Where You Are (29 page)

“You were right about that picture.”

“Oh?”

“They fell asleep next to each other, but nothing else happened. You must have been correct about her playing mind games with you or whatever, because it looks like you’re the only one she sent it to.”

So Graham didn’t own up, even after that photo—and he managed to convince her that
nothing happened
? I’m in awe. The guy has bigger
cojones
than I thought. I consider the two possibilities: either he intends to string them both along… or he considers Brooke a one-time hookup—a mistake that he doesn’t intend to repeat.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Emma says.

Doubtful. “What am I thinking?”

“That he’s lying to me. But I know he’s not.”

Unbelievable. Practically everything I did last fall earned Emma’s distrust, but
this
she’s willing to overlook? “So even after a compromising—some might say incriminating—photo of him
in bed
with Brooke, you aren’t worried that he
might
be cheating. I gotta hand it to the guy—he’s a god, if he can get away with that one.”

She sighs. “Not every guy is a player, Reid.”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

I look steadily back at her, and don’t ask what other way she could possibly mean it. The possible responses are a jumble of pithy and serious and harsh and flirtatious, and in the end nothing works so I say nothing. After a few seconds, she looks away.

A set assistant pops in to tell us we have five minutes. We can’t go out there like this—awkward and avoiding eye contact. Intending to make small talk and bring us back to center, I ask what she did over the weekend.

“I hung out with Emily. And, um, Graham was in Sacramento Saturday and Sunday.”

“Ah.” The hell? My brain is whirring with the reasons why Graham would travel cross-country to make sure of her. I suspect Brooke is unaware of this little development.

“We saw a movie Saturday night, and they played the trailer for
School Pride
. I know it’s routine for
you
, but watching myself on that huge screen felt so strange. The movie looks pretty good, though.”

“You sound surprised.”

She laughs. “I guess I am, a little. The last time a Jane Austen novel was modernized well on film was
Clueless
.”

I smirk at her. “Book snob.”

She smirks back. “Guilty as charged.”

Before I can wrap my brain any further around
Graham in Sacramento
, the door opens and the set assistant reappears. “You guys are on.”

Conan
goes well—the combination of the comedic venue and the fact that it’s our last interview help make it the best one we’ve done. When asked about the stories I ad-libbed on
Ellen
, I embellish them with help from Emma, who offers to let Conan feel the babies kick. The audience thinks we’re hilarious. I introduce a couple of clips from the movie—one of which includes a scorching kiss between Emma and me that gets everyone hot and bothered, and we’re out.

Before we part, I give Emma a swift hug and brush a kiss on her cheek—because the side of her face is what she offers when I lean towards her. Then she’s in a limo to the airport and I’m in my car, dialing Brooke’s cell.

“Are you aware that Graham was in Sacramento this weekend?”

“
What
?”

“I’ll take that as a no. He’s obviously playing both of you. Emma showed up to the
Conan
taping happy as shit. She was blissed
out
, and completely convinced that nothing happened between you guys. He’s more like me than I gave him credit for.”

“He’s
nothing
like you.” Her tone lashes me.

“Jesus, Brooke, seriously? He’s got you snowed, too? Or is he planning to screw you on the side—with your blessing—while he keeps Emma for a
public
relationship—”

“We didn’t have sex, okay?” Her words are angry, like she’s spitting them at me. “What he told her was true. He fell asleep, and I fell asleep next to him.”

I’m driving in a state of shock. I actually have to snap my mouth closed. “Okay, wait. Are you telling me he hasn’t nailed
either
of you? You’re right. Forget the
like me
comment.”

“No shit.”

My hands tighten on the wheel. “Now what?” A more pointless question has never been asked. There is no
now what
. This is done. We’ve lost. On the other hand, neither of us has actually
lost
anything. We just managed to land right back where we started, like that damned board game with the ladders and slides that Mom played with me when I was a kid, before she decided to become a full-time drunk.

“Premiere night,” she says.

“Premiere night
what
? Are you planning to drape yourself over the buffet table naked and hope that gets his attention? Sounds like he’s made his choice to me.”

