Behind the Scenes Page 3

“AlGal, one of the biggest things keeping me going right now is the thought of getting to see you fulfill your Columbia dream,” he said, his voice low. His words came out thick, and I wondered if he felt the same thing in his throat that I did. “Promise me you won’t give up.”

  I remained silent. What was I supposed to say? Yeah, Dad, I know you’re dealing with a literal life-or-death situation right now, but could you please expend whatever energy you have left on being concerned about paying for my ridiculously overpriced education?

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I managed, unable to deny him that, and as I forced the words out of my mouth, the tears started to fall.

  As my father hugged me close, I realized that his face was wet too.

  * * * * *

  After a couple of minutes, I cleaned myself up and went upstairs to apologize to Vanessa for biting her head off when she’d been trying to be nice. Before I could even say a word, she immediately said, “Ally, I could lend you—”

  “No,” I said abruptly. I should’ve guessed she would offer. Like I said, she was my best friend for a reason. “I mean, thank you, and I love you for offering, but I have no idea how I would ever pay you back, and money just makes friendships messy. So thank you, but no. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Well, how about getting a job? I bet if we spoke to Ramon—”

  “Waitressing at the Lunchbox wouldn’t make me even a fraction of the money I need.” I collapsed next to her on the bed and curled into the fetal position in an effort to soothe the leaden feeling in my stomach. “It’d barely cover my textbooks.”

  “Maybe you could get your old babysitting job back from the Andersons, too?”

  I laughed bitterly. “Ah, yes, because that will bring me up to 50K.”

  “Well, nothing’s gonna bring you up to 50K,” Vanessa reasoned, “but at least it would make a dent, and then you can get loans for the rest.”

  “Even if I got loans to cover actual tuition, just a dorm, books, and meal plan would be more than I could afford on a waitressing-and-babysitting salary. Thanks for the help, Van, but my brain is fried and I just need to chill in front of a mindless movie or something. Is it all right if we pick up where we left off tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” she said softly, getting up. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Or, at least, I will be tomorrow.”

  “Call me later.” She gave me a quick squeeze around the shoulders and let herself out.

  I waited until I heard the front door close behind her and then turned on my little TV and checked the movie channels. Go figure—the aforementioned Stupid Liam Holloway Movie, aka The Rules of Ethan, was coming on in five minutes. I sighed. It may have been terrible, but it was exactly the kind of terrible I needed.

  Besides, his eyes were really, really pretty.

  * * * * *

  The movie was a good distraction, but nothing was going to help me sleep that night, not even my usual cure-all of the Beatles’ White Album on repeat. Worrying about my dad, paying for Columbia, and money in general rendered the odds of falling into a blissful slumber somewhere between slim and a snowball’s chance in the Valley. I needed something to take my mind off of things, but when I tried to shift mental topics, all I came up with were my scholarship applications, a paper I had due for my history class next week, and the fact that I had zero article ideas to pitch at this week’s meeting of the Hayden High Herald.

  I flipped over for the millionth time, grateful that at least I had soft sheets, when suddenly I heard my phone beep with a text. I slipped out of bed and checked my messages. It was from Vanessa.

  They just asked me 2 come in 4 a fitting tom. Can u come??

  I smiled. Yes, it was an obvious distraction tactic, but hardly an unusual request from her. She was forever asking my opinion on clothing, despite the fact that I had zero fashion sense. She always said she didn’t trust anyone else—which was true in many areas of life—but you’d think she’d at least be confident about a professional on-set stylist. Especially since said stylist wasn’t going to give a damn about my opinions anyway.

  Still, I agreed to go, just to have something else to focus on for a morning. I wondered if the stylist had had to come up with a whole new wardrobe to accommodate the fact that their new lead didn’t remotely embody the original look they’d had in mind. It was still hard to believe just how much things had gone Van’s way, especially considering how often they hadn’t in the past. Sure, she’d done okay for herself, getting secondary roles in some decent projects, but for every time she crowed about a successful audition, there were a hundred other times I’d had to say, “Whatever, they suck. You’ll kick ass next time.” It was brutal, watching her go through that day after day, but nothing compared to the times she’d come back crying because the critiques had effectively amounted to, “We’re looking for someone more…Caucasian.”

