Total Trainwreck (13 page)

Chapter Seventeen

We walk side by side back to our trailers after a particularly grueling day on set.
Method actors
, I think, and smile sweetly at every eye I meet. Rumors are rampant. How could they not be with the chemistry we share? But only an idiot would risk their job to accuse us of the truth. Lies come easily enough. It’s Hollywood, after all. We’re not stupid enough to give them a money shot. In public, we keep a professional distance.

Heather has yet to accept Devon’s offer, so technically, I’m still the other woman. Which infuriates me to no end. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to send her a picture of us in post-coital bliss. Show her what real love actually looks like. Devon won’t let me. He tells me to have patience. That the lawyers are doing their jobs. I told him he needs new lawyers.

Today he follows me into my trailer, script in hand as if we’re going to run tomorrow’s scenes. No one on set knows we’re living together. As far as they’re concerned, we occupy neighboring housing at an undisclosed location. Thus the shared SUV. Our life is routine. A routine that keeps us together every possible second of every waking hour and the sleeping ones, too.

I’m sitting in my makeup chair letting a stylist remove hair extensions when his phone rings. He looks at it, frowns and presses the ignore button. It’s very un-Devon. He normally answers before the first ring finishes. I’ve tried telling him how lame it is to jump the instant someone calls, but he insists it’s the only way to do business. Whatever. The phone continues buzzing in his hand. He ignores it. I can’t ignore the frown covering his face. But come to think of it, he’s been like this all day. Like he’s on autopilot or something.

“Who is it?” I ask, like it’s any of my business.

“Um...Heather,” he answers, biting his lip.

From the mirror, I steal a glance at the stylist. She’s got her earphones in, silently singing along to some song, oblivious to our conversation. Heather hasn’t called since she was served separation papers, probably on the good advice of her attorney. So why is she calling now?

“What does she want?”

Devon looks away. Runs a hand through his hair, over his lips and down his neck. The look on his face twists my gut into knots.

“That’s all for today.” I wave the stylist away and dismiss her. The door shuts and I turn my full attention to him.

His temple throbs. He stands and begins pacing. I silently wait for him to speak. “I talked to my lawyer today. She’s countered my initial offer.”

“And?” His pacing is making me dizzy.

He stops midstep, closes his eyes and shakes his head. “She wants everything. The plane. The island. The Malibu house. The Aspen house. Four hundred million cash. And...” He draws in a deep breath. “And sole custody.”

My mouth flies open. Chills race the length of me. I knew Devon was rich. I knew Heather was a bitch. I’d never have guessed how grand the scale was for either. “Devon...” I start to speak, but there are no words. Luckily, he raises a hand to silence me.

“Don’t. I need some time to think about this.” Instead of leaning on me in a time of crisis, he turns his back and walks to the door. I’m gutshot and speechless. “Have Tiny or Eddie drive you home. I’ll be there later.” Without another glance, he disappears into the cold, black night.

* * *

“You don’t sound fine.” Spence’s voice coos into the phone. I’m bundled in my parka on the porch chain-smoking cigarettes. The silence got to be too much. I needed to hear a familiar voice.

“It’s been a long day. Get my mind off work. Tell me about L.A.” I’m trying not to cry. I’m trying to do everything I can to keep from admitting how wrong Devon was about Heather’s greed.

“Same bullshit. Different day.”

“Maria told me she saw you. Said you totally blew her off.”

Spence makes a production of sighing so loudly it vibrates his tonsils. “I have zero use for Ryan Algood.”

“You and me both.” I nod my agreement.

“How’s Devon?” It’s a harmless question I’m not at all prepared for. Spence knows me well enough to know that by now I’ve fallen back into Devon’s bed. A man he probably finds as useful as Ryan Algood. But even he couldn’t guess the magnitude of the quake that’s ripped through my life today.

“Fine,” I answer, my voice breaking. I suck it up, and take another drag.

“Shit. What’s he done now?” Spence calls me out.

“It’s not him.”

“Then it’s Heather, which is infinitely more dangerous.”

“What do you mean?”

Spence sighs and sucks air through his teeth.

“Be careful, Babygirl. This is a grown-up game you’re playing. The stakes are sky-high, and that bitch doesn’t play.”

“You have no idea,” I whisper barely loud enough to be heard.