“What happens between Graham and me is
my
business, not yours,” she shoots back. I imagine her frothing at the mouth, because frankly, that’s how she sounds. “Yours is to be there to console Emma when she needs it, because she’s going to need it.”

I shake my head, incredulous at how confident she is in the face of failure. “Right.”

Ignoring me, she strategizes out loud, and I listen in spite of my misgivings. “Go to her room before we all leave for the premiere. Discuss walking the red carpet together, the seating arrangements at the theater, hanging out at the party, whatever. While you’re there, leave something in her room, somewhere not very visible—like your phone. Turn it to silent and lock it, of course. And delete all the messages, just in case.”

Brooke has gone off the double agent deep end.

“I don’t think Emma’s the sort to break into my phone and read the messages—”

“Shut up and let me think.” God
damn
I’ll be glad when this is over. I’d love to tell her to go to hell, but she’s still dangling Emma as a possibility, so I bite my tongue. “As soon as we’re all in our rooms after the party, call her from your room phone. Tell her you left your cell in her room, and ask her if she can bring it down the hall to your room, because you aren’t feeling well. When you hang up with her, call my cell. Be ready to come out and handle her. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah, sure, I can
handle
her. What exactly am I going to be handling?”

“I don’t know. I have to think. Just be ready. When I hang up, give it a few seconds and then come into the hallway and find her.”

*** *** ***

GRAHAM

I fly into LA with Tim Warner—Mr. Bennet in
School Pride
—who also lives in New York. We discuss future projects and chat about Reid—specifically, Reid and Emma’s fake relationship. I find myself drumming the arm of the seat and not making eye contact when he mentions that they’re cute together.

“Is something wrong?” Tim says with a small tilt of his head.

“Um, no.” I try to appear confused by the question, shaking my head and giving a small shrug.

“Humph.” He’s not falling for it. “Graham, I was a gay boy in Alabama in the early eighties. In the interest of saving my own ass, I learned how to be enigmatic, and how to outright fib, so I know it when I see it. You have the mysterious part down, but son, you can’t lie worth a crap. Confession is good for the soul, I hear. So, what’s got you coming out of your skin?”

Like Brooke, he has no accent. “You don’t sound like you’re from Alabama,” I hedge.

He shrugs. “I shot off to New York when I was seventeen, determined to separate myself from my past in every possible way. A good thing overall, but also a little tragic. But we’re not talking about
me
. We’re talking about
you
. Since we have a five-hour flight ahead of us, you might as well start talking.” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll wear you down eventually.”

I sigh, conceding defeat. “Have you ever had to pretend to be in a relationship with a costar, because production wanted you to?”

He gives me a pointed look. “No, but I’ve certainly had to pretend
not
to be in a relationship with a costar because production didn’t want me to.”

 I stare at my hands. “Yeah? Well, me too. Though production doesn’t actually
know
about it. It’s more an unspoken clause, under the edict that Emma and Reid look
involved
.”

“I thought they were? They had a tiff or something—”

“No, they broke up last fall.”

We both accept coffee service and a warm cookie from the flight attendant. Say what you will—flying first class is a shocking illustration of dissimilarity between the privileged and the non-privileged. While Tim and I will enjoy a catered meal, several snacks, hot towels and all the attention we could want, hundreds of people in the back of the plane are lucky to get a bag of pretzels and a can of soda.

“Ah… Well, as my gaydar is going
pbbbt
where you’re concerned, I’m guessing your secret lover is Emma, not Reid. For how long is this edict in place?”

I chuckle at the mere thought of Reid and me in a relationship, but my blood runs molten at the notion of Emma as my lover. “Uh, yes, Emma. And until after the release.”

“The premiere is tonight, and the release is Friday—that’s only two days away! What’s with the mopey puppy face?”

I run a hand through my hair. Gay or not, Tim is a
guy
. “I can’t stand watching the two of them
pretend
. Maybe because they
did
have a thing going last fall—I keep imagining them together, which is senseless and asinine. But it’s driving me nuts. I’ve never felt like this.”

