Blind Reality (33 page)

“Business as always, I have contracts that need to be signed.”

“Okay, give me a minute.” He turns to me. “I’ll be right back. He’s my agent and I want to get everything signed before we leave.” He kisses me quickly, leaving me alone in the doorway. He enters a room just two doors down, tempting me to follow him.

“Hi, you’re Joey, right?”

“I am.” The man in front of me looks to be early forties and very distinguished.

“Jason MacNicholl, Josh’s lawyer.” He grabs my hand, giving me no other alternative but to shake his. A sense of dread has washed over me and I’m finding it hard to smile. Just then the clank of heels catches my attention, turning just in time to see none other than Jules Maxwell enter the room where Josh is.

“Um …”

“I wouldn’t,” Jason says as holds out some papers. “I just need your signature and everything will be taken care.”

“What?” my voice breaks.

“Your annulment, Josh has already signed.”

I look down the hall and back at Jason. Laughter bellows from that room. It’s Josh’s and someone’s I’d recognize anywhere. Bronx was right. And just as if he knew I’d be thinking about him, he appears. His face is sullen, his eyes are sad.

“Need a ride?” Bronx asks.

“Please sign here, Miss Mitchell.”

Mitchell, not Wilson. I was told I’d be Wilson. Bronx takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

“He lied.”

“I’m sorry, Joey.”

I take the pen from Jason and scribble my name, dropping it on the paper when I’m done. I don’t wait for Josh or my parents, but follow Bronx out and into a waiting car. I want to think my friend is whisking me away, but the truth of the matter is, we all end up at the same hotel. I have to find a way to get out of my room with Josh. I don’t want to share with him, but I can’t share with Bronx. Something has to give.

I
thought the last person I’d want to see today would be Matt, but that all changed when Jules walked into the room and jumped into my arms. I had no choice but to catch her. When I could finally get out of her vice grip, Matt had a smug look on his face.

“Surprise!” they both say, much to my dismay. Since when is my agent in cahoots with my ex? Since when do they even speak to each other?

“That’s an understatement,” I tell them in a stern voice. I’m not happy that she’s here. Matt, I can understand, we have contracts to sign, but there’s no reason for Jules to be here.

“Let me sign the papers so I can get back to Joey.”

“Why?” Jules asks in her stupid whiny voice. She juts out her lip and bats her eyelashes. That shit may have worked years ago, but not anymore.

“What do you mean why? She’s my wife.”

Jules bats away my comment as if it doesn’t mean anything. “It was just a game. Your marriage is over. We can just put this silly thing behind us and move on. You’ve got whatever it is out of your system.”

I look at her confusingly. “What are you talking about? My marriage isn’t over nor do I plan on it being that way. This wasn’t some ploy to get attention from you. I came on the show because I wanted to.”

“You were forced to,” she spits out.

“Can we sign the papers so I can get back to Joey?” I say, ignoring Jules.

Matt hands me the contract that will send Joey and I to Alabama once the press tour is over for the next three months. I look it over and everything seems to be the same canned language as my last one. This movie is an adaptation to a New York Times Best Selling novel by some guy who writes about romance. His movies are all chick flicks and guaranteed to have them in droves. I’ll have my shirt off a lot so it’s a good thing I worked out for the past three months.

“Who’s my co-star?” I ask before I sign my contract. When I don’t get an answer from Matt, I turn and look at him.

“Well, Joshie, it’s me!”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I run my fingers through my hand in frustration.

Matt shrugs. He knows that I don’t want to work with Jules, ever. We did it once, and it was the worst experience of my life. She’s a diva and I can’t stand it; that kind of behavior annoys the shit out of me. Jules whined about everything, right down the type of glass her bottled water was served in. Her agent was on set the entire shoot and barked orders about everything. Thing is, as much as I hated filming with her, she wasn’t like this at home. After that movie, I vowed to never work with her again.

“I don’t like this, Matt.” I don’t care if Jules is in the room. She knows I don’t want to work with her.

“Joshie, it’ll be great. We’ll get to reconnect.” Jules runs her hand down the front of my shirt. I grab her wrist and push her away.

“Stop calling me that and we’re not reconnecting on any level, Jules. I’m married and I plan to stay married.” I step away from her and hand Matt my unsigned contract. “Do something about my co-star or I’m not filming. My wife will have a problem with this.” I slap the contact against his chest and walk out.

When I get to the room that’s been assigned to Joey and I, all I find is Jason. He’s sitting there talking on his phone. He holds up his finger, telling me that he’ll be a minute. I start to pace in and out of the room, waiting for Joey to come back. She should be waiting in here with her parents, but there’s no sign of her or them. There’s not even an empty water bottle to show they’ve at least taken advantage of the craft services.

“Josh,” Jason says from behind me. When I turn around he’s smiling and holding up some papers, causing my heart to stop and my throat to swell. I have a pretty decent idea of what’s in his hands. “It’s all taken care of.” He hands me the papers that effectively end my relationship with Joey whether I like it or not.

I don’t want to look at the papers in my hands. I don’t even want to pretend that I know what they mean. I signed these ninety plus days ago, long before I knew Joey.

“If you’re okay with them, I’ll file them tomorrow at the court house.” I want to ask him if they’re still valid since Joey and I had sex and the papers are for an annulment, but I don’t want to divulge that information to him right now.

