The Accidental TV Star (10 page)

Garrett returned for me and threaded his arm around my waist. “Even if you’re not my date, you’re still my cook, and my friend. We’ll get you a life vest and continue swim lessons, in the dark, in the Pacific. How’s that sound?”

“Terrifying.” I hooked my arm over his waist. “I’m in.”

***

It took an hour to get out to Santa Monica pier where Sax had docked his boat,
S-Rock.
An American flag hung from the mast, waving in the night air, as if dancing in the lights from the dock.

“We’ve got extra suits down below,” Sax said. “First cabin to the left.”

The brunette whipped off her shirt, showing off a gold bra that cost more than a family-chicken pack at the Fry Hut.

I turned toward the stairway, not waiting to see what the other models wore. Kate and Hannah followed me and we dug through the stash of swimsuits and wetsuits. Most were opal-colored bikinis embroidered with Sax’s band logo: a small, stylized letter treble clef. Kate chose silver and Hannah picked hot pink. I went with opal. The models didn’t join us.

Being down below, the evening took on a movie of the week feel. Like the bad kind, where one of us ended up discussing the instances of the night before with the police in the morning. I dug through another cupboard and emerged with a fluffy white robe. I belted it on over my suit. “I’m going up top.”

“Okay,” Kate said. “Man, smell that lemon cleaner. Ask that hot rocker what they use on the teak.”

“Sure.”

“See you in a sec,” Hannah said, helping Kate braid her hair.

I went down the corridor and climbed up top. The wind whipped around me, forcing me to tighten the belt on my robe. The wooden deck was cold under my bare feet, and I braced against the rocking motion as I headed to the front. My mind flashed through the possibilities of what I’d find: Sax counting his diamonds, rejecting menu items that consisted of caviar and rare truffles, while staring into the cages of endangered animals.

I found him at the very front of the boat. He had one hand on the rail, and his face was turned up to the breeze. He wore an expression of bliss. The look shook away my weird feelings. Sax wasn’t trying to impress us with his yacht. He loved the water.

I moved beside him, held onto the rail with both hands, and looked out through the dark at the lights of distant ships; then I turned around with my elbows on the rail and faced the million lights that marked LA. “You look like you’re in heaven.”

“I dig the speed.”

“Think you’ll do something with racing? Or stick with music?”

Sax ran his hand over the smooth surface of the rail. “Can you imagine?”

“Do both. Don’t give up one dream for another.” I waved my hand. “That’s what my mom did. She’s stuck with kids, bills, and a car that hates to start. She’s too busy surviving to even find out what she wants.”

“Maybe that’s what she loves. Taking care of others.”

“Maybe.” My voice held doubt.

“What about Garrett? You siding with his family? Think he should pick up banking and give up movies?”

“Please. If Garrett was a banker, he’d act on the side. Garrett loves acting. He’s going to be a huge star. He’s so freaking amazing.”

“That’s not what my agent says,” Garrett said from behind us. I saw how Sax hadn’t heard me approach. Between the faint engine noise and whooshing of the waves, I hadn’t heard Garrett. I looked over my shoulder at him. “She’s wrong.” I nodded toward Sax. “Garrett, tell Sax he can have racing and music.”

Before Garrett could lecture him or offer a sea creature story, the others joined us. Max, Hannah, Kate, Cal, and the lingerie-clad brunette model. She’d now attached herself to Cal’s side. I guess which guy didn’t matter as long as she had her hands on one of them. I didn’t ask where the other models were.

The motion of the boat altered as the engines slowed.

“We’re dropping anchor any second,” Sax said. He stared out at the Pacific. “I want in.” He sang a line about a fish and a hook. His pitch was perfect, ridiculously spot on.

“You want in?” Garrett asked and I took my eyes off Sax.

“Nope.”

“Hot tub?”

I nodded.

We stayed out until the sun rose, talking and hanging out. It felt weird not to have to call my mom and ask permission to stay out so late, not to have a curfew, but a great weird.

***

Later that week, I walked up to the entrance of Warehouse 47, dying to tell Garrett my news.

The guard from before, John, sat at the front. “Closed set, kiddo, sorry.”

