Being Hartley (20 page)

I watch her for only a split second before I switch my attention back to Mara. Which is when I get to see everything magically resolved.

Because, with a smile, a slight shrug and a fleeting "oops" expression that I know is expressly for the benefit of Allie, Rory
, and me, Mara moves her finger ever so slightly and points at tall, gorgeous, platinum-blond Ingrid, who is pounced on immediately by Sonja and brought up onto the stage.

-
22
-

"Tell me I didn't just see that," I say to Asher, instantly forgetting my Noah woes.

"You just saw that. We all saw that. I think, however, they might edit it out before it hits the TV. Along with the expression on Rory's face."

I turn my attention away from Allie, in the audience, to where Rory is standing on the stage.
She looks absolutely furious, her arms clenched by her sides, her face taut. She doesn't even respond when her own name is called for her turn to choose a partner from the audience.

"Rory!
If you'd like to choose your partner?" the emcee calls out for a second time, worried.

It's at this point that Rory responds, her eyes darting over to the emcee.
As she runs forward, I see a look pass between her and Allie, and in the audience, Allie shakes her head slightly. Instantly, I can see what's going to happen.

"Oh, no," I say, quietly, trying to catch Noah's eye.
He looks like he's about to strangle Mara himself.

"What?
What is it?" Asher says, beside me.

I don't answer him, too busy being hit with the realization that this is it. This is what I'm here for.

"Rory," I hiss, but there's way too much noise for me to be heard. I'd have to scream over the crowd to catch her attention. So, instead, I start jumping up and down and waving my arms.

Practically everyone on the stage looks my way.

Except Rory, who is actively ignoring me, busy throwing her career away. When Noah sees me, I know he knows what I'm thinking. He nods quickly, and I know then that he's going to try and help out if he can. "I think this girl is an amazing dancer," Rory says, pointing out into the audience.

She's pointing at Allie.

"Lovely!" the emcee says as an escort pounces on a teenage girl behind Allie. The girl's mom holds up her hands as she speaks to the escort, then gestures at Allie who has moved around in her seat to talk to them. I can see Allie tell them it's okay and that she should let her daughter go up on stage.

"Oh, I saw that.
Every last bit of it." I feel sick. Truly nauseous. And then I stop talking as I remember something. Something from the first show—the teenage girl. Valentina had chosen someone and had her choice vetoed. I'd thought I couldn't see properly, but I could. They'd simply brought up someone else. Probably someone who fit the mold better, because the girl I thought I'd seen had been a pretty big girl, but a great dancer. Instead, they'd brought up someone tall and pretty like Ingrid. Someone who couldn't dance as well, but who cared when they looked good on screen? The "perfect package" as Allie had told me, backstage yesterday.

Sonja isn't interested in how people dance.
She's only interested in eye candy.

As everyone's eyes follow the girl going up onto the stage, my attention remains focused on Allie and Rory, who are having one of those silent conversations that only sisters can have.

"Don't you dare throw everything in over this," Allie's expression says.

"I will if I want to.
It's worth it," Rory frowns, her lips set in a thin line.

"Don't make this about me.
I've told you time and time again I don't want to be asked on stage."

"But Mara…"

Allie makes a cutting motion with one hand and then points a finger. "Mara wants this to happen. Mara wants you to crack."

I realize that Allie's right.
This is
exactly
what Mara wants. Mara's trying to goad Rory into quitting, and she's getting closer to her goal every day. Thinking fast, I jump up and down again now, and finally, Rory glances my way. "Don't do it," I mouth at her. "Don't," I say. I shake my head. Hard.

Rory stares at me for a moment or two, our eyes locking.
"Don't," I mouth the word again, still shaking my head from side to side.

She gulps slightly as Noah appears beside her on stage, touches her arm
, and whispers a few words. Rory pauses, then nods the tiniest nod at me, then at Allie, before turning to her partner, a fake smile lighting up her face.