“I’ll file them. I have to go down there tomorrow anyway,” I tell him. I don’t have a clue where the courthouse is, but that doesn’t matter. I have no intention of filing them. “Do you know where Joey is? I need to talk to her.”

Jason chuckles and I find myself imagining my fist hitting his face repeatedly. There’s nothing funny about this mess. I told Joey we’d try and see where things could go with us after the show was over. I made love to her. I planned to spend many days with her until she grew sick of me. We may have married with blindfolds on, but I knew from the moment I kissed her that she was something special.

“She left with Bronx Taylor.”

I nod, biting my lip to keep the barrage of curse words from coming out of my mouth. Most importantly, it’s keeping me from telling Jason he’s fired. Someone is going to pay for this. I take one last look at Jason and walk away with my annulment or divorce papers—I don’t even know what to call them—in my hand. I have no idea where her parents are staying or what they look like, but I know where I can find her, at least I hope so.

If I have to spend the night begging Joey to give me a chance, I will. She needs to understand it was an unfortunate incident that my lawyer showed up, likely encouraged to be there by Jules and Matt. Even before I came on the show, I didn’t ask him to be at the finale, and for him to show up out of the blue pisses me off. I’m aware he’s under the impression that I wanted an annulment, but not before the press tour and I would’ve never done anything to embarrass Joey either.

This is something Joey should have never experienced.

My name is called from behind, but I ignore whoever it is. Producers, agents, and the media are waiting for interviews. They’re expected of me, but without my wife with me, I have nothing to say. Besides, how do I answer the question of where she is? I can’t and I don’t want to lie.

I push the heavy gray door open and take a deep breath as soon as I step out. Even though we had access to the outside, the walls are no longer closing us in. The normal black Town Cars are lining the studio lot and each car has our names on the door. They want to parade us around while we drive the streets of Hollywood until we’re in front of the hotel. The show’s creators want the publicity, but I find this to be nothing more than a media circus.

A quick glance at the cars tells me Bronx and Rebekah’s is missing. I’m going to tell myself that Rebekah is in the car and they’re giving Joey a ride because that is what nice people do. It doesn’t matter if Bronx and I hate each other; he’s being a nice guy.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson.” The driver moves to open my door.

“Can you tell me where you’re taking me?”

“The Sunset Tower, sir,” he says much to my surprise. The show isn’t sparing any expense. They want us happy with luxurious accommodations before they send us traveling across the country.

“My wife … do you happen to know if she’s there? We got separated.”

“No, sir.”

“Thanks.” I slide in and he shuts the door. In front of me, in the center console is a bottle of champagne chilling in ice with two flutes and a tray of strawberries. It’s the perfect celebratory dessert for a couple who should be starting their honeymoon, or making out in the back of the Town Car with its tinted windows. Except I’m back here by myself with my mind wondering what the fuck just happened. When I left her, I told her I’d be right back. What could Jason have said to her to make her believe that I wanted a divorce? I told her we’d try, and after everything that happened in the house, I’d like to think she’d believe me over some lawyer she just met.

I guess I was wrong
.

The car pulls up to the sidewalk and the flash of lights start immediately. The paparazzi don’t care who is in the car, they’re snapping away so they don’t miss anything. I can’t get out of this car without Joey by my side. The headlines will be scandalous and more fuel for Jules. The last thing I need is for Jules to think she even has a chance.

I push the lever to lower the privacy glass in between the driver and me. He looks at me through the rearview mirror, knowing something is wrong. “Excuse me, but is there a different place you could drop me off?”

“Yes, sir. I could take you to the employee entrance or the loading dock.”

“The loading dock will be perfect, thank you.” The employee entrance is ideal, but a keycard is likely needed, or someone would need to open the door and I’d really like to enter the building with as little fanfare as possible. Although, I do need to stop at the front desk and get a key since my wife has decided to race me to the hotel.

Non-authorized vehicles aren’t allowed in the loading dock area, but this driver doesn’t care. I get the feeling that he’s done this a time or two by the way he’s speeding through the gate. As soon as he stops, I throw the door open, offer him a quick thanks, and get out. He’s gone before I can even shut the door, tearing out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

There’s a man sitting on the dock, smoking. I wave and act as nonchalantly as possible as I climb the steps. I need to make it seem like I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’m also willing to bet I’m not the only actor to come in through this door either. It seems like the perfect way to hide from the media.

“Hope she’s worth it,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“She is.” He doesn’t need to know I’m going to meet my wife just that she’s worth it. She’s worth the heartache and anxiousness I’m feeling right now, too.

The loading dock leads through the kitchen. I wave as I walk by even though I’m met with odd stares. As long as I stay away from the guys with knives I should be okay. When I enter the dining area, the clank of silverware against china is noticeable. There are a few gasps and cell phones are being reached for. I’m on a mission, though, and time is of the essence so stopping and posing for pictures aren’t an option.

I reach the front desk and give the clerk my name. He smiles, presses the keys on his keyboard, and hands me a card with a packet, which I can only assume is the information for the press tour … at least I hope it is because I haven’t got a clue about what’s going on tomorrow. My room number is written on a sticky note to keep my privacy intact.