Imposter (23 page)

BRIAN KNOWS HOW TO HIT. I
grit my teeth and concentrate on walking normally, just so he won't have the pleasure of knowing how badly he hurt me.

They follow me as I leave, my three dark shadows. Escort me into the elevator and tell me we'll wait for Annaleigh in the lobby.

Brian baits me with comments, but I don't reply. Words are the only things I can still control, so I shut him out and think about how to explain everything to Annaleigh. As my prepared speech takes shape, I'm certain that it'll be the last time we see each other.

The doors open to the lobby. In the elevator's reflective metal interior, I watch the three of them file out. Then I spin around and press the
door close
button.

Ryder's the first to realize what's happening. As he runs toward me, I throw my bag at him and he tumbles backward. Brian's right there too—at least until Gant flashes into view and blindsides him with a tackle.

The doors close, shutting out the chaos.

I get off on the fourth floor. Hobble along the corridor and bang on Annaleigh's door. “Who is it?” she calls.

“Me.”

She opens the door immediately. Closes and locks it behind me. Applies the security chain for good measure.

“Sabrina,” she says. She glances at the blank TV screen and back to me. Wipes tears from her eyes. “I saw the news. Were you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she . . . okay?”

“I don't know.”

She pulls me into a tight hug that makes me gasp. I bury my face in her hair and savor her familiar scent. I just want a few more seconds—time to breathe in her perfection before I lose her forever.

“I should've done more,” she says. “Reached out to her. If only I'd known what she was going through . . . but she was a star, you know? Who am I?”

I shake my head. “This is my fault. I knew things were messed up, and I'm the reason it's all out there now.”

She leans back and places her palms flat against my cheeks. “No, Seth. You didn't make her an addict, and you didn't get her pregnant.”

I open my mouth, but it's dry. I need to hurry, say what I have to say before Brian bursts through the door and takes matters out of my hands. Gant won't be able to hold him back forever. But I don't want this to end. Why does everything good have to end?

“That's not the point,” I say. “The drug story got out because
I
was being recorded.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean, recorded?”

“My conversations. Every freakin' word.”

“Not the ones with me, though.”

I take a deep breath and nod. She steps back suddenly.

“Look, Annaleigh, I never meant to hurt anyone—”

“Sabrina's in intensive care. She might
die
.” She stares at me with wide, wild eyes. “You're even worse than my father. You're a monster!”

“Please, just listen—”

“Get the hell away from me. Go. You're toxic.”

She's right. I
am
toxic. But something about that word keeps me rooted to the spot. Tracie said I was toxic too. I almost expect to find her in here now, watching with Brian and Ryder.

I take in the familiar objects around the room. But that's not all I see. There are smaller objects hiding in plain sight too—a tiny camera peeking around the TV, another tilted upward from behind the sofa, and a third angled toward me from the darkened bathroom doorway.

“Get out,” screams Annaleigh. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

She bends over, hands on her knees like a runner after a long workout.

“Why are there cameras in here, Annaleigh?”

Slowly, she straightens. I expect to see a look of fury or desolation, but as she blinks away tears, she begins to laugh. “Geez, Seth. You can't do anything right, can you? The way you keep ruining these final scenes, it's like you've got a crush on me or something.”

I hear the words, but I don't believe them. They're not Annaleigh's words. Can't be.

“Oh, what? You're going to pretend to be surprised? Well,
don't bother. Brian stopped by an hour ago—told me you were in on the plan the whole time, same as me.” She mistakes my shock for embarrassment. “Yeah, I was speechless too. I've spent two weeks worrying the truth would slip out. That I'd say one stupid word and everything would come crashing down. You have no idea how hard it's been for me to watch shit happening to you. And all along, you
knew
.”

I shake my head. “No, I didn't. You didn't, either.”

“What, you think you're the only one who can act? I was there when my mom signed the contract. It was me who told Brian to expose my dad in the newspaper.”

“But you were . . .”
Distraught. Inconsolable.
But of course she was, because that's what the part required.

What did Sabrina say?
Timing's a little off, but the instincts are good
. I blasted her for that.

I grip my hair. “No. This isn't happening.”

“Why did you have to take things so far with Sabrina, huh? Why couldn't you just leave her alone?”