  It amazed me every time she picked herself up and did it again; Lord knew there was no way in hell I could have. But Van loved Hollywood, loved acting, loved all of it. So I just had to go ahead and hate it all enough for the both of us.

  This time, though, things actually had the potential to be different. I’d seen her act plenty of times, but I’d never seen her be the star, the one in control. Her new costar, Zoe Knight, was a notorious on-set diva, but Van was by no means a Hollywood princess; she was way more sensitive than she let on. I just hoped she’d enjoy this new role as much as she expected to.

  I texted her back, saying I’d be happy to come, and groaned out loud when she responded that she needed to be at the studio at 9:00 a.m. She did sweeten the deal by saying she’d pick me up—she has an awesome BMW convertible that she bought with her first high-five-figure paycheck—so I reluctantly agreed to wake up at what I considered to be the crack of dawn for a weekend, set an alarm, and went back to bed.

  * * * * *

  I managed to fall asleep after only an hour or so of tossing and turning, but I still looked like complete crap by the time Van showed up. Neither a long, hot shower nor concealer could fully hide the fact that I’d spent much of the previous day crying and stressing. However, the fragrant vanilla latte in the passenger cup holder looked as if it could go a long way toward fixing that.

  Van grinned. “Yes, dear, that’s for you.”

  “Vanny, you are my BFFFFFF.” I emphasized each F as I picked up the cup and inhaled the sweet vanilla scent.

  “You’re so easy,” she teased. “Besides, I had a feeling you weren’t going to get much sleep last night.”

  “You felt right.” I waited until she pulled up to a red light before taking my first delicious sip. “And yet you still asked me to come to a 9:00 a.m. fitting.”

  She laughed. “Come on, you know I can’t go onscreen without you approving my look. Besides, I figured you could help me run lines some more during breaks.”

  “Breaks? How long is this going to take?”

  “They’re fitting the whole cast today. The producer was dying for Tina Smalls to do our styling, but she only works by the day and this was the only day she had free before we start filming. I’m really excited to meet her. She’s supposed to be a crazy genius.”

  “How big a genius do you have to be to pair skirt X with top Y?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Traffic had slowed enough that I could safely take another sip. “Maybe?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? How’s it possible that you’re even more jaded about Hollywood than I am? You’ve never worked on a set a day in your life.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been to plenty of them, thanks to you, and it seems like a bunch of people who pretend to be nice and intelligent for interviews and are actually moronic assholes in real life. Not to mention all the people who get paid to do things you can do better yourself. Remember your hair that time you guest-starred on that show? The one by the Lost guys that wasn’t Lost?”

  “Okay, yes, that
was awful, but you’re totally underestimating what these people do, and you’re totally overestimating my own talents with my hair, makeup, and clothes. Besides, if I could style myself, would I need you to come with me?”

  “You don’t need me to come with you,” I pointed out. “You like the company because you don’t like to be alone.”

  She didn’t respond, and I wondered if I’d crossed a line. It was no secret to either Van or me that her parents had done a number on her—making it clear that they thought both she and her career were pointless. I even remember the exact moment they told her she was a mistake, the result of a contraceptive malfunction.

  I remember it because I was there when they told her.

  I certainly didn’t mind that Van kept me around as a reminder that at least one person in this world loved her unconditionally, but for her sake, I hated the fact that she needed me for that reason. I don’t know if it made it better or worse that her parents really liked me. Either way, she was counting down the days until she turned eighteen, and I was pretty sure that once she did, she’d be out of her house with the speed of a lightning bolt, never to return. I never really understood why they let Van audition for anything in the first place.

  “Nobody likes to be alone,” Vanessa said finally. Then she turned on the radio, as if to preempt any further conversation, and searched through the stations until she found a song she could sing along to at the top of her lungs.

