Beneath the Glitter: A Novel (Sophia and Ava London) (3 page)

Ava was trying to figure out where a pet would need formalwear and had just seen the answer in the Doggie I Do Chapel of Holy Muttrimony (“the #1 choice for dog weddings since 2009!”) when Popcorn started tugging hard against his leash. Glancing along its length she saw he’d gotten himself tangled around someone’s legs.

Ava dropped the Planning for Muttrimony brochure she’d been looking at and rushed over. “I’m so sorry,” she said, falling on her knees and trying to liberate the guy’s legs from the tangle of Popcorn’s leash. “He must be really keyed up by all the other dogs,” she went on, holding Popcorn’s collar with one hand while pulling the leash free with her other. “I mean he’s not usually so—”

“Bondage oriented?” the guy supplied with a warm chuckle.

“Yeah.” Ava glanced up to give him a grateful smile—

—and froze.

She was staring into the blue-eyed-dimpled-smile-shaggy-blond-bangs-falling-over-the-forehead face of Liam Carlson.
THE SAME LIAM CARLSON WHOSE POSTER SHE’D HAD HANGING OVER HER BED BETWEEN THE AGES OF TWELVE AND FIFTEEN AND WHO SHE’D SAID GOOD NIGHT TO EVERY NIGHT ONLY ALL GROWN UP AND EVEN CUTER NOW IF THAT WERE POSSIBLE
.

Somewhere over the sound of her mind screaming she realized that he was laughing and saying something which, when she managed to hear it, turned out to be, “I’m glad you liked my poster.”

The only thing that kept Ava from blushing any more deeply was that she was already blushing as much as she possibly could. “Did I say that out loud? Oh my goodness I’m mortified. First my dog attacks you and then I scream that. You must think I’m a moron. I think I’m a moron. Although maybe people do this to you all the time. Do they? Am I babbling? I am, aren’t I?” she asked as she gathered Popcorn into her arms and stood up.

Liam nodded. “A little. I like it.” And then he smiled again.

Ava lost the ability to form sentences.
LIAM CARLSON WAS STANDING THERE IN A LIGHT BLUE THIN CASHMERE SWEATER SMILING AT HER AND TALKING TO HER. HIS SWEATER FIT HIM REALLY WELL. HAD SHE REMEMBERED TO PUT ON LIP GLOSS? WHY HADNT SHE WASHED HER HAIR THAT MORNING? HE WAS SO CUTE, HIS EYES—

“Hello?” he said.

“Oh, sorry. I just—when you smile it kind of makes it hard for me to focus. You have the nicest eyelashes.” Then her eyes got huge. “I said that out loud too, didn’t I?”

“You did.” He started to smile again then stopped himself. “Sorry. Is it better if I frown?” he asked, frowning.

“Um, no, not really,” Ava admitted. “Oh my god and I’ve been babbling and I totally forgot to apologize for Popcorn, that’s my dog. I hope he didn’t hurt you or anything.”

“Naw,” Liam said, reaching toward Popcorn who eyed him a little skeptically but finally let him scratch his head. “No damage. Besides, I love dogs.”

LIAM CARLSON’S FINGERS ARE ON MY DOG! LIAM CARLSON IS TOUCHING MY—“
Do you have one?” Ava asked, forcing her mind back to the conversation.

Liam shook his head a bit wistfully. “Not yet. But I’ve been thinking about getting one. For a long time I wasn’t settled enough to have a plant, let alone a pet. Now, finally, I think I could. Having a dog has been”—Liam gazed into the distance—“well, one of my dreams.”

There was a quality in his tone that conveyed loneliness and bravery, long nights spent alone in unfamiliar hotel rooms with neon lights clicking on and off through the thin curtains.…

Ava told herself that was ridiculous, that movie stars didn’t stay in hotels with thin curtains and neon lights outside and that the chances of him being lonely were, well, none. And yet even knowing all that, there was something in the way he was looking at her that made her think of a lost little boy who needed comforting.

“I could help you,” she volunteered, speaking before she’d realized what she was saying. “If you are serious about getting a dog now. I mean, I did a lot of research before I adopted Popcorn. Or you could come and spend the day with me. I mean with him. Like a trial run.”