“Hey, John, I brought you lunch from
Scoop Out
. Garrett too.” I opened the top container and the aroma of tomato sauce and garlic wafted out. “A sampling from the show. Lost Love Lasagna and Corral It Chicken Parm.” I closed the lid and lifted the container from the bag.

John stared at me, his brown eyes completely aware of the bribe and fully willing to take it. He nodded. “Well, I guess you can take Garrett his lunch. That seems reasonable.”

A smile crossed my lips. “Thanks, John.”

Inside, the atmosphere was completely different from the last time I’d been here. The cast and crew of Garrett’s current film filled the space. Most were dressed casually and scurried about doing chores, but Garrett and an actress sat on a crushed red velvet sofa flooded with lights. Both wore 1920s costumes, Garrett a pinstripe suit and the actress a flapper dress.

I moved closer to watch while staying out of the way so no one would kick me out. I put my chin on my hand as I watched so my jaw wouldn’t drop open at the coolness of it all.

The scene took about twenty minutes. Garrett played out a tragic goodbye and then headed for a fake door while the woman put her fist over her mouth and sobbed.

“Cut,” the director said. “Great take, guys. Okay, set up for the street scene.”

Garrett joined me on the sidelines. He touched my cheek. “You’ve been filming.”

We always wore heavier makeup on shooting days because the lights washed out our skin. “Yeah.”

Garrett nodded back to the set. “What’d you think?”

“Wonderful. The layers, the symbolism. Touching her cheek with your hand while you stared at her wedding ring. Ooh.”

“Are you teary, woman?”

“Yeah, I loved it.”

Garrett grinned.

“I brought you lunch.”

“Mmm. Smells like Italian?” At my nod, Garrett took the container. He didn’t leap on it with his usual enthusiasm. Instead, he raised his eyebrows. “And?”

I lifted my new blue T-shirt from my purse. “Final four.” I squealed the last word, unable to help it.

Garrett hooked his arm around my waist and swung me in a circle. “Brilliant.”

“Thanks!” I’d already sworn Garrett to secrecy because I wasn’t supposed to discuss the shows until they aired. In exchange, he’d let me read his script and I helped him run lines. I followed him over to a break area, scooped some food out of the containers and zapped it in the microwave while Garrett snagged drinks and utensils for us and set them on a square card table.

I scooped the food onto paper plates and carried it over, taking the folding chair beside him.

He handed me a fork and a bottled water. “Go on.”

Cast and crew filtered around us so I kept my voice low. “Kate had me. She had this amazing pasta e fagiole simmering. I tasted it.” I held out my hands. “So good. And Sara was really late this time. Kate’s soup got better and better and my lasagna got soggier and soggier. I was so out.” I pointed to the dish. “You’ll see when you taste it.”

“Then what happened?”

“There are these round, metal utensil holders suspended above our stations for spoons, spatulas, that kind of thing. But since we cook most of the dish at home, we don’t use much of the stuff on set.”

Garrett leaned in. “Go on.”

“This big ass spider had spun a web through Kate’s utensils. When she saw him, she shrieked and doused him with one of her cleaner sprays. I mean jetting constant streams of blue liquid. Like Dolores on one of her tears.”

Garrett laughed and scrunched his face, seeing where this was going. “Ooh.”

“Yeah. Half the bottle went in her soup.” I shook my head. “Sara got there mid-spray and went around with her tasting spoon. She still tried the soup, I’ll give her that.”

“What’d she say?”

I winced on Kate’s behalf and lowered my voice to barely a whisper so no one would overhear. “You can clean in one of my kitchens anytime.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Garrett forked some of the lasagna. He closed his eyes and chewed. After he swallowed, he said, “Excellent.”

“But better last night.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Unbeatable last night.”

“Will made calzone. When we got word Sara had arrived, he threw it together and popped it in the oven.”

I pointed to the calzone on his plate. Garrett cut a piece and tried it. He nodded. “This is good. Really good.”

“Yeah. Cal’s parm was more creative, but Will’s clever. He’s the one to beat.”

“What were the contestant comments on the dishes?”

Garrett knew how it all worked. “I called Kate’s a shattered masterpiece. Will said, ‘No one else even belonged here.’ Cal just kept winding Kate up. He named spiders: ‘Brown Recluse, Tarantula,’” I continued, imitating Cal’s Louisiana accent, “‘Is that an eye? The legs make for better cooking.’”