"Way to go, Rory," I say, "we'll get her later."
It's only then that I realize Asher is still with me. "It's Mara," I glance up at him now. "She wants Rory's place on the show. And it looks like she'll do anything to get it." Then I remember why Asher's here in the first place, because I haven't been kept completely in the loop. "But I guess you already know that."

"Sort of," he seems concerned, his forehead wrinkling.
"I know she's got to try and get through till next year. That they haven't been interested in letting her out of her contract."

On stage, Rory is all smiles and professionalism, working away with her partner.
"Ugh," I say. "I don't know about you, but I can't stay and watch this. It's just plain wrong. Did you want to stay or leave too?" I pull my cell from my pocket as I talk and start texting Allie.

Meet you outside

"Rory'll be busy after this, I guess," Asher says. "I may as well stick with you guys."

I snort.
"Busy torturing Mara," I reply. "Who richly deserves it."

"Let's go see if Allie's okay, then."

I nod as Allie's text comes in.

Meet you by the elevators.

* * *

When we get out to the bank of elevators, Allie is waiting for us.

"Hey, Allie." I run the last few steps to her. "Are you okay? That was…" I can't even find the words.

"Horrible, unforgivable, disgusting, unbelievable…" Asher says.

"All of that," I agree. "And more."

But in front of us, Allie only shrugs.
"Mara's just trying to be provocative. I'm glad Rory let it go."

"But…" I say, not even knowing where to start.
"It's not fair. You can dance a thousand times better than Ingrid. Or that girl behind you. You deserve to be chosen."

Allie laughs at this.
Really laughs. "Don't you get it yet, Thea? It's not about
deserving
anything. It doesn't matter if I can dance a thousand times better. I don't look right. I'm not a real Hartley in Sonja's eyes. This is her gig, and she's decided I'm not right for the show."

I suck my breath in, shocked that Allie isn't getting as overexcited about this as I am.
"You
are
a Hartley. That's your name, isn't it? And so what if you don't look exactly like everyone else?" I stamp one of my feet slightly, knowing I'm acting like a toddler having a tantrum and not caring one bit.

Allie gives me a "calm down" frown.
"You haven't been in LA very long, have you?" she says, bluntly. "That's the way things are, Thea. That's showbiz."

"But…" I start again. However, Allie's too quick for me.

"But, what? There's nothing to argue about. Can't you see it's the same for Mara? Come on, we all know she's a better dancer than Rory. She's the best dancer on that stage today. But is everything fair for her, either? No."

"WHAT?!" I say now, way too loud, making passersby stare at us.
I notice that they double-take when they see Asher, and a couple of them even start to hover, probably hopeful they'll get an autograph. "I can't believe you're sticking up for her after what she just did to you back there," I say, ignoring them, my mouth hanging open inelegantly.

"Um, no," Allie says, gazing at me evenly.
"I'm not sticking up for her. I'm trying to show you it's the same for everyone. It's not just about me."

It's taking my brain a long time to register Allie's words, because they don't compute.
Instead of replying, I look over and up at Asher who's been standing silently by my side all this time.

Like Allie, he simply shrugs.
"There's not much to say, Thea," he tells me. "Allie's right. Don't get me wrong, I think Mara should be thrown off the show for that stunt, but I know what Allie's talking about. You know I used to model before I was an actor, right? I couldn't count the times I've gone into a room and someone's just said something like, 'too tall, too dark, bad teeth, ugly feet' and then hurled me out of the room. The whole showbiz thing can be pretty degrading. But you must know that because of your mom, right?"

I'd been ready to jump up and down again and tell Allie how the world works (or
should
work), but now my mouth clamps shut tight. It's a Them thing again. Mom had let that thing about Uncle Roman slip the other night when she was around Uncle Erik—the thing their mom had said about him not being able to dance, or act (guess he showed her). And the actor at our suite door—that was unavoidable. But the truth is, even though I have a mother who's one of the biggest stars in the business, and even though I pad on after her around the world like some silly lap dog, somehow she manages to keep almost everything from me. Or as much of it as she possibly can.