What was she saying? Had she just invited Liam Carlson to
DOG SIT
? Next she’d be admitting that she knew he was an Aquarius, liked sushi and old Bruce Springsteen songs, and his favorite color was “the color of my girlfriend’s eyes.” She saw him laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth. She’d said that out loud too. Great. Why was there no iPhone app for “Make the ground open up and swallow me alive,” she wondered desperately.

*   *   *

For the fourth time in as many minutes, Liam Carlson found himself doing something he’d pretty much stopped doing: he laughed. Sure he’d been photographed laughing and he’d grinned at the right places in other people’s stories but he hadn’t laughed, not for real, since …

Well it had been a few months. But it felt like a lifetime. And now here he was, standing at this ridiculous
PR
event his publicist Tana had ordered him to attend, actually having a nicer time with this girl than he’d had in any
VIP
room in a long time. It didn’t hurt that she was really cute, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about her, she seemed sweet and untouched—

God, always with the clichés when you’re hungover on vodka,
a voice in his head said, and it was true, although usually the clichés ran to “man, I’ve never felt this bad before” and “I’m never drinking again.” But this was different, because with this girl, they didn’t seem like clichés. It was in the way she looked right at him, not trying to be coy, and in the tentative smile that played around her full lips which any other girl in Hollywood would have used for a come-hither pout. She wasn’t posing. She was just—adorable.

The lips started to move and he realized she was saying something, asking him what he was doing there.

“Damage control,” was how Tana had described it when she’d stalked into his bedroom the previous day at the ungodly early hour of 12:45 and pulled the sheets off of him.

“Remember me?” she’d said, her Louboutin heels clicking against the gray stone floor his designer had convinced him would make his bedroom feel like “a soothing Zen sanctuary.” Apparently the designer had never heard what a $1700 stiletto sounded like when tapped by an angry publicist against a stone floor. “The woman you pay a lot of money to keep you off the cover of
People
looking like this?” She held up a photo of him being carried out of a nightclub between two bouncers.

Glancing from it, to the T-shirt he’d still been wearing in bed, he had frowned. “Hey, that was last night.”

“Yes,” Tana said in her sweetest voice. Which was bad. She only sounded sweet when she was angry. “Let me read you a few snippets: ‘Bystanders say that Carlson was “so out of it he was pawing everyone in sight.” At least one female server at the club said she was considering pressing charges for assault with a deadly weapon.’”

“That’s ridiculous,” he told her, starting to sit up but stopping halfway when his head protested. “I wouldn’t do that. You know it. Besides, I’ve never had a weapon. What did she say I assaulted her with?”

“Your breath probably, if it was anything like it is now. It doesn’t matter because I’m having the story killed.”

“But?” Liam said. He’d learned early on that there was always a but.

“But they’re going to have the exclusive on Liam Carlson’s fresh start. You had your little ‘getting wrecked at nightclubs in the wake of a bad breakup’ fun, now it’s time to grow up. I don’t care what you do in your personal life but your image is mine and you have one chance to save it.”

Both his mind and his reflexes were working a little slowly so she nearly hit him with the
LA Times
when she tossed it on the bed. He rolled away from it, wincing at the pain in his head. “What do you want me to do with that?”

“Find a county fair. Kiss babies. Starting tomorrow I don’t care what you do as long as it involves either animals or babies. Baby animals would be even better. You don’t have to like it, just look like you do.”

Which was how he’d ended up at the Pet Paradise or whatever it was the next day, as part of his image reboot. Show up, have a few dozen pictures taken, and head for the nearest bar.

But now, looking at this girl, he felt something spark inside of him. Something strange and unfamiliar. Maybe this didn’t have to be just an image reboot. Watching her laughing and fending off licks from her puppy while she tried to discipline him, he thought she looked like someone who would understand that just because he’d been bad once didn’t mean
he
was bad. Someone who would help him, not punish him. Someone who would support his making a fresh start. A real one. Someone who would care about him, not just how he looked in pictures. Maybe this time
could
be different.

And now we’ve gotten to the penance part of the hangover,
the voice-over in his head said.
Let’s see how fresh your start is when cocktail time rolls around
.

“Shut up,” Liam said.

“What?” the girl asked. Both she and the dog were staring at him, looking a little shocked.

Oh crap, he must have said that out loud. “Nothing,” he stammered. “I was just—I mean I was—well—would you like to go out sometime?”

The girl glanced behind her, then put her hand to her chest and said, “Me? Are you talking to me?”

“Yes,” Liam said, laughing (again!). This girl was good for him. “And I’m not just talking. I’m asking for your number.”

