Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3) (60 page)

The judge nodded tiredly, perhaps expecting a photo of me with a black eye.

The attorney put the photos up on the big screen. I knew why—they made more impact that way, and I’d agreed that was how he should do it. But it meant that Ryan, my friends, and everyone else in the public gallery saw the Polaroids I’d taken. They saw me naked, from every angle, my body covered in bruises.

There was cursing and moans of dismay and sympathy from the jury. The judge’s face tightened and he gave my dad a look of absolute, unrestrained hatred.

Next to me, Ryan stiffened in his seat, squeezing my hand tight. I saw him look at my dad and, just for a second, I thought he was about to charge across the courtroom at him.

But instead, he put his arm around me and pulled me close. I could feel the rage coursing through him, hear his breath tight with it, but he had it under control.

“The prosecution rests,” said the attorney.

***

The jury took two hours to deliberate. I couldn’t work out if that was good or bad. We waited in the hallway, with my friends in a protective ring around me.

We filed back in and sat down. There wasn’t a single part of my body, from my fingers down to my toes, that wasn’t painfully stiff with tension. My stomach was so knotted up, I thought I was going to be sick.

The judge asked the foreman if the jury had reached a verdict. They had.

He asked how the jury found the defendant on the charge of murder.

The foreman said
guilty
and it was as though every dark claw my dad had sunk into me, every worm of self-doubt and shame that had chewed into my soul was being violently ripped from me. I grabbed Ryan and held him, clinging to him for strength, and the rest of the courtroom ceased to exist. Somewhere far away, the judge was banging his gavel for order. But for me there was only Ryan’s strong arms and the knowledge that my dad was done hurting me, forever, and that I could finally be myself.

***

Outside, it was a media circus. Cameras flashing in our faces. A thousand questions. The police were there, to hold people back.

Connor had brought Ryan’s car around front so we could make a quick escape. As Ryan and I got into the back, Dixon stepped from the crowd. “Jasmine!” he yelled.

A cop put his arm out to stop him, but I waved him back. “No. No, it’s okay. I know him.” I blinked. “You were in there?!” I asked incredulously.

Dixon looked me in the eye and clasped my hand in his. “I looked away, when they showed the photos.”

I believed him. The reporters were still crowding around us, so I pushed Dixon toward the car. He slid into the back seat with Ryan and me and Connor drove off.

“Thank you for doing this in person, not with a phone call,” I told Dixon. “But...it’s okay. I understand. You can’t have a former escort as your star.”

He looked shocked. “
That’s
why you think I’m here?” He’d always been so happy, so full of enthusiasm, that it was jarring to see him so serious. “Jasmine,
you’re one of my team.
I came to support you. You should have told me what was going on.” He shook his head in horror. “You thought I was here to
fire
you?”

I frowned, confused. “But all that stuff about my past. People think I’m an escort! The network doesn’t mind?”

He looked me right in the eye. “The network can go hang. The test audiences went nuts for the pilot.
Fucking. Nuts.
The network wants to sign us for at least two seasons. And the thing the test audiences liked most about it was the two of you.” He glanced across at Ryan, then grabbed my hand again. “You just did the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t give a shit about what you did in the past. Either you’re in the show or there
is
no show.”

I could feel my eyes filling up with tears.

Dixon leaned across the car to Ryan. “And
you,
big guy. I saw how you controlled yourself in there. You’ve got it all locked down. The part’s yours, if you want it.”

Ryan looked at me and then nodded.

“I gotta warn you, though,” said Dixon. “The audiences loved Tyler, too. They like that whole love triangle thing. He won’t be in it much, but he and Jasmine will have to do some more kissing. That going to be a problem?”

Ryan smiled and shook his head. “No. Tyler and I are okay.”

I frowned at him.
What did I miss?!
He patted my shoulder and gave me an
I’ll tell you later
look.

“So where now?” asked Connor from the driver’s seat.

“Back to the hotel, to meet up with everyone,” I said. “And then New York.” I squeezed Ryan’s hand. “We’re going home.”

***

At the hotel, we assembled the convoy: Ryan’s car, Darrell’s car, and our biker escort. Dixon’s eyes widened as he got out of the car. We introduced him to everyone.

“Ballerinas…” he said in wonder, “bikers...you two lead
very
interesting lives. I feel a whole new show coming on.”