Garrett grinned, showing off his nice jaw line and high cheekbones. His expression held until his agent walked up. I’d met her once before. The plump, energetic woman always gave the impression she had places to be.

His agent took a chair and nodded at me. She crossed her manicured hands on the table, before she addressed Garrett. “You gotta try and make up with this Karla Quintos woman.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes. “
Tween In.
No one believes that trash.”

His mom had called yesterday because her neighbor believed the trash Karla was spewing: Garrett never showed for filming and was two steps from fleeing the country. Karla had also implied he’d stolen Max’s girlfriend. Me, she’d portrayed as a drooling, lovesick wallflower—with photo-shopped video. The drool had run down my face as her credits rolled last night.

“Obviously, I’m not in Europe, I’m here on set,” Garrett’s tone held patience.

“Why are you going to war over this?”

“I’m not going to war. I’m not engaging.” He put down his utensils.

“Well, that tactic’s making things worse. I’ll set up an interview with Karla to smooth things out.”

“No.”

“You said you’d do interviews.” She puffed out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Absolutely, with anyone but Karla.”

The agent lifted her oversized purse from the floor and took out a headband. She shoved it into her hair while rising. “Look, Garrett. You’re still on an upward trajectory. You need all the press you can get. Good press. Not no-show, skirt-wearing, rumor-mongering press that’s about to bump you off the radar.”

Garrett stared at her a moment, and then said, “It’s a kilt, not a skirt.”

I bit my lip, dying to laugh.

“I can arrange a date with another star. There’s a premiere this weekend you can go to. You can wear pants.” She waved a dismissive hand at me. “No offense, but being seen around town with a reality star drags you in the wrong direction.”

“I have plans this weekend,” Garrett said.

His agent sighed. “Does it involve you wearing a kilt?”

“Aye.”

“Garrett, if you won’t take my advice, I’m not sure how this is going to work out.” Her phone beeped and she glanced down at the screen. “I can’t do this now. I have other clients too. I can only spend so much time helping you.” She dialed something on her screen, and walked off with her phone to her ear. “I’m at the studio.”

I felt oddly pleased. “Did she just call me a reality star?”

“She meant it as an insult.”

I grinned. “I know.”

Max joined us next. Wearing a v-neck T-shirt and black pants, he looked the part of karate action hero. A large manila envelope labeled
Property of the Art Department
swung from his hand. He thumped the edge of the thick envelope against the table.

I took a drink of my water. “
Scoop Out’s
PA, Hannah, couriers envelopes like that all the time. Do you work with the Art Department too?”

Max snorted and drummed his fingers on top of the table. “Art Department.” His tone held disgust.

I waited for him to elaborate and got nothing.

“Art morphs life into cartoons, it creates vivid alternate universes. Art is a time capsule as it encapsulates a moment in history, sealing it forever on a canvas. Art…” Garrett could have gone on much longer, but Max interrupted him.

Max kicked out his legs, made himself comfortable, and said, “Hannah.”

How were these two guys friends? And what did
Hannah
mean? Was it
Scoop Out’s
PA, Hannah or another Hannah? Max didn’t clarify. I got up and zapped a plate for him. Maybe a meal would open him up. Garrett looked hopeful as I carried it over, right up until the point I placed the Italian food and a bottle of water in front of the action star. Max looked at the offering with suspicion and then checked out what Garrett and I were having.

“
Scoop Out
delivery,” I said.

As if a decision was made, Max dug in. When he finished the lasagna, he drained his bottled water and stared at me, his brown eyes piercing, intent, holding an unspoken offer. He was kind of hot. Intense.

Garrett flattened his hand on the table. “She’s my chef. She’s not cooking for you.”

“We’ll see,” Max said. He gathered his trash and dumped it. Then he pulled a script from the art department envelope and dropped it on the table in front of Garrett. “Think about it.” He thumped the coversheet and strode off.

“He’s a bit primitive eh? Like a wild animal brought in for filming. We’ve contemplated cages, but the Human Resources Department felt that would skate the edge of what’s legal.”

“Did you see how Max carried his own dishes? I’ve never seen a man do that.” I fanned myself. “I think I just witnessed a step in evolution.”