being a jerk.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And nobody made me do anything.
I
decided.”

“Huh,” I hear a voice say behind me.

Startled, I turn to see Karen standing on the steps of her trailer, her expression one of surprise and faint admiration. “I guess you do.”

It takes me a second to replay our previous conversation to the last thing I said.

I’ve got it covered.

She gives Chase a hard look, then nods at me before disappearing inside.