“I never meant for that stuff about her to get out. That's why I took your old cell phone when I went to see her last night.”

“You knew you were being recorded all the time. You just said so yourself!” She huffs. “Look, I warned you not to leave the party. That was the climax of the whole movie—all those extras, and camera setups. My mom on standby outside, ready to kill our dreams as the clock strikes midnight. But I let you go because I was worried about Sabrina. I
cared,
which is a hell of a lot more than you can say.”

“I didn't know—”

“Just stop it, okay?” She jams her palms against my chest, fresh hits on top of still-forming bruises. “I fell for you. I slept with you. I
fought
for you. Ryder and Brian wanted you to be the bad guy, but I said no. I really figured that once filming was over, I could put everything behind me. I thought we could make things work, you and me.”

“So did I.”

“Then why did you run off and sleep with Sabrina?”

“I didn't sleep with her.”

“That's exactly what you did.”

“I'm the innocent one here, not you!”

“The hell you are. I've lived a lie, sure. But the things you've done . . .” She looks up at me with icy blue eyes. “You make me sick.”

I take a step back and lean against the wall. The cameras follow me remotely. I feel tired and angry, but more than anything, I feel empty.

“They're filming all of this, aren't they?” I ask.

“Of course they are. Ryder said the footage from the fitness center this morning wasn't good enough. I was pissed when he told me that, but now I'm glad. Once everyone hears you come clean, they'll know why I have to leave.”

Annaleigh grabs the handle of her case and heads for the door.

“You're wrong about me,” I say. “You are so wrong, and one day, you're going to know it.”

She lifts her case and clatters it against the floor. For a moment I think she's going to yell at me again, but she just shakes her head. “You're a decent actor, Seth, but take it from me—this is not your most convincing performance.”

As she opens the door, I expect to find Brian and Ryder outside, eavesdropping. But of course they're not there. They set this up too: telling me not to confide in Annaleigh; telling Annaleigh I was in the dark, then shifting course. They knew this meeting had to happen, and that by the end of it, their story would reach its conclusion in real life, as it has in the movie.

We're star-crossed lovers, after all. Didn't they make that clear the very first time we met?

GANT IS WAITING FOR ME IN
the lobby. He leads me out of the hotel and toward a taxi. Fights off the paparazzi when they swoop in for one last money shot, like he's my personal bodyguard.

He gives the taxi driver our home address. No bluffing, no trickery—just the address in Van Nuys. The driver makes a halfhearted attempt at small talk, but Gant's short answers discourage him. We tumble into silence.

I follow the taxi's turns. West on Wilshire. A shortcut through the Los Angeles Country Club, and past Westwood. Join the 405 North and pass the Getty Museum tucked high up on a hill to the left. We're surrounded by hills here, and I could almost believe we're in the middle of a vast natural park. But each hill is hiding something—a neighborhood, a reservoir, a secret—and I can't see beyond any of them.

Appear to show everything, but always control the view.

We emerge to the flatness of the Valley. Streets in grids, houses in rows, and nowhere to hide. I welcome it, and I loathe it. But above all, I need it.

Dad sees us pull up and comes out to meet us. There are a
couple news trucks outside our house, but not as many as there will be. I need to apologize to my father, but not with TV cameras capturing the whole scene. Some things should remain private.

Dad pays the driver and retrieves my bag. A reporter from the local cable news station barks questions, but the words are just white noise. As I walk inside, legs leaden, mind numb, my father speaks for me.

I take a seat at the kitchen table. It's odd to be back in the Valley, scene of my triumphant turn as Romeo. I'm center stage again now too, and like Romeo staring at his lifeless Juliet, I see only what I've lost. No wonder Romeo drank the poison.

Gant pours two glasses of orange juice and hands me an energy bar.

“We need to eat,” he says.

He takes the seat across from me. I nibble the bar, but it doesn't sit right.

“I was sure Brian was going to beat the crap out of me,” Gant says. “But the moment the elevator doors closed, they all started smiling. They didn't even go after you.” He takes a bite of his bar and chews it. “Annaleigh knew, didn't she?”

I nod.

The sound of the door closing startles me. Dad appears in the kitchen. “What is ha . . . happening?” he asks Gant.