He nods, lips compressed. “The caveman,” he says finally.

“The who?”

“Every man has an inner caveman. Unless he’s a flaming queen, in which case he has an inner wild-eyed, jealous bitch—as in the case of an ex of mine. But I digress.” He starts to eat his cookie and I think maybe that’s the extent of his reflections on Neanderthal impulses, until he looks me in the eye. “Imagine you and Emma are alone. She looks deep into your eyes and declares:
you’re mine
. How does that make you feel?”

It’s freaking obvious how that makes me feel—my fingers curl into my palms, my pulse hammers, my breathing speeds and I wouldn’t be surprised if my eyes just dilated.

He chuckles. “In private, between the two of you, there’s nothing wrong with a little… caveman sentiment. Or cavewoman, as the case may be. It’s natural.”

I’d practically driven Emma across her hotel room and onto her bed the first time I saw her after we decided to be together. The chance that will happen again, as soon as I get to the hotel this afternoon, is high. I want to touch her so badly that my skin tightens at the thought of her, nerve endings sensitive and raw. These reactions are visceral—primitive, and I’ve been trying to repress them ever since the first moment I saw her. What a waste of energy
that
has been.

“Thanks, Tim.”

“Glad to be of service.” He waggles his brows once, pulling Bose headphones on and leaning his seat all the way back.

Emma

I’m about to text Graham to see if he’s checked in yet when there’s a knock at the door. Glancing in the mirror as I pass it and wishing I’d had two minutes to check my hair and brush my teeth, I take a deep breath and make myself walk to the door. I want to run to it.

I pull the door open and feel my smile falter and resume half-heartedly. “Reid.”

He sighs. “God, woman, at least
try
to look like I’m not the last person on earth you’d like to see at your door. My self-image might never recover. You don’t want to be responsible for destroying my career, do you?”

Rolling my eyes at Reid’s exaggeration—as if I could deliver any kind of blow to his sense of self—I ignore his silly speech, backing up to let him in. “What’s up?” I shouldn’t have expected Graham. I don’t even know if he’s arrived at LAX yet.

Reid drops onto the small sofa. “We should talk about tonight’s logistics. The red carpet, the seating during the showing, whether or not you’ll need a paper bag to breathe into while you watch an
entire film
full of Emma Pierce on the huge screen…”

“Ha, ha,” I say with a nervous flutter in my stomach at the thought of that. Discomfort at watching yourself onscreen isn’t unheard of—some big-name actors even refuse to do it, which keeps me from feeling like a complete weirdo. I won’t need the paper bag if Graham is sitting next to me. He can unwind me with a look, or the smallest touch.

Rather than joining Reid on the sofa, I go back to unpacking, calling the concierge to have my dress for the premiere steamed for tonight. “I guess we’ll be walking in together, sitting next to each other during the showing. But… I’d like to have Graham on the other side of me.”

His mouth tightens a fraction with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Should be fine. If anything, it will just add to the drama. I take it production doesn’t have any clue about you and Graham?”

I shake my head, pulling out the pretty silver stilettoes I’m sure to hate by the end of the night. Chloe helped me shop for the shoes, and the dress. She was ecstatic when I agreed to let her assist, and she would have earned the Emily stamp of approval for the withering rebuke she sneered at a clerk at the boutique who wasn’t accommodating enough:

“This is
Emma Pierce
, and we’re choosing a gown for the worldwide premiere of the film
School Pride
, in which she stars alongside
Reid Alexander
! Fetch someone who can figure out what that requires, or we will take our business elsewhere!”

The snooty clerk, wide-eyed with panic by the time she heard Reid’s name, sprinted to the back. Minutes later, we were shown to a private dressing room and offered champagne while dozens of dresses were presented for our inspection. After narrowing these as though she was choosing weapons for battle, Chloe had me try on the few that made the cut. The green and silver dress we chose—our agreement my second shock of the day—is backless and flows to mid-calf.