Things Lost In The Fire (9 page)

DOLLAR SIGNS danced in his mind as he did a solitary toast to success. He’d been right about the pictures. That payout would keep him sitting pretty for a solid three months.

Brody sipped champagne and lounged in a plastic outdoor chair on his tiny balcony, feet propped up on the railing and his eyes on the sunset. Shades of yellow and orange blended with the blue of a cloudless sky, framed by silhouetted palm trees and buildings. As the evening wound down, he absorbed the sounds of people talking and laughing across the street, of the nightly news being played directly below him, and of a dog barking a few streets over. He could smell someone barbecuing and also caught the distinct skunky aroma of pot.

TMZ had wasted no time getting the pictures online. He hadn’t checked in an hour or so, but he imagined the internet was exploding with the scandal. Outraged fans would be jumping to Kyla’s defense. Soccer moms would be lambasting Lovett for being unfaithful with a woman half his age. Other celebrities would be weighing in on Twitter, both in favor and against. It was very possible he’d initiated one of the sauciest scandals of the year.

Oh, how proud his father must be.

At that very moment the old man was likely getting a dinner-interrupting phone call from Hugh-the-adulterer-Lovett, demanding a solution. There was none, though. The damage was done and Lovett could kiss his reputation goodbye.

Funny how easy it all was. Those who live in the public eye are often ruined by the very press that made them stars. They’re only human, after all. They make mistakes—they cheat or get drunk or start bar fights. And all of it can break them if caught in the flash of a camera.

It was a vicious circle he knew all too well. Though his mistake had been more than just a poorly timed adulterous kiss. He’d gotten men killed. And not just men, but warriors. Honorable, well-intentioned patriots.

His heart panged at the memory, souring his mood. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, losing himself in the past.

It’d been a Tuesday. Not really a day he’d ever thought his life would change. The temperature neared one hundred degrees in the Helmand river valley of Afghanistan. He distinctly remembered wondering how the soldiers could stand wearing so much clothing. He’d taken to wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a bullet proof vest, and even then sweat cloaked his entire body.

He’d been sent to photograph the realities of life in Afghanistan in the midst of the war against the Taliban. The mortar shells buried in the sides of buildings, the poor state of the civilians, the courageous efforts of the American soldiers.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been sent to a hostile location by his then employer. As a photojournalist, he’d been all over the world. But there was something particularly dangerous about this assignment. Not that he’d realized it at the time. He had a tendency to skim over the fine print and throw himself into the fray with no regard for his safety. It was what made him such a successful photographer. He captured images most others wouldn’t dare attempt.

But in this case, he should have prepared himself.

The day was spent following a group of Marines patrolling the dusty streets of Sangin. After a few days in the town, he’d started to get loose about the whole idea of danger. So far he hadn’t seen much worth taking a picture of. In fact, in all honesty he was getting downright bored.

Perhaps it was boredom that had him hunting for danger. Something, anything, to drum up a little action and make the trip worthwhile. Unfortunately, he was about to get exactly that.

While the Marines stopped briefly in the middle of a busy marketplace, Brody hung around on the sidelines, camera hanging from a strap around his neck. He peered through his aviator shades at everyone who passed by, looking for trouble. When he saw a suspicious looking man with a bulky pato shawl wrapped over his body in the middle of summer, his heart began to race.

First he took a series of photographs of the man, who was walking discreetly in the direction of the platoon and the Humvee they rode in on. Then when he realized the guy might actually mean business—suicide bombers were commonplace in the area—he shouted the word “bomb” to the soldiers and pointed.

Maybe it was careless. Hell, it had been damn careless. But at the time all he’d been able to think about was protecting the guys he’d come to know as friends. When they turned on the man and pointed their rifles at him, the man dropped to his knees, his shawl falling open to reveal nothing but fruit he’d just stolen from the market. Brody then spotted two men surface from the crowd with AK-47s, and realized his mistake.

They fired on the soldiers and chaos exploded in the marketplace. Women and children ran screaming as gunfire rang out into the thick afternoon air. Brody dove behind a nearby cart and cowered, mortified at what he’d done. Anger pulsed through him, bringing on an urge to fight back. Gritting his teeth, he reached for the small pistol he kept in his boot. He would have drawn it if one of the soldiers hadn’t grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to safety. By then, both of the Taliban insurgents were dead and the sound of gunshots faded with the dust.

Three soldiers had been hit. Two fatally. Brody remembered numbly approaching the Humvee and seeing the blood. He hadn’t even known a body could bleed so much.

He’d been flown back to the States that night. After the witness testimony came out about the incident, it was suggested that he resign from his position.

Then the media storm hit.

It was bad enough to have the mothers of the two slain Marines blaming him, saying that if he hadn’t distracted their sons then they would’ve seen the danger in the crowd. He understood their grief just as much as he respected it. But to have his colleagues, his friends, his family, all look at him in disgust was more than he could bear.

He lost everything. Lawsuits and unemployment meant bankruptcy was his only option. It was an option he knew he wholeheartedly deserved. Hell, he was still alive, wasn’t he? While those two soldiers were dead. What did any of what he lost matter when he still breathed and they didn’t?