For most of an hour, Gant explains everything, while I ride shotgun in his crazy story and think how unrealistic it all sounds. How could anyone be as stupid as this Seth Crane character? Audiences will find it hard to relate to him, I think. No one likes a patsy.

When Gant finishes, Dad steps over to the counter and thumbs through some pages—the waivers, I guess. I think it might be the first time he has ever truly read them. He grips the skin around his mouth and stretches it. As he reaches the final page, he closes his eyes.

“I'm so s-sorry,” he says.

“It's my fault,” I tell him.

“No. I . . . I should've read it.”

“And I should've told you both that something weird was going on.”

Gant ends the discussion by placing Brian's crumpled check on the table. He flattens it out carefully. “Tracie gave me this before they left.”

I shake my head.

“They screwed us over, Seth. Don't let them keep their money too.”

I brush the check onto the floor. I don't want to hear about how it could change our lives. If we profit from this, I'm no better than Brian.

Gant folds his arms on the table and rests his chin on them. Peers up at me with heavy eyes. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to make things right.”

“We need to f-focus on us,” says Dad.

“Dad's right,” says Gant. “We need to keep a low profile until we know exactly what's happening.”

“Hide out, you mean.” I pick at the energy bar. “That's what Brian told me to do—go into hibernation for a few months.”

“What happens in a few months?” asks Gant.

“The movie comes out.”

As soon as I say it, I realize that's ridiculous. There's no way Ryder can get a final cut ready for theatrical release in just a few months. The footage is still raw, the sound even weaker.

I pull out my laptop and check on the movie's status. It's still listed as
in production
.

“W-what is it, son?” Dad asks, peering at the screen.

“Something doesn't add up,” I say. “They need this movie out soon, before everyone forgets about it. But theatrical releases are scheduled months in advance. How else are they going to—”

I look at the screen again. My name is there, along with Annaleigh's and Sabrina's—a close-knit cast of three. Ryder is listed as director, and Curt Barrett as executive producer. Brian's name is conspicuously absent.

I search for
Curt Barrett
and
Machinus Media Enterprises,
and scan the news feed. The first result is a press release from this morning:
Machinus unveils plans for cutting-edge pay-per-view drama.

I only read the first few lines, but it's enough. For the price of a movie ticket, people will be able to download the feature-length release. Details are closely guarded, but it will change the face of moviemaking.

I can guess who the stars will be.

I turn the laptop around. From the look on their faces, I know that Gant and Dad are thinking the same thing as me. It won't matter that the images and audio aren't cinema quality, because no one will be seeing this in theaters. They'll be watching Sabrina and Annaleigh and me on their TVs, tablets, laptops, and phones,
and any shortcomings in the footage will be amply compensated by the drama.

“You n-need to . . . to sleep,” Dad tells us both.

Gant yawns as if in agreement, but I'm wide-awake now. I have a deadline, and a few months is long enough to tell a different story. A
true
story.

“W-what are you d-doing?” asks Dad as I pull the laptop around.

“Writing,” I tell him.

I launch a blank document and give it a title:
Imposter
.

EPILOGUE

I WRITE BY DAY, WHEN LIGHT
filters through the blinds, energizing the reporters keeping vigil outside our house. And I write at night, when they retreat to their vans and cars, running their engines to keep the heaters going. I imagine them hunkered inside, muttering angrily about the boy who was welcomed into Hollywood's teen elite, and went into seclusion when he was caught selling secrets to the enemy. They probably think that I'm the most despicable traitor, even as they continue to milk the Sabrina revelations for all they're worth.

I can't control what they think. All I can control are the words on each page.

Dad brings me food. Gant reads everything I write, and corrects the errors. I don't sleep much, because I'm afraid of what I'll see. Awake, I can shut out the image of Sabrina seizing and Annaleigh changing before my eyes, and focus only on telling my story honestly. Ryder may bend the truth, but not me. If I lie, Sabrina will see right through it.

I start at the beginning, from the time Ryder discovered me after the performance of
Romeo and Juliet,
through my “audition,” to the first time I met Sabrina. It's amazing how much I feel
like a character, writing a book about myself. Or maybe not so amazing. That was Ryder's intention, after all—to play God with our lives and reduce us to pawns on a cinematic chessboard.