I've been held at an arm's length from my mom's working life since I was born and only allowed glimpses inside it when she isn't guarding the red velvet curtains well enough and I've managed to peek through.
Every so often I'll get one of those peeks. Like I'll catch Mom talking to Dad about something, or overhear something on the phone when we're in the car, or Deb has to talk to her about a matter right away. And I get that she might not have wanted me to hear a lot of that stuff when I was younger, but I'm fifteen years old now. What is it that she thinks I can't handle? If that actor had turned up at our door when I was on my own, does she really believe I would have invited him in or something? Let him talk me into taking many and varied illegal substances? Of course I wouldn't have! I would have told him my mom wasn't there and maybe to come back later. And now Rory's starting to do the same thing. Why couldn't she tell us about Asher? Why can't she explain what's going on with
SMD
properly? I don't get it. I don't get it at all.

"Thea?" Asher says, perhaps sensing that not everything is cool with me.

"Don't expect me to know anything, Asher," I say with a shake of my head. "I'm not a real Hartley. I'm just some outsider along for this ride because I need to be minded. Like a baby," I say. I step forward and press the "up" button on the elevator panel and one set of doors immediately pings open. "I have to go."

"Thea, wait…" Allie says.

But it's too late. The doors are already closing.

-
23
-

I hang out in the suite for a couple of hours until it starts to get dark, then order some food, watch a bit of TV
, and field texts from Allie and Rory. I don't hear anything from my mom, which makes me strangely angry, because while I don't want to be with anyone right now, it also confirms everything I'm feeling, despite the fact that I know I could call or text her and she'd reply right away, like she always does. I've also got a fair idea where she might be (either cabana-ing like she'd mentioned, or with Deb), but it suits me a whole lot better to think she hasn't told me her exact whereabouts because I might divulge her location to
TMZ
or something.

After I've downed my deli sandwich and watermelon juice
, I lie on the couch for a bit and stare at the ceiling, the TV droning on in the background. I try and come up with new and inventive ways of telling my mom about my little audience participation problem and come up with…nothing. There's no good way to tell her. And what I mean by that is there's no way I can tell her that won't see her go out-of-her-mind crazy at me.

A knock on the door makes me sit bolt upright on the couch.
"Who is it?" I say, hoping it's just housekeeping.

"It's Rory."

I pause for a second before getting up and going over to the door to let her in. She's changed out of her work clothes and is wearing cut-offs and a tank top. "I've got to show you something," she says, coming inside, and I can see she's got her laptop with her. "Come on," she says, beckoning me over to the couch, and eventually I close the door behind us both and follow her silently. She doesn't say anything about this afternoon, and I open my mouth to say something as I make my way to the couch. Then I think twice and close it again. Rory has enough of her own problems right now.

"What is it?" I say, looking over the back of the couch.

"Come and sit down, and I'll show you," Rory says.

So, I do.
I make my way around the couch and sit beside her. "It better be good," I say, still feeling surly about her secret boyfriend.

"Oh, it is," Rory replies.
"I was hanging out in my room for a bit and was trying to think a bit more positively—trying to recapture the old days—and needed to see it again. And I know you've seen it before, but I also know no one loves it more than you." And with that, she passes me the laptop.

It's Noah.
Noah on YouTube doing his famed treadmill dance, and he's up to 1.2 million hits now. I try and keep a straight face as I view it for the umpteenth time (and let's face it, at least half those 1.2 million hits are probably mine), but I can't. Despite my mixed feelings about him right now, I crack the tiniest of smiles when he lands on his backside the first time, suppress a chuckle when he scoots off onto the floor, and hear myself snort when he gets wedged in between his treadmill and the one behind his. But it's the underwear that gets me—when he's pulled out, you can see his yellow underwear through the hole in his tracksuit pants that the still-running treadmill has made out of sheer friction.

"Yeah, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist that," Rory says, grinning at me.

"I don't get it, though. Why are you watching this again?" I ask her, settling back into the couch and crossing my legs. "Where's Asher?"

"At a meeting."

I snort again now, but it's a different kind of snort. "Like Mom, I guess." There's a moment's silence, which I spend picking at a loose thread on the couch, then I remember something. "You didn't answer the rest of my question—what's with the old days?"