  4

  BY THE TIME WE RAN INTO THE FITTING, ten minutes late thanks to some bumper-to-bumper, I was wired from the coffee and my eventual joining in with Vanessa’s out-loud singing, which had inspired an impromptu sing-along with other convertible drivers. I could feel actual beads of sweat forming along my hairline, which of course meant I would bump into Liam Holloway almost immediately.

  He didn’t say anything, though. Just glanced briefly at Vanessa and me and moved on to a small table on the side where he picked up whatever magazine he’d been reading and took a sip from his coffee.

  “Good Lord, he’s even better looking in real life,” I muttered at Vanessa as we headed over to the rack with her name on it. “How is that humanly possible?”

  She laughed. “I know, right? I try not to let it get to me.” She started rifling through the clothes; Tina was busy fitting Carly Upton, who played Bailey Summers’ best friend, Gwen. “Ooh, I like this.”

  “Any chance of something happening there?” I asked. Normally, I’d assume Van would have already told me if there were, but considering their respective gorgeousness, it was hard to imagine they weren’t a perfect fit.

  “Nah, he’s weird.” She pulled a funky belt from the rack and looped it around her tiny waist. “How cool is this?”

  “What do you mean, he’s weird?”

  She shrugged. “He’s really quiet, and he seems pissed off a lot of the time. I feel like he kind of hates being here. But then, like, dude, what are you doing here? A zillion guys would kill to have your job.”

  That was kind of weird, although considering my feelings on Hollywood, I couldn’t really blame him for not being into the whole thing.

  “I’ve even seen him spend his free time studying. He has that same SAT book you have, the enormous red one. So bizarre, right?”

  “Very,” I murmured, unable to stop myself from glancing over again. Somehow, knowing he actually cared about things like the SATs made him even hotter. Thank God he was obscenely off-limits to me as an Average Person or I might’ve been striking up a serious flirtation right about now.

  “I got it!” Van clapped a hand to her mouth. “I know how you can make the money to send yourself to Columbia!”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Selling that SAT book as firewood?”

  “No, silly! Become my on-set tutor!”

  Van looked so excited that I hated to shoot her down, but I couldn’t help pointing out the obvious. “I’m pretty sure you need actual experience for that, and tutoring underprivileged kids in math last year doesn’t really count. You probably even need special certification.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be my actual on-set tutor,” Van explained, still in full-force excitement mode. “I have Michael for that. But my parents would be thrilled if you tutored me for the SATs on top of that, and I bet Liam would totally hire you too. You could help Carly with her French for that movie she’s in this summer, and Lord knows Zoe could use some etiquette lessons.”

  I couldn’t help laughing out loud at that last one, even if the whole idea was crazy. “Van, they would never—”

  “And you could be my assistant!” Van steamrolled on. “The studio wants me to hire one anyway, and they would totally pay you—it wouldn’t even be coming out of my pocket. You already know how I like my coffee, my sizes in absolutely everything, every conceivable way to reach me… Who would be a better choice than you?”

  I started to protest again, but Vanessa cut me off one last time with the argument she knew I couldn’t beat. “It would pay way, way better than anything else you could get, and you know I’ll work with your schedule.”

  I gnawed on the inside of my lip. She had a point—it was by far the easiest, fastest, and most convenient way to make much more money than I would waitressing or babysitting, which would take a lot of stress off my parents. And it was hard to beat a boss who’d be cool with me taking time out to visit my dad in the hospital. Plus, I’d probably get plenty of downtime on set to study, and even get to hang out with Van, whom I otherwise rarely saw when she was filming.

  “Fine, we’ll try it, but if for any reason it’s not working out, whether it’s because I suck at it or because it’s in some way detrimental to our friendship, you find yourself someone new. Deal?”

  Her smile lit up the room, and I couldn’t help flashing one of my own to match. “Deal.”

