Absolutely True Lies (8 page)

Without waiting to be invited in, Vaughn moved past me and went for the open balcony door, straight to the small table overlooking the water. There wasn’t much to see in the dark, but the sound of the ocean was soothing. “No more people, please. That beach was like a rave by the end.” Vaughn quickly went to work, setting a little dinner scene in my hotel room. He glanced up at the half-moon that hung low over the water. “Nice view.”

“Do you not have a view?”

“I’m a few floors up and my balcony wraps around the corner,” he said, busying himself laying out utensils. “So yes. I’m just never in my room long enough to enjoy it.”

“Tell me about it.” I looked around the room, realizing my things were scattered everywhere. I’d managed to make a five-star hotel suite look like a dorm room. “Are you sure I can’t change? I’ll be quick.”

“No. Sit.” He shot a quick look to my pajama pants and grinned. “There’s no need to hide
Sailor Moon
. You’re among friends.”

No one I’d met in L.A. knew
Sailor Moon
. But then, I also didn’t know many people who walked around in
Doctor Who
T-shirts. “You’re a fan?”

Vaughn shrugged. “I always found Usagi a little whiny. Sailor Mercury is more my speed.” He gestured for me to join him on the balcony.

I walked over and sat down, feeling enormously out of place, even in my own room. I wasn’t sure why Vaughn was there, and I’ve never been particularly fond of uncertainty.

He opened the containers of food, revealing breaded chicken and mashed potatoes. “Sorry if it’s not fancy. You can’t be too choosy this late at night.”

“The only takeout I’ve ever had at ten
P.M.
came from a drive-
through window. No worries.” I didn’t want to tell him that fast food was pretty much my entire diet. By this point, I wasn’t even sure my body would recognize a green vegetable.

As uncomfortable as I was, Vaughn seemed right at home. He relaxed back into his chair and took a bite of his potatoes. We’d only met eight hours ago and he was already acting like we’d been around each other for years. I didn’t know what to make of it.

“So tell me how you came to the Monkey House.” Vaughn went to work opening a bottle of wine. I wanted to tell him that I think wine tastes like turpentine, but I appreciated the gesture. And isn’t drinking wine something adults do?

“I’m sorry?” I’d never heard that expression before. I wasn’t sure what it meant or if I should be offended.

“My first day on a set was right out of college,” he told me. Vaughn grabbed a couple of plastic cups and filled them with wine. “And I walked on, all terrified and nervous that I was going to fall on my face. No one talked to me for ten minutes, until I found the second AD—second assistant director. And as we walked to the production trailer to get started, he said to me, ‘Welcome to the Monkey House. It’ll be crazy and infuriating and you’ll love it more than you’ll hate it.’ He was right.”

“Really, you love it?” I asked. “I watched the behind-the-scenes footage and everyone kept saying that. But you work crazy long days, right?”

Vaughn shrugged. “Yes. But most of my friends work on film sets, too. I wouldn’t really know what else to do with my time.”

“I don’t know. Muay Thai. Knitting. Whatever.” I was confused by the thought that an industry literally built by creativity was populated by people who couldn’t come up with a nonwork hobby.

“You still didn’t answer my question. What brought you here to play with us? You don’t seem anything like the other ghostwriters Daisy interviewed on set.”

There was that word again. Daisy had also referred to our work as
“play.” Maybe I needn’t have worried so much about my geek-culture pajamas; it was seeming more and more like no one here wanted to behave like an adult, anyway. “It’s a great opportunity,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I take it?”

Vaughn stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed. “Of course. Great opportunity.” There was definitely more behind that moment of hesitation, but I didn’t know him nearly enough to guess what that was. He raised his plastic cup. “Let’s toast to new opportunities. And new friends.”

“Cheers.” I touched my glass to his and forced myself to take a sip. I was glad the cup was giant and red, as it hid my inevitable grimace. Why didn’t more people toast with margaritas? “I have a million more questions for you about the show and Daisy and . . . just about everything.”

“Later.” Vaughn grinned at me and I again noticed how lopsided he smiled. It was adorable. And I really didn’t want to let myself think of him as adorable. This was my job, and one I desperately needed. “For now I want to hear more about you.”