The words took a moment to filter into Ava’s brain. Liam Carlson was asking for her number.
LIAM CARLSON WAS ASKING FOR HER NUMBER!
Be cool, no big deal, act like
LIAM CARLSON!!
famous people
NUMBER!!
ask you out
MINE!!!
every day—

“Oh man, I should have realized,” he said. “Of course you have a boyfriend. That was—”

“No, oh no, I’m totally single,” Ava rushed to assure him one second before remembering that you weren’t supposed to announce you were single because it frightened guys off. The word “boytox” drifted through her mind, but as Liam raised one eyebrow the way she’d seen him do in half a dozen movies, boytox became a distant memory. “My number. Sure. Okay,” she said, studying one of Popcorn’s ears and trying to sound nonchalant as though movie stars
WHOSE NAME SHE’D ONCE WRITTEN ALL OVER HER NOTEBOOK IN SHARPIE
were always asking her for her number. Had she said that out loud? A quick glance at him told her she hadn’t. “But I don’t have anything to write with.”

Liam looked around, crooked his finger at a woman in black with a massive bag standing impatiently next to the Spots Miracle Eyewash booth. “This is Tana, she’s my publicist,” he said when the woman joined them. “Tana, meet—I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Ava,” Ava said, putting out her hand.

“Ava,” Liam repeated, making it sound like it was covered in caramel. “That’s a nice name.”

Tana smiled at Ava and then, speaking through the smile in a tense voice said, “Liam, we’re here to work to support the shelter and the adorable animals, not socialize, remember?”

“I was just telling Ava about how I’m thinking of getting a puppy.” He was talking to Tana but his eyes held Ava’s the whole time. “Do you have a pen? I need to get her number. Ava says she’ll let me spend the day with her puppy Popcorn.” Eyes still on Ava’s, he reached out to scratch Popcorn’s head again, and their fingers brushed.

Ava’s heart stopped and her mind went completely blank and she lost feeling in her entire body.

Then suddenly it all came flooding back and Tana was holding a pen toward Ava and saying to Liam, “Great, hon. Now if we could—”

Ava put Popcorn down to scribble her number on the flyer she’d been handed when they walked in.

When she handed it to Liam he said, “I’ll text you tonight.” Then he’d taken two steps backward, still looking at her with his goofy heart-melting smile, given a little wave, and turned and disappeared after Tana into the crowd.

Ava was still staring after him when she became aware of something whipping at her ankles and, looking down, she saw that it was the end of Popcorn’s leash.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion then. Her mind registered that she must have dropped the leash as the end of it moved just beyond her grasp. She saw Popcorn, a tawny ball of fluff on a direct course for the curb and the five lanes of traffic on Third Street beyond it. She heard a desperate voice—her voice—yelling “Popcorn!” and started after him. She saw the guy in the P
ET
P
ARADISE
V
OLUNTEER
T-shirt leap—literally jump, like he was in an action film—and catch Popcorn in midair just before he ran into the street.

By the time Ava reached the guy he was on his feet, the side of his shorts and his shirt one long grass stain. “Oh my god, thank you so much,” she said. “I don’t know what happened. The leash must have slipped—are you okay? Are you hurt?” Noticing how Popcorn was licking the stranger’s face with wild zeal, Ava laughed. “Wow, Popcorn—that’s his name—the dog’s name, I mean—he totally seems to like you—he doesn’t usually lick strangers—oh my god, your clothes—if you tell me where I’ll pay to have them clea—”

The guy turned Popcorn around, shoved him into Ava’s arms, growled, “Next time take better care of your dog,” and walked away.

Ava stared after him for a few moments, feeling a little shell-shocked by his rudeness, before managing to call weakly, “You bet.”

Under her breath she said, “Rude,” then turned her attention to Popcorn. “What were you thinking running off like that? Bad boy,” she started to say, but stopped herself. She wasn’t really mad at him, or even at the (meanie!) Pet Paradise guy, she knew. She was upset with herself. She never should have let go of his leash like that. She didn’t know what she’d do if something had happened to him.

But nothing had, she pointed out to herself. He was fine. “You are fine, aren’t you?” she asked him, and the way he licked her face reminded her of what they’d learned in obedience school, that a dog’s long-term memory was about two minutes. “Do you even remember your brush with death?” she asked him, and he licked, her some more.