Rory doesn't reply for a while
, and when the pause starts to feel awkward, I stop thread-picking and turn to look at her. "Rory!" I gasp. She's crying.

"Sorry," she says, "I'm just such a stupid, stupid mess."
She wipes at her eyes then takes a deep, shuddery breath.

Instantly, my inner toddler disappears.
"Oh, Rory, don't cry." I scoot over closer to her. Now I feel awful that I've been hiding up out here for hours, not doing what I'm supposed to be here for in the first place—keeping Rory sane. "What can I do?" I say quickly.

Rory fans her face with one hand, blinking back her tears.
After a couple of flicks, she stares at her fingers for a second. "Why do people do that? And why does it help?" She smiles a watery smile.

"You know," I tell her, "I could help better if I understood what's really going on.
I just…" I pause, not knowing how to put this. "No one ever gives me the whole story, Rory."

I get another watery smile for this.

"And don't tell me that rhymes," I add, pointing a finger at her. "And don't try and change the subject. That's what I've been sulking about up here. No one ever tells me anything. Not Mom, not you. I don't understand why we have all these secrets. I don't understand why you can't tell me what's going on with the show, or that you're dating Asher Evans. We never had any secrets when we used to jump on the trampoline. Why now?"

Next to me, Rory sags a little.
"I don't know. I guess we, I don't know…grew up."

I sigh.
"Well, that's what Mom says. You're 'transitioning.' Apparently. Ooohhh, scary."

Rory frowns slightly, sizing me up.
"She's right about that. You know, you don't give her enough credit, Thea."

I sit up straight when I hear this.
"
I
don't give
her
enough credit?" I laugh a very fake laugh. I've heard that one before from Uncle Erik, but said to Mom, about me. I guess it goes both ways.

But Rory points a finger at me, cutting in.
"Now don't get started. You know I don't agree with the no school thing, no hip hop thing. But there's no denying your mom has been in this business a long time, Thea."

I sigh.
"Yes, yes, I know. So everyone keeps telling me. What does everyone think? That I haven't noticed? I've been following her around my entire life while she works." But as I talk, I start to feel guilty. How can I ask to be treated like a grown-up when I've done something like go behind my mother's back in order to dance on national television?

Rory takes a deep breath now.
"Look, I can't change things between you and your mom, but I can tell you what's going on with me. Properly. I'm not supposed to, but I will. Because I trust you. And because you've come all this way to help me out and you
are
helping me out. More than you know."

I lean forward in my seat slightly, urging her on, the word "trust" reverberating in my head for some reason.
She trusts me.

"The show.
The changes they've been talking about?"

"Yes?" I say.

Rory shakes her head. "It's not going to be G-rated anymore. It's moving on up to PG to fit in with more of the music videos."

"But that's…huge," I say, my mouth hanging open.
I get what Rory is saying right away.
SMD
has always been a super-clean, family show.

"I know," Rory replies.
"And the bottom line is, I don't want it to change into what they want it to become. It's not what I signed up for. I mean, that's what I always loved about it—that anyone could get into it, from three-year-olds to grandparents. Look at the people we've had in the audience over the past few shows. It's been great. And now…" She exhales loudly. "Ugh, I don't want to sound like a prude, but it's going to turn into some Lycra skin-fest. I mean, here…check this out. This is what my outfit's going to change to." She grabs the laptop again now and spends a moment or two bringing up a file. "Here." She passes it over.

"Oh, my…" I can't even finish the phrase
; my eyes locked on the costume in disbelief. At the moment, the raciest Rory's
SMD
outfits extend to is a kind of racerback white tank and boyleg bike shorts. And this outfit? It's pretty much bikini bottoms and a tiny crop top. "Are you supposed to dance in that?" I stare at her incredulously, then back at the laptop again.

"Hey, Lady Gaga does it in a lot less, right?" she says with a shrug.

"Did you tell them you don't like it?" I ask her.