  * * * * *

  The studio wouldn’t have the necessary paperwork for the assistant job ready for another few days, and I had newspaper after school on Tuesday, so that Wednesday marked my first tutoring session with Vanessa, and it was not going spectacularly well.

  The thing was, Vanessa wanted to help me. What she really, really didn’t want to do was study for the SATs.

  “Is it time for a break yet?” she whined, starting to pull on a perfectly styled curl until I smacked her hand away. Her hairstylist, Isaac, would kill her if he saw her doing that. “I need a drink.”

  “I’ll go grab you an iced tea from craft services,” I offered, figuring I should get some practice being her assistant.

  “Not that kind of drink,” she replied wryly.

  I rolled my eyes. “This is not that bad, Van. I studied this stuff for months before I took the test. You’ve barely been studying it an hour.”

  “Yeah, but you love school,” she shot back. “And—”

  “Park, you need to sign these.”

  Irritated at the interruption, I looked up at the gum-snapping blond chick who had just dropped a stack of black-and-white photos of Van on the table between us. “We’re studying,” I informed her.

  “What the hell for?” the girl muttered. “Anyway, these have to get done. You can fight with Jade if you don’t like it.” She slammed a black permanent marker down and glared at me.

  I didn’t respond; Jade was Van’s publicist and she terrified me, not least because she hated me since Van wouldn’t make any big decisions until I okayed them first. Satisfied that she had won, the blonde turned on her five-inch heels and stalked off.

  “Sorry,” Van apologized with no trace of apology, clearly pleased to have gotten out of tutoring for the day. “Work calls, and you know how Jade is.”

  “What are these for, anyway?”

  “Who can even keep track?” she replied, shrugging as she picked up a glossy eight-by-ten and scrawled her familiar loopy signature. “Half of these are just gonna end up on eBay anyway.”

  I laughed. “How much does your autograph go for, exactly?”

  “Used to go for thirty, but it�
�ll probably be up to fifty now that the casting news is out. People are craycray.”

  “Man, I should really sell off your old birthday cards.” I gathered up the SAT stuff so it wouldn’t land in the way of her flying permanent marker.

  The idea hit both of us at the same time. And no, it wasn’t to sell the birthday cards. “I’ll ask for more pictures,” Van said quickly, “but I bet you could get even more money if I signed some of my actual stuff. You know I never look at anything three months after I buy it anyway.”

  “Van…” My protest was not even a protest. I was already mentally combing the contents of Van’s closet and wondering how much I could get for the red snakeskin boots she never wore, especially if she autographed the soles.

  “It’s about damn time you stop even pretending to fight me on this one,” Vanessa said smugly. “I bet the others would chip in too.” She looked up. “Hey, Liam, come here for a sec.”

  “Van!” I whispered fiercely.

  “What’s up, Bailey?” he asked, shuffling over.

  “They like us to keep in character by calling each other by our names on the show,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. Liam was dressed half as his character, Tristan, in a pair of board shorts, and half as himself in a worn navy Henley that lent a sexy, smoky quality to those beautiful blue eyes and clung to his toned pecs in an annoyingly attractive fashion. “You haven’t met my best friend, Ally, yet, have you?”

  “Nope.” He nodded. “Liam. Or Tristan. Or whatever.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. Vanessa was right; he practically oozed oh my God, this is so stupid from every pretty pore. “I’ll stick with Liam. I’m just the hired help.”

  To my surprise—and obviously Vanessa’s—he cracked a smile of his own. “What are you hired to help with, exactly?” He looked down at the bright-red book in front of me. “Are you guys studying for the SATs?”

  “Ally’s tutoring me,” said Van before I could answer. “And she’s really, really good. And way cheaper than Michael. She could help you too. You’re studying for them also, right?”

  Before I could jump in, Liam shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess. I asked Michael and he said, and I quote, ‘I never want to think about that fucking test ever again.’ I’m pretty sure he’d change his mind for a thousand bucks an hour, but he’s not that good. Plus, it was a totally different test when he took it. No writing section.”