Under the Lights

“Not sure.” He takes a long drink, and I realize this might be the first time Liam’s actually looked nervous over a movie role. Even last year, when he scored the James Gallagher part Jeremy Hill had a total hard-on for, he didn’t really give a shit. “They said I’d need to gain like ten, fifteen pounds of muscle.” He side-eyes the bottle. “This probably isn’t helping.”

“They always say that shit. Anyway, a little protein powder and you’re golden.”

“Patchett was there, though. And Gray. And Valenti. Valenti almost beat me out last year for History.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t. Dude, you’ve gotta get a little more of an ego, or little dicks like Valenti and Hudson are gonna walk all over you. You’ve got this shit. Trust.”

“Doesn’t even matter if I do. There’s no way I can work it out with the show.”

“Man, you really love excuses. Isn’t it filming mostly in Imperial Valley? If you got a reduced storyline on the show and basically busted your ass, you could do it. You get a callback?”

“Yeah.” He takes another long drink. “Friday.”

Ah, fuck. So that’s the real problem; he’s gotta act his ass off the day after he sends Ally off to New York. “So, that could be cool, right? Channel your pain into some sort of war-torn PTSD shit?”

He snorts. “Yeah, maybe.” Then he pulls out his phone. “Still no text from Van. Guess they’re still shopping.”

“Hey, Josh Chester!” a voice calls out from behind us. We turn, but I don’t recognize the guy coming toward us.

“Who are you?” I raise my sunglasses, but I’ve definitely never seen this guy before in my life. “Are you one of the bartenders?”

He laughs and holds out a hand. “I’m Chuck. Joe Perotti sent me.”

Joe Perotti… Why does that name sound so familiar?

“The reality show guy?” asks Liam.

Motherf—

“I didn’t realize you decided to do it,” Liam says slowly.

“That’s because I didn’t.” I turn back to Chuck, who’s finally figured out I won’t be touching his slimy hand. “This is a private party. Invited guests only.”

“Your mother did invite me,” says Chuck, his stupid sleazy smile not wavering for a second. “Said this would be a great opportunity for some preliminary footage. Joe loved the idea.”

“How did my mother even know about it?” I ask Liam, ignoring Chuck completely.

“Um, look at this place, Chester. They can probably see that light-up ice sculpture of the Empire State Building from space. Doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out you’re doing something here tonight.”

“Well, what I’m doing,” I spit, half-looking at Chuck now, half-hoping he’ll just disappear if I ignore him long enough, “is throwing a party for a friend, and I’d really like for everyone who shouldn’t have gotten past security to get the hell out.”

“Like I said”—Chuck grins like an asshole—“your mom set this up. And seeing as apparently this is her house…”

“Don’t kid yourself, Chucky. I earn more in a fucking day of modeling than my mother earns in six months as a has-been drama queen. If she weren’t holding on to this place as tightly as humanly possible in her little ferret paws—”

“Oooookay.” I feel a hand on my arm and look down to see Liam pulling me away. “Chester, how many times have we discussed the fact that you cannot just say whatever the hell you feel like?” he mutters under his breath. “Guys like him live to rile you up to get footage like this.”

“Well, I’m not signing a damn thing, so good luck to him if he’s got a creep filming me from somewhere.” I realize right then that I’m still holding a half-full bottle of Stella, and I chug the rest, hoping it’ll calm me down, because I know Liam’s right.

Of course, it’s warm by now, so I basically just drank piss.

I put the bottle down before I can hurl it at the concrete.

“I fucking hate her,” I say quietly. “I hate them both.”

He frowns. “I know. Trust me, I know all about parental douchebags. But you’ve got a kickass party set up, and people are gonna get here soon, and that guy’s just gonna get lost in the crowd. Let’s let the fact that Ally’s leaving be the only thing that blows about tonight, okay?”

It’s such a childish, Liam pep talk, but it works; his Yoda shit always does. I take a deep breath and look around. “Yeah, let’s go get another beer.”

Chapter Four Vanessa

It’s so weird to be looking at sweaters,” Ally muses for the third or fourth time that afternoon. “I can’t believe I’m gonna need sweaters.” She says it as if it’s awful, but there’s a reason I’m the actor of the two of us. She can’t wait to wear itchy wool and cashmere cable-knit. And she eyed eight billion pairs of boots when we were in the shoe department. Girl’s clearly already an East Coaster in her mind.