But we were never characters. Sabrina and I were people, real people, and our stories were never his to tell. So I plow on. Word after word, page after page, until hundreds of pieces of paper lie scattered across my desk, all with Gant's pencil markings. I write about dreams and madness, rising stars and a beautiful sunset. I write in first person, present tense so that Sabrina will understand that I never saw any of this coming.

Will she believe I could be so blind? Will she ever read this book at all?

Sometimes I overhear the TV. Gant keeps the volume low, but I catch snippets of conversation, chat show hosts hashing out more revelations, all strategically leaked by Brian to keep us front and center while Ryder edits his movie. With each new piece of footage Annaleigh appears increasingly innocent and the case against me builds.

Seth Crane, the social climber. The sociopath. The undisputed antagonist of
Whirlwind
.

One day I hear Ryder being interviewed. I join Dad and Gant in the living room and watch Ryder talking up his precious movie.

The interviewer asks, “Why would Seth Crane do these things, knowing that he's being filmed?”

It's the all-important question. Ryder shuffles in the black leather seat. “When I look at the footage,” he begins, “I see a confused boy. It might be partly my fault. I wanted to make a movie that would generate headlines, but I never figured on how far he'd
take that idea. Seth didn't just cross the boundary between reality and fiction, he acted like it didn't exist at all. Sabrina Layton confided in him, and he shared her secrets like it was nothing. Annaleigh Ware fell for him hard, and he betrayed her too.”

Ryder throws up his hands as if he's out of answers. “Maybe I'm giving him too much credit. Even though Seth won a coveted role, it was obvious he never felt comfortable in the spotlight. I think he took his insecurity out on the people around him. You know, some kids are just bad seeds.”

Dad and Gant look at me. They're worried, but they shouldn't be. This changes nothing.

After a few quiet seconds, Dad puts on another pot of coffee, and Gant continues to read over the latest page, and I keep writing.

The ending is hardest: Standing in Annaleigh's room, watching her change from girlfriend to stranger in the blink of an eye. Then sitting with Gant and Dad in our kitchen and drawing strength for one last fight.

And writing, writing, writing. Writing for Sabrina's forgiveness. Writing so that she'll know I'm not the bad guy.

Maybe it's my penance, to relive every moment in a desperate attempt to set the record straight. Well, so be it. I believe in the power of words.

What are actors without lines?

February 6. Dad prints out several hundred pages and tells me to sleep. He squeezes my shoulder and we hug, and I break down in tears, just realizing that he and Gant don't hate me, even though I hate myself.

I give Dad Kris Ellis's phone number. He calls and introduces himself, says they need to meet. He stammers, but his tone is defiant. He doesn't apologize for anything I've done. He doesn't sound like a victim. He sounds like Gant. A fighter.

They leave me. I hear the car engine rumble to life, the stop-and-start squeak of tires. I don't think they're afraid of what Kris will say or do.

Fighters can't be afraid of conflict.

February 10. Dad pulls up before austere wrought iron gates. A guard asks for his driver's license, verifies our names with someone on the other end of a walkie-talkie, and opens the gates.

There are no paparazzi to witness this. They've grown bored and moved on to more newsworthy subjects, I guess.

We follow the snaking driveway to an ivy-covered building. The bright white doors are flanked by bright white columns. They promise orderliness and a clean start.

A nurse is waiting for me, although I'm not sure they call them nurses here. I hug Dad and thank him, and he hugs me right back—tight, like we're unbreakable.

I follow the woman along the carpeted hallway, straight through the building to a large conservatory on the other side. Tropical plants spread tendrils over every surface. The air brims with lavender and lilac.

There's only one person in here. She's sitting on a cream sofa, hands folded neatly in her lap. Gray cardigan over a white T-shirt. Worn jeans with holes in each knee. She doesn't look sexy or sultry or even alluring. She looks like . . .

A girl.

Sabrina pats the seat beside her. I'm nervous as hell, just like the first night I saw her. But I join her now as I joined her then, and she rewards me with a large stack of paper.

My book.

There's a Post-it note on top with three handwritten words:
I forgive you.

