Not in the Script (38 page)

There's a whole lot of crap for me to process in that last part, and I'm not the only one at a loss for words. Emma's mouth is half-open. “Rachel, can you, um … come with me?” she finally says, sliding off the bench. “Please.”

“Why? Ten-one-hundred?”

“Ten-what?” Devin asks.

Rachel giggles. “That's set talk for using the bathroom.”

She's been spouting off industry terms all day, and I haven't understood half of what she's said—how could Devin? “Darn it, Dev,” I say, pushing my hands down the sides of my jeans. “I forgot my
Movie Star Pocket Dictionary
, or I'd let you borrow it.”

“I doubt even that would help me understand what's going on here,” he replies.

Emma ignores both of our jabs and speaks to Rachel again. “I just need more ketchup, and it looks like you do too.”

“I'm fine, thanks,” Rachel says. So without another word, Emma leaves the table.

I gulp down the rest of my drink. “Dang, I'm out of water. Keep Devin company, will ya, Rachel?” I take off before she can reply.

Devin covers for me as I walk away. “Yeah, tell me more about
Stars in Their Eyes
.”

I find Emma inside The BBQ Shack, looking into a plastic tub of identical ketchup packages as if she isn't sure which one she wants. Besides a woman who's scrubbing a grill with her back to us, we're the only ones in here. When Emma notices me, she looks around, all panicky. “What are you doing?”

I step up to the soda fountain beside her and refill my cup with water. “Devin just asked Rachel about her new show. That will buy us some time.”

“She isn't
always
this obnoxious. She's nervous, so she's saying stupid things.”

“Forget what Rachel said,” I reply, telling myself the same thing.

“You were so right about this,” Emma says. “It was a dumb,
dumb
idea. I don't want to go back out there.”

I set my drink down and turn her toward me so the lady cleaning the grill can't see her. Then I take off my sunglasses as a hint for Emma to do the same, and wait until she catches on. She looks away as soon as her glasses come off, but not fast enough for me to miss how bloodshot her eyes are. She obviously didn't sleep last night either.

“What happened at the premiere?” I ask. “I thought if I danced with Rachel it would take a bit of pressure off you, but—”

“Jake, it wasn't just her.” She swallows. “I can't do this any longer. I'm telling Rachel everything
tonight
, and she'll probably leave. Then … I need to talk to you. So can I meet you in Phoenix sometime tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” I glance around before giving her a quick kiss. “That's a yes.”

We return to the table separately.

Rachel gets a call during our drive back to Sabino Canyon, which she relays to the rest of us one line at a time: Her mom is flying to L.A. in the morning to find them a place to live. She's already put their house up for sale. Rachel has to cancel her spot as an extra on
Coyote Hills
and leave tomorrow, instead of Tuesday, because she has too much to do for
Stars in Their Eyes
.

Emma has to be as happy as I am to hear all this, but it also means that she's cornered into doing what she told me she'd do—tell Rachel about us
tonight
.

Once we enter Emma's community, Rachel starts talking about the “next time” we go out—yeah, right—and Devin and Emma say their good-byes when he parks in front of her town house. He keeps the car running and walks around it to open the door for Emma. I'm about to do the same, but Rachel stops me. “Stay a minute, will ya?”

When Emma is out, Devin closes the passenger-side door and traps me in the backseat with a stalker. It doesn't help that the last of the sunlight gives the inside of Devin's car a creepy orange glow. I keep my hand on the door handle.

Rachel sighs. “I'll be living in L.A. now. Do you go there a lot?”

“No. Not really.” I don't want to be rude, but this has gotta end.

“Oh … okay,” she says. “Then I'll have to come
here
more often.”

This girl couldn't catch a clue with flypaper.

I finally know what to say. “Rachel, I'm sorry if today wasn't as fun as you'd hoped it would be. It's just that … well, I've fallen pretty hard for someone else.”

Her eyes widen. “Um … all right. I asked Emma if you had a girlfriend, and she said you didn't. Or I wouldn't have … I mean … she should've told me. That's all.”

“Don't blame Emma, okay?” I ask. “She wanted this weekend to be perfect for you. It's not her fault that I ruined her plans.”

A sharp breath later, Rachel says, “I feel so stupid.”

“No, please don't,” I reply. “I just hope you realize that I'm not the same guy you've seen in all the ads—those smiles, the stupid smirks—they're all fake. I never even liked modeling, and I won't be acting long either. I'm in school now so I can move over to the business world. But Emma says you're a great actress, so I'm sure you'll do amazing in Hollywood. Good luck.”

Rachel takes in another shaky breath, nods at me, and exits the car. I would have followed her out, but what would be the point? I've already said good-bye.

Rachel storms past me on my front porch, and as much as I hope Jake hasn't let something slip, I also wonder if it might be better that way. She's done this type of thing before—torn me down to make herself look better—but she was especially ruthless today.

It's been almost impossible to function since last night, and Rachel isn't even the biggest reason. I didn't sleep, trying to figure out what happened with Brett and what to do about it.

As soon as Rachel is inside my town house, she runs up the stairs. Then I sprint back to Devin's car, and Jake tells me what he said to her. He had set up a good base for the truth, so I hope I'm ready to build on it. Rachel is about to learn a lot more than she wants to know about Jake's
girlfriend
.