Me? There’s nothing interesting about me. Unless he wanted to hear about the weekly marching band practice at the school near my apartment, I didn’t know what to tell him. “Um . . . I’m from Western New York. Which is not the city and also not upstate.”

“That’s a start.” Vaughn’s grin grew wider, and I knew I was in trouble.

•  •  •

I
worried we wouldn’t have anything to talk about, but somehow, Vaughn and I stayed up chatting until nearly 3:00
A.M.
He told me a little bit about working his way up to producer, but the story sounded all too brief. I didn’t even know it was possible to become a producer by the age of thirty-one, and he’d already been working with Nickelodeon for six years.

He seemed just as engaged by learning about me, but I couldn’t
figure out why. My story is as terrestrial as they come. I told him about Sarah Lawrence and growing up just my mom and me, how I’d needed my scholarship and several jobs to pay my tuition. I talked about Camille and Donnie, and my tiny little jerk, Smitty. It was nice to meet an L.A. person who actually cared what I had to say and not just about what designer made my shoes.

I finally kicked him out when I saw the last lights start to flicker out across the beachfront. Not because I necessarily wanted to, but because I knew it was already tomorrow and I had run out of things to say. When Vaughn paused at the door, I found myself tangled up in a few dozen knots as he leaned in to my face. He sweetly kissed my cheek, which might not sound like much, but which I found a hell of a lot more appealing than if he’d gone for my lips.

Under any other circumstances, I would have been giddy over this turn of events. But all I could think was,
Crap
. This was going to make things just that much more complicated.

•  •  •

“T
ell me about you and the yummy professor,” Axel said, pouncing the instant I walked into the Presidential Suite.

“It’s so crazy.” Daisy giggled. Today she was clad in a minuscule, partially see-through sundress that may have been a bathing suit cover-up. “I swear, Mama and I thought John was gay.”

“Vaughn,” I corrected her. The rest of the world could treat her like some adorable little idiot, but I wasn’t about to. I just didn’t have the energy.

“He sure talked about
you
an awful lot last night,” Axel said.

Daisy made a sound of disgust. “God, I know. How old is Holly, how long have you known her, what kind of music is she into . . . I was finally like, man, nobody cares about Holly.”

How touching.

“Did he come find you last night?” Sharla asked. “He asked for your room number. I guess the hotel wouldn’t give it to him.”

From the end of the couch, Axel kicked Sharla with one foot. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I forgot.” When Axel didn’t seem mollified by this, she held up her hands apologetically. “I was busy!”

I watched the exchange, hoping it would sufficiently distract them from noticing I hadn’t yet answered the question. It didn’t. It only took another two seconds before all three turned to stare at me expectantly. They looked alarmingly like Daisy’s three dogs, lined up in a row and waiting for a treat. Unfortunately, I was the treat.

“Well?” Axel demanded.

“He did,” I replied, keeping my tone as noncommittal as I could manage. “He’s helping me. Giving me information about the show, how it works. You know.”

Axel and Sharla yelled at me at the same moment, while Daisy yawned. Axel called out, “Boo!” while Sharla shook her head and said, “Well, that’s no fun.”

The door to Daisy’s bedroom opened and Jamie walked out, clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt. I instantly forgot about Vaughn as I was now focused on the rumpled man heading toward us. I was shocked, but when I looked around at the others, no one reacted or even seemed to notice. Though I managed to hide my outrage, internally I was on fire. It was bizarre enough that Daisy slept next to her makeup artist and gay hairstylist, but her forty-five-year-old
straight
agent? This was starting to seem all kinds of messed up.

“We need to be ready to leave by one,” Jamie said brusquely, grabbing a LäraBar from the table.

The others seemed to forget about Vaughn, too. Daisy turned to me and frowned. “I don’t know what we’re going to put you in,” she said, disgusted.

I was wearing shorts and a tank top with a hoodie. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with my appearance, but apparently, I was Godzilla in thrift-store discards. Not all of us could look like we were getting ready for a spread in
Playboy
.

“You’re right.” Jamie winced. “We can’t put her in a bathing suit.”

If I wasn’t offended before, I certainly was now. I was starting to experience all sorts of body issues I’d never had before. Bulimia was beginning to make sense to me.