I swore to myself that I'd be strong, but I'm struggling to hold it together. Sabrina wraps her arm around me and rests my head against hers. Her fingernails are unpolished. Her hair hangs loose about her. She smells of cigarette smoke, but not as much as I remember.

“I didn't think Kris would give it to you,” I say.

“I guess he hates Brian and Ryder even more than he hates you.” She swallows. “He never knew I was pregnant. I still don't know how he feels about it. He says we'll talk when I'm feeling ready. But he told me to read this now. He wants to make them pay, Seth.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want you to publish this.”

I sit up straight. “Why would I do that?”

She sighs. “I don't think you wrote several hundred pages just so I'd understand what really happened. You wrote it so that
everyone
could understand. Maybe so that you could make sense of it yourself. But it's my story too, and you don't want to hurt me any more. Which is why you'll never release it unless I give you permission.” She taps the pages. “I'm giving you permission.”

“But the things I've written . . . you don't come off looking good.”

“Oh, please. There's nothing about me people don't already know. I just want people to know the truth about everything. And everyone.”

“We signed nondisclosure agreements.”

“Yeah, we did. And I almost hope Brian and Ryder try to sue us. Can you imagine how that would play out after the hell we've been through?” She gives a humorless smile. “I'm serious. Look around you. Off-white paint. Soft fabrics. Restful decor. This place is like a movie set for the pearly gates. Which is ironic, because last month the real ones were calling my name, and I'd decided to go.”

“I'm sorry.”

She rolls her eyes, and with that famous gesture, she transforms momentarily into Sabrina Layton, movie star. I don't want to look at her that way anymore, though. Nothing good comes of holding someone to an impossible ideal.

“Listen,” she says. “My agent did a better job of looking after me than my parents, and I fired him because I didn't like what he was saying. Kris tried to warn me that something weird was going on, and I shut him out too. Both of them could've stopped this if I'd let them. Instead, I convinced myself that everything was fine.” She bites back tears. “Maybe you were blind, Seth, but we were blind together. And if you hadn't found me on New Year's Day, I would've died. Alone. That's why this book needs to be read. So that other people will know the truth too.”

I run a finger across the top page.
Imposter
—even now the title rings true. “We'll never get the book out in time,” I say.

“Yeah, we will. I spoke to my reporter friend. If we give her the go-ahead, she'll have it out in e-book within a week.”

“Who'll read it?”

“Are you serious? I've had more than twenty interview requests, just this week. Big money offers too. What if you and me go on together? Tell everyone there's a book that sets the record straight. Thousands of people will read this, Seth. Millions maybe.”

“They'll still watch the movie, though.”

“Will they?” Her question sounds genuine. “After they've read the truth, do you really think people will line Brian and Ryder's pockets? Anyway, I can't imagine many actors working with Machinus ever again—not when they realize how Ryder screwed us over.” She shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe something else happens too. I know this young actor who has some pretty shady contacts. The kind of guys that'll stalk you in a Mazda. Harass you in a park. And sometimes, when he tells them to, they pirate movies and release them free online, just for the hell of it.”

She flashes me a smile. Sabrina, who has been through so much, is
smiling,
as if what lies ahead might just balance what has passed. She has weathered the storm, and now she's ready to take flight.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask her. “Why do you want to help me?”

She pulls a pill bottle from her pocket. The sight of it sends me back to New Year's Day, to a drug overdose and an unresponsive girl in a Kermit nightgown. She uncaps it and taps the contents
onto the page: a rolled-up check. Gant must have picked it up and given it to Kris along with the book.

“This is our story, Seth. It's
real
. Tell me you wouldn't give anything for people to know the truth. About everything, and everyone.”

She hands me her cell phone. There's a number on the screen—the reporter friend, I figure—and I study it for a long time. When I turn to face her again, she looks vulnerable, like she's afraid I'll say no. But there's something else in her eyes too: hope, and a refusal to back down. She wants to start over. Wants us to fight this battle together, as the friends she always thought we should be.

“Let's do this,” Sabrina implores me. “Let's steal their audience. Let's show everyone what really happened.” She lowers her voice. “Let's fucking ruin them.”

She holds my hand as I make the call.