Once I'm in my living room, I can hear Rachel crying upstairs. I tiptoe up to my bedroom and change into pajamas—I'll be sleeping on the sofa like I did the night before—then sit by the bathroom
door for at least thirty minutes. She finally comes out with a roll of toilet paper, wiping her face. “You're out of tissues.”

“Oh … kay,” I reply. “Sorry.”

Rachel leans against the wall opposite me and slides down it until she's sitting. “While you're apologizing, go ahead and explain why you made me look like an idiot today,” she says. My jaw drops, and she rolls her eyes. “Let's skip right over the
bombshell
Jake just dropped on me, and start with the easy stuff: Did you know that Jake quit modeling and that he doesn't even want to act much longer? He likes business, Emma.
Business
. Those little details would've been really great for you to tell me.”

I force myself to remain calm. “I told you to ask about his classes, remember?”

Rachel slams the toilet paper on the floor. “Only in a casual comment sort of way! You also told me to talk to him about the film industry, and
hello!
Jake doesn't know an Oscar winner from Oscar the Grouch.”

Does she really think I wanted to sabotage her? “Rachel, I only said you should ask about his favorite movies, not
quiz
him on award shows from decades ago.” I'll take the blame for keeping the truth from her, but I'm not responsible for her acting like a know-it-all. “Even I couldn't have guessed that stuff.”

“You shouldn't have to guess!” she says, jumping up and heading for my bedroom. “If you were as serious as you should be about acting, you'd study this industry as much as I do.”

Apparently the seven movies and two TV shows I've starred in don't count.

I scramble to my feet and follow her. “Memorizing film facts and reading tabloids is a far cry from
studying
the industry,” I say,
done with playing nice. “And nothing you've ever been taught in acting classes can prepare you for—”

“What? Hard work?” Rachel heaves her hot-pink suitcase onto my bed. “Try mopping floors at Papa's Pizzeria sometime, for minimum wage! It probably takes me a full year to earn what you're paid for a single day of sitting in your cast chair and sipping bottled water!”

I grab Rachel's other suitcase and throw open the top; the faster she packs, the better. “Oh yeah,” I say. “ 'Cause it's always that easy! You know those mindless things I say and do when I'm … um, what did you call it?
Acting
? Well, that stuff just magically pops into my head. I mean, with all the water sipping I have to do, how could I have time to study a script?”

Rachel tugs her clothes off hangers. “You think that justifies all the money and attention you get? Today was supposed to be my big chance with Jake, and
you
did all the talking! But you can't help but steal the spotlight, can you? Famous Emma Taylor always has to prove how cute and clever she is.”

Every insult I've ever held back races to the tip of my tongue. “You have a very warped sense of reality,” I shoot back. “The guys were bored to tears with talk of
Casablanca
and whatever film won whatever award in nineteen-whatever. The only thing I tried to do was save your butt!” I could've gone on. John Wayne and Clint Eastwood both starred in films made at Old Tucson Studios, but Rachel thought Jake would rather have his ear talked off about
Ingrid Bergman
? Seriously?

“You didn't save me! You totally ruined my setup for the next topic.” Her face is so close to mine that I can feel heat leaping off it. “The Best Picture winner for 1972 was
The Godfather
. What guy wouldn't want to talk about that, huh?”

“Well …” I'm speechless—my mouth moving, my mind spinning, but no sound coming out. Had I really cut into her trivia game too soon? Am I really an attention hog? My heart pumps boiling blood through my veins as I try to recall the entire conversation at the picnic table. No … the only thing I'd wanted today was for time to pass as quickly as possible.

If I were selfish, I would have canceled the whole thing and taken the time I needed to tell Jake about what happened in the atrium. Our few minutes alone in The BBQ Shack would have been a seriously crappy place to say, “Oh, by the way, Brett kissed me.”

Rachel zips a suitcase, bringing me back to the present. “I wasn't just rambling,” she says. “I was trying to connect with Jake, even if it meant talking about the Mafia. But as usual, the whole conversation turned into something about you.”

“
You're
the one who brought up the dinosaur movie marathon,” I reply, “knowing how stupid I'd feel. And you didn't stop at simple teasing either. You had to bring in all that garbage about me liking ‘bad boys.' That was intentionally cruel, Rachel, and it hurt.”

“And you didn't mean to hurt
me
? Holding back all that stuff about Jake?”

“Trust me, whatever I've held back, it's been to
avoid
hurting you,” I say, my voice failing a bit. I fold a shirt, one that I actually bought for her, and attempt to calm down.

Rachel plucks the shirt from my hand. “I don't need your sympathy. I'm done living in your shadow, begging for your crumbs. I'm not just ‘Emma Taylor's friend' anymore, I'm …”

As she goes on, I realize I've been fighting for a friendship that's evolved into something that isn't good for either of us. And it changed long before I met Jake.

“Rachel, I never wanted you in my shadow. I wanted to do this
together
,” I say. She's ranting right over the top of me, but it doesn't matter. I just need to get this out. “If I could duplicate everything I have, I'd hand it to you. In fact, I've tried. I've gotten you into auditions. I've taken you to every premiere and party you could come to. And I've felt so guilty for having yet another thing you wanted, that I almost gave it up.”