Rory makes a scrunched-up face
, and my eyes widen. "Uh oh. What did you say?" I ask her.

"I think my inner-Allie came out.
I might have asked when they'd be issuing me a pole to dance around and if I'll be allowed to keep the dollar bills audience members will surely be shoving down my thong."

"Rory!" I laugh.

"I don't care. I'm over it. It's not going to be about the dancing anymore. It's going to be about being pretty and sexy, rubbing up against things like an animal in heat, and flinging your hair around like an idiot."

I nod now.
"Which is why Sonja's all about picking out the Ingrids in the audience."

"You got it.
I think the kids and the moms and dads and grandparents won't be included anymore. And that's not what I'm about. But because I'm contracted, they're going to make me about that. Like your mom's been saying, things have changed for me.
I've
changed. And it's time to move on. I'd like to go to college, like Asher, but the show isn't okay with me taking any time off. Basically, we've reached a stalemate. Now we're just waiting for someone to crack—either them, or me."

I frown as I listen to Rory.
"What I don't get, though, is that they have someone to fill your spot—Mara could take your place. She obviously wants to. And there must be thousands of girls who'd love to take her spot once she has yours."

"But they don't want Mara, they want me.
They want a Hartley."

My cell rings at this point
, and I fish it out of my pocket. "It's Mom," I tell Rory, and she motions for me to answer it. "Hi, Mom," I say, answering the call.

"Are you in the suite?" are her only words.

"Yes," I say.

"Good.
Stay right there, young lady. I'll be up in one minute." And then she hangs up.

My eyes glued to Rory's, I slowly remove my cell from my ear and end the call.
"She 'young lady'd' me," I say.

"She knows," Rory states the obvious.

All I can do is gulp.

* * *

I ask Rory to tell Allie that I'm sorry and that everything's fine, and then Rory is out of the suite in a flash. Even before the door opens again and my mom enters, my heart is beating faster than it ever does in one of Anna's killer workouts.

"Thea?" she calls out
, and I hear the door close behind her.

"In here," I say, from where I'm standing beside the couch.
I cross my arms then realize I'm crossing them and uncross them again. Every organ inside my body goes into panic mode. I don't think I've ever been as scared of my mom as I am right now.

I hear footsteps coming down the entryway
, and then my mom appears. For a moment or two, we stand and stare at each other. She looks like she's trying to collect herself before she takes a few more steps, closer toward me and halts again. Which is when it starts—she begins shaking her head in disbelief. Softly at first and then harder as her eyes watch me, narrowed.

"What on earth did you think you were doing?" she finally says, quite loudly.

I open my mouth, not knowing if she expects an answer here, or if this is a rhetorical question. I guess she doesn't expect an answer, because before I can say anything, she keeps going.

"You're all over the entertainment news.
All over it! The 'other Hartley' they're calling you. What do you think of that? Hmmm?"

I open my mouth again, wondering if I should speak or not.
No, probably best not to. When I don't, my mom shakes her head one last time before starting to pace back and forth in front of me from the dining room to the bar. As she goes, I try and think of a time I've seen her angrier than this and can't come up with anything. This isn't good. I'm off to military school for sure. That's if I make it through this, because my heart's currently beating so fast, it might wear out before we're done here.

"Anything could have happened, Thea.
Anything! I wasn't there, Erik wasn't there, and the
SMD
people aren't there to watch out for you. Have you forgotten how someone tried to snatch Eva Norton's son just last month?"

Eva Norton was an actress Mom worked with last year.
"Come on, Mom, be fair." I have to speak up now. "That was in Colombia, not Las Vegas. And her son is six or something."

Mom stops on the spot now and turns toward me slowly.
"You're asking
me
to be fair? Me! I brought you on this trip on the condition you would do the right thing, Thea. And so far, you have done nothing but go behind my back and actively seek out the attention of the media. We've been away from home for less than three days, and you've managed to star on
TMZ
on TV
twice, in several tabloids,
and
on
Entertainment Tonight
. I should have known. I should have known it would only go downhill after what happened at the airport. I should have turned us right around and gone home."