“What would you like me to wear?” I asked.

“They need you to hide your tummy,” Axel whispered loudly.

“Why?” I asked, unconsciously putting a hand on my stomach. It felt pretty flat to me, but who was I to judge my own worth?

“Oh,” Daisy said, waving a dismissive hand in the air, “when you passed out the other night, Jamie told the press it was because you were preggers.” She turned to her agent thoughtfully. Well, as thoughtfully as she was capable of. “You know, maybe we should put her in a bikini. She could totally pass for three or four months along.”

Suddenly, I knew why the waitress at the Titanic had been so upset with me. She’d thought I was pregnant and still ordering hard liquor. Awesome.

“No,” Jamie said. I wondered if people constantly overestimated his level of intelligence because he said everything so purposefully. “Let’s put her in a baggy sweatshirt. The paps will think she’s trying to hide her stomach.”

“But I don’t look pregnant in the pictures from the club,” I pointed out. In fact, I’d venture that the corset pushed so much of my body fat back inside me that I could have caused internal damage.

Daisy smiled up at me sympathetically. “That’s open for debate, sweetie.”

Jamie looked me up and down, then took a fifty out of his wallet and slapped it into my hand. “Go to the lobby and buy a sweatshirt big enough to hide your Amazon warrior princess frame and meet us at the car in half an hour.”

It took me a full five seconds to process the instructions and
actually move. Nothing about this job was playing out the way I’d expected, and it was keeping me perpetually off-balance. I couldn’t begin to guess what would happen next.

•  •  •

A
s we drove the streets of the city in the Escalade, I found my mind drifting to Vaughn again. To our odd late-night dinner and what it meant, if anything. As the group chattered away about some model named Knox and an accident with a tongue ring, I mentally replayed the conversations from the night before, looking for meaning I may have missed.

I was so lost in my own head that I didn’t notice where we were going until we pulled up outside of a marina. A cadre of old men in hideous canvas vests lined one side of the pier, their fishing poles cast out into the Atlantic. Wait a minute . . . Daisy didn’t believe in eating anything but tomatoes and onions, but she was cool with spearing fish through the mouth and gutting them?

“Um, I don’t handle live bait,” I said nervously as everyone piled out of the SUV. “No offense, but I really hate worms.”

Daisy looked at me strangely. “Oh my God, do yachts run on worms?” she cried. “That is so barbaric.”

Without missing a beat (or even looking at Daisy), Jamie replied, “No, Holly, we’re not going fishing.”

“We’re going out on a yacht?” I asked, feeling stupid. I hadn’t been on a boat since a whale-watching field trip in the fifth grade.

“Not just any yacht,” Daisy said. “Christos Oradon’s yacht.”

“The Greek shipping magnate?” It astonishes me how many gazillionaires know each other. Maybe there’s some kind of social club we normals aren’t allowed to know about.

“Yep,” she said. “We dated when I was like fifteen, but that was forever ago. We’re cool as friends now.”

Christos Oradon, if I wasn’t mistaken, was thirty-three and twice-divorced. Which meant that the then fifteen-year-old Daisy
had dated a twenty-nine-year-old man who owned his own chain of islands. Faith was clearly a top-notch parent.

“But don’t put that in the book,” she added.

Of course not,
I thought. The parents of her fans would be outraged.

“Yeah, people don’t really like it when celebs date foreigners.”

Sure, because that was the only thing wrong with that statement. And since when was dating a foreigner a taboo subject? I could name literally dozens of A-list couples from opposite sides of the world. I couldn’t imagine where Daisy was getting her erroneous information about public perception, but it did explain a lot of her actions. “So Christos was okay with your no-sex thing?” I asked, looking down at Daisy’s purity ring. I figured I already knew the answer, but I had to ask.

“I want you to tell the world that sex is meaningless without commitment,” she answered, tapping the metal of her ring. “My parents have always said I should make my own decisions in life, but I’m a big supporter of their work with abstinence programs.”

“Really . . .” I mused, trying to formulate an opinion on her words.

“Not really.” Daisy snorted. “I’m a total nympho, I just know better than to get caught.”

Axel leaned in to my ear. “Sugar, this bitch could show you some things.”