He opened his eyes and forced himself back to the present. He tossed back the last of his champagne, though it tasted bitter on his tongue. He wished for something stronger, something that could chase away the guilt. But he knew from experience that turning to hard liquor never solved anything. All it did was intensify the pain the next day.

It’d been two years since the incident, and still his reputation was in tatters. The only job he’d been able to get was freelance, and the only work that paid well enough was through the tabloids.

His life had changed forever that fateful Tuesday afternoon. Maybe it was meant to be that way. He’d lived too good for too long, recklessly selfish without a care in the world. This was karma, serving up a whopping slice of retribution.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he considered ignoring it. But when he saw it was his brother, that guilt crept in again.

“What’s up?”

“
I saw you submitted those photos.
”

“Yep.” Brody toyed with his champagne glass, rubbing smudges off it with his thumb. “I told you I was going to.”

“
I know. Hey, so when you come to the party next weekend, this topic has to be off-limits.
”

A wry smile lifted Brody’s lips. “You mean the old man isn’t proud of me?”

“
I hope that money is worth it, Brody. I mean, you pretty much just ended a marriage.
”

“A marriage that was a sham anyway,” Brody argued. “All I did was expose the truth that he was cheating.”

“
And you made a pretty penny off it, too. Good for you.
”

“If you just called to give me shit then I’m going to hang up.”

Chase sighed. “
I’m sorry, I’m just on edge. Look, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? We can have a couple of beers like old times.
”

Brody could hear Chase’s wife Abby protesting quietly in the background. Why did that not surprise him? “I’m busy, buddy. Sorry. But I’ll catch you at the party next weekend.”

“
Oh, okay. All right. See you then.
” He could hear Abby launching into a lecture with Chase right before the phone went dead. He tucked it back into his pocket and sighed.

Why Chase tried so hard to be his friend was a baffling mystery. The man had every reason to disown him just like everyone else already had, and yet he still hung on. It was getting to the point where he was almost a goddamn pest.

Though Brody knew that if Chase ever gave up on him, he’d lose the only real friend he had left.

S
ADIE PILED lunch meat onto a couple of slices of rye bread and sang along to Journey’s “Girl Can’t Help It” on the radio. She danced as she moved about the kitchen, not caring that Tess was giggling at her from the dining table.

Sadie pointed a butter knife at her friend and grinned. “Shut up and drink your margarita.”

“No judgment here.” Tess toasted with her drink before taking a sip, licking salt from the rim. “Just don’t tempt me to sing back at you. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

“You’re not allowed to have it all, Tess,” Sadie chided. She sliced the sandwiches then brought them to the table. “You can’t be hot, smart,
and
a good singer. That’s just not fair.”

Tess snorted. “You’re right. How cruel of me to imagine the possibility.”

Sadie sat down and took a long sip of her own margarita. “Hey, maybe you could be the face of Piper Gray. You could lip sync for me.”

“You’re just trying to get out of what I told you earlier.”

Sadie pouted, picking at her sandwich. “No…it was just a joke. I don’t know how I feel about that yet.”

“So just say yes and fuck it.” Tess laughed, waving off Sadie’s concerns. “Life’s too short. Take a chance.”

Sadie shot her a strained look. “Take a chance and
perform
in front of people under my alias? You know me better than anyone, does that sound like something I’d do? I’m too nervous to buy new shoes because they might give my feet blisters.”

“Okay, now that’s just sad.”

“Shut up.”

Tess grinned. “Honey, do you honestly think I’d push you like this if I didn’t think you could do it?”

Sadie wrung her hands together. “I don’t know.”

“You’re tougher than you think. And trust me, you need this. You need this almost as bad as I need to get laid.”

“What happened to Mr. Hot-Shot Lawyer from New York?”

“Turns out he was married with two kids. Bastard.” Tess scowled, tossing back the last of her drink. “Whatever. Point is, The L.A. Rock Lounge has a cancelled show and they need a fill-in for next Saturday. I told Leon I’d get back to him by tomorrow morning if you’re willing to do it. He’s chomping at the bit to host the first Piper Gray show.”

Sadie bit back a smile. “I can’t decide if I’m excited or terrified. Or nauseous. Maybe I’m a little of all three.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I don’t know.” Sadie took a few deep breaths to try and settle her heart rate, warring internally. “Should I? Oh God. Don’t answer that. Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Good girl. Now let me give Leon a quick call to lock it in and then we’ll figure out your wardrobe. You did bring your wigs, right?”

“As a precaution, yeah,” Sadie admitted. She felt dizzy as she watched Tess wander off to seal the deal. Oh God, what had she just agreed to?

Unable to sit still, she shoved aside her uneaten sandwich and went into her bedroom. She’d placed most of her clothing into the cherry-wood dresser, neatly folded and organized by color. The costume elements she’d stored in the bottom drawer. Wigs, stage makeup, fake eyelashes—she had it all just in case she needed a disguise at any point while in L.A. Maybe it was paranoid of her, but she felt better being prepared. And now with the show Tess had booked, she was even more relieved to have packed it all.

When Tess came into the room a few minutes later, Sadie was admiring a jet black, shoulder length wig in the mirror. It had a razor sharp line of bangs and a faint bluish tint to it, giving her the appearance of a gothic doll.