“Actually, I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“She fucked my dad when she was a nobody whoring her way to relevance.”

“What?” I sit up and take notice of this.

“Yeah, claimed he knocked her up. She threatened to sue. He paid a hefty sum to shut her up. She’s an old hand at fucking people over. Damn good at it, too.”

“Spence...” I drag out his name because I don’t know what else to say. No doubt Heather’s got serious snakes in her head. But shaking down Vincent Hugo is like pissing on the Mona Lisa. You just don’t fuck with icons like that.

“I’ll be right there,” he says to someone who isn’t me. “Hey, Carly, I gotta go. I’ll see you next week?” he asks. Wait? Next week? What’s he talking about?

“Okay...?” I say it like a question but Spence doesn’t wait around to answer. The phone goes silent.

“What the hell is next week?” I wonder aloud. Pulling up my calendar, I find about a million events Jane has created—a flight back to L.A. and the schedule for filming soundstage scenes among them. My heart drops like a rock. Back to reality. Back to HeaVon. And one step closer to my own personal hell. I close my eyes and roll my head back and forth over the chair cushion, exhausted by all the bullshit. No, not exhausted. My anger flares. I’m sick and tired of it.

“Fuck her!” I hiss through clenched teeth, flicking my cigarette butt into the yard. Fuck rolling around in all this self-pity. I’m not a wallower—I’m a fighter. And I don’t go down in the first round. There’s got to be something she wants. Some way out of this. It’s obviously not money, but there’s something. There always is.

Headlights turn into the driveway. I should wait for him. Take him in my arms and tell him it’s going to be okay. Honestly, I’m a little too pissed to do that. He turned his back on me first.

I retreat to the kitchen, grab two glasses, a bottle of red and an opener. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged. I haven’t needed it. Revealing my secrets to Devon quieted my demons. Tonight, I’ve got brand-new ones whispering in my ear. We’re both going to need it.

The doorknob jiggles. Then silences. I look over my shoulder, wondering why he doesn’t come in. I turn as the door opens. Everything in me freezes and slackens. The wine bottle slips from my hand and clatters to the counter. My lids flutter like hummingbird wings, unable to process the body in the doorway.

“Carly.” She says my name like she’s surprised to see me. What the fuck ever. She’s a horrible actress. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I have about two seconds to find my own inner bitch. Luckily, Heather brings out the worst in people. “Didn’t you though...really?” I squint my eyes and tuck my chin in a skeptical way.

She laughs and steps inside, removing a full-length mink and letting it slide to the floor. No one’s here to catch it because she’s alone. Which shocks the hell out of me. Heather Troy is never alone.

“But this is Devon’s house, according to the GPS tracker on his phone. I thought I’d surprise him. Did he tell you it’s our anniversary?” She smiles again, looking around the house, taking in its meagerness like she already owns it. She keeps babbling. All I hear is
GPS tracker.

“You don’t have an anniversary.” I shake my head and cross my arms. She is not going to con me into feeling like the homewrecker here. I’ve done nothing wrong. Devon is not hers. He’s mine.

“No, not the traditional kind.” She saunters into the kitchen and picks up the bottle of wine, perusing its label with a practiced eye. “This looks good.”

“Would you like a glass?” I only ask so she knows it’s my wine to offer. She’s the interloper here. And damn if she doesn’t stoke my rage in a way that dizzies me with excitement. The room is electric. A mutual hatred bubbles behind every word. My inner bitch laughs hysterically, scraping her way from the depths I’ve banished her to. I am so going to enjoy this.

“That’d be lovely.” She returns the smile of a worthy opponent. Game on.

“Sit.” I motion to the couch. We aren’t idiots. We both know exactly what’s going on here.

She stares down her nose at the couch like it isn’t fit to feel her fabulous ass and opts for a nearby chair instead. Either that or she knows how many times we’ve fucked on it. I smile at the thought and sit on the couch. Plunging the opener into the wine cork, I fantasize about it being her cold, black heart instead. “Don’t you seem right at home,” she says, tossing her glossy mane.

“Let’s cut through the pleasantries.” I slam a wineglass down in front of her. “You’re either here to tell me to stop fucking a man who—contrary to popular belief—gives zero fucks about you. Or you’re here to demand a fortune you damn sure don’t deserve. Am I close?” I take a glass and sit back, but don’t raise it to my lips. I need my wits about me for this battle.

“Please. I don’t give a damn what infested hole Devon sticks his dick into. And I deserve every penny of that settlement.”

“Four hundred million, three houses and a jet for being a conniving, backstabbing bitch? That’s a bit excessive, even for you.”

“It’s a fair price for what he’s asking of me.”

“Fair? Is that what Vincent Hugo would call your negotiations, too?” I stick this knife in and twist as hard as I can. “I had no idea imaginary bastards were worth so much.” Her head ticks at the mention of her past, but she says nothing. Point, Carly.

“You’re smart, Carly. I always pegged you for a dumb blonde.” She tips her glass to me. I answer with an ice-cold death glare. One she has zero problems giving right back.

“So you came for the weather?”

She huffs a small laugh and reaches for her bag. “No, darling. I came to show you exactly what you’re getting into.”

“Really? All this way for me? You shouldn’t have.”

She shrugs and begins scrolling through her phone. “You don’t know Devon like I do. Not really. You don’t have the first clue what he’s capable of. Yet, you are risking everything to be with him. It’s only fair you know his whole truth before you’re in over your head.”

“Cut the bullshit, Heather. There isn’t a nice bone in your body.”

She makes a small sound that neither confirms nor denies my accusation. “You know about our arrangement?”

“You mean your blackmailing,” I correct. She shrugs like it’s a minor detail.

“And he’s told you about Dylan?”

“Yes,” I answer, suddenly unsure of where this is going.

“And do you also know the secret we keep?” A lacquered nail clicks against the phone screen. Below that a row of bracelets jangle on her bony wrist like cowbells. I hate the thought of them sharing something we don’t. It’s a black arrow straight to the heart, but I don’t let her see. Instead, I shake my head and look away.

When she finds what she’s looking for in the dark recesses of her phone, she shoves it in my face and into my hands, falls to the couch beside me and takes her wine. She fluffs her hair and spreads her arms wide, claiming the couch with her sprawl.

I up-down her, roll my eyes and turn back to the screen. It’s a video of a video. A grainy, shaky image filmed on her phone from a TV that’s actually playing the tape. The TV is mounted on a black glass wall that looks vaguely familiar.

The action starts. A blonde girl sits alone on a couch in what looks like a club’s plush VIP room. Poor girl is the swaying-back-and-forth, staggering kind of wasted. The film fast-forwards and a guy comes into view. It’s Devon. He’s not recognizable, but anyone who’s as familiar with his body as I am would know his movements in an instant. He sits down beside the girl and puts a hand to her forehead. She rolls limply away from him, obviously trying to get away. He pulls her to him, standing her up. She falls into him, then strength takes over her weak frame and she begins whaling on him. There’s no sound, but I can tell from her face she’s yelling. Devon fends her off, crosses her arms over her body and spins her in his arms so he is bear-hugging her, stopping her attack. She goes limp. He releases her and she falls to the couch, head in her hands crying. Devon disappears.

I look at Heather and shrug. That’s nothing.

“Oh, keep watching. It gets better.” She waves her hand at the phone. I turn back to the screen.

The video fast-forwards and Devon reappears. The girl still sits on the couch, elbows on her knees, head hung in her hands. Devon sits beside her. She reaches greedily for whatever he’s holding. There’s an exchange of words and she pushes him away. Devon takes her arm, lays her palm flat against the seat to expose her inner elbow. He takes off his belt and ties it tightly around her upper arm. My mouth falls open. I stare disbelievingly. My eyes water. He slaps the soft white flesh of her inner elbow to plump the vein. The girl doesn’t move, watching what he does from behind a curtain of tousled hair. Her chest rises and falls with labored breath. With one hand Devon pinches either side of the vein to hold it steady, then plunges a needle deep into it. I gasp, as if I can feel that needle in my own vein.

Devon releases the belt from her arm. Folds her hand up to her chest and helps her lie back over the couch, making sure she’s on her side. He bends over her. She raises a weak hand to his cheek. He kisses the palm of her hand then bends to kiss her forehead. She goes limp and he leaves. The scene fast-forwards again. The girl is still out cold, but this time she isn’t alone. The VIP room bustles with bodies as a team of paramedics lifts her limp frame and place her on a gurney. It looks like a scene I’ve seen before. Until the black plastic rises at her sides and zips over her face.