I hugged each of the girls in turn. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For being there for me.”

They pulled me into a group hug. “Let’s never do this again,” I said. “From now on, we tell each other everything, and”—I broke off, staring at Clarissa—”Clarissa,
WHAT’S THAT ON YOUR FINGER?!”

“Oh,” said Clarissa, looking slightly embarrassed. “That.
”

***

Clarissa told the story to Karen, Nat and me over cocktails that night in Flicker. Which is exactly how that sort of a story should be told.

Neil, she’d discovered, was a card counter. A professional gambler who used his ginormous MIT brain to gain the edge over casinos. No one expected a long-haired biker to be capable of such a feat, so he’d been flying under the radar for years. Every few months, he’d ride all the way across the country to Vegas (his excuse was that it was difficult to get big loads of cash through airport security without arousing suspicion, but we all agreed that he just enjoyed the ride).

Once there, he’d move around between the casinos for a few days or a week, playing the role of a drunken biker who’d hit it lucky. He’d win, the casino would give him a complimentary room to encourage him to stay and lose the money back to them, he’d win bigger, they’d comp him an even bigger room, he’d win
again,
and then he’d hightail it before he got his legs broken.

He’d tried to hide it from Clarissa at first, but she’d followed him to a casino and caught him in the act. Then she’d tried to talk him out of it, worried for his safety, but he was determined to pay his way in their relationship and counting cards paid well. Besides, he told her, he enjoyed it.

They’d very nearly broken up over it. And then, when she was right on the verge and faced with losing him, she’d realized she needed to accept him for who he was: a big, smart, loud-mouthed biker with hippy tendencies and a dominant streak that made her soak her panties. Worried for his safety if he kept pulling the same routine again and again, she’d decided that if she couldn’t change his mind, she’d join him.

So Clarissa became Erika, a traveling Russian oil heiress, and Neil became Boris, her husband, and, with the help of a sparkly silver dress for her and a tracksuit for him, they left Vegas almost three hundred thousand dollars richer—Neil’s biggest ever haul. He wouldn’t have to go back to Vegas for a long time. “Although,” said Clarissa, “I kind of want to. It was
fun!
A real adrenaline rush. The sex afterwards was amazing.”

“Let me hear your Russian accent,” I said.

“
I am Erika. I vant to be playing the Blackjack,”
rasped Clarissa.

“Terrible,” I said. “I’ll have to give you acting lessons. And I don’t even want to know what Neil sounds like. And the ring?”

Clarissa smiled and looked down at the glittering diamond. “We had three bags stuffed with banknotes, I was in a sparkly dress, we were on Neil’s Harley and about to ride all the way across America. And I realized just how much I loved him. It seemed appropriate.”

“
Please
tell me it was Elvis who married you!” said Karen.

Clarissa looked shocked. “Under the circumstances, do you think I’d have settled for anyone else?”

Epilogue

Three Months Later

My place was too small, the mansion was too big, and Karen’s place was too full of valuable, breakable things, so we were having the party in Clarissa and Nat’s apartment. I was in Nat’s bedroom, hanging fairy lights.

Nat had followed through on her promise to move back in. She and Darrell alternated between nights there and nights at the mansion. Nat slapped the wall that separated her bedroom from Clarissa’s and beamed at the dull thump. “Soundproofing,” she explained. “Darrell and Neil fitted it all around Clarissa’s room. Now she and Neil can be as loud as they like and we don’t even hear it.”

“Hear what?” asked Clarissa, walking in.

“The music,” I said quickly. “People won’t be able to hear the music...um...unless we put some on! Come choose some with me!”

I grabbed Clarissa by the hand and took her into the living room, where we started making a playlist. It was weird to think of her as married. Three times married, really. She and Neil had had a second wedding ceremony—a proper one—in Boston and then a third one especially for Neil’s MC, at which Clarissa formally became his “old lady.” They’d copied Nat and Darrell and split their time between Neil’s place in Boston and the New York apartment. Clarissa hadn’t been overjoyed when she found out that he lived above a strip club, and occasionally picked up a shift working the door there.

“He better not be messing around with any of the dancers,” she told me as we picked albums. “I’ve got a good mind to go down there and check up on him.” She bit her lip. “But he said if I did, he was going to punish me. And tell the owner I was there for an audition.” She looked dreamy for a second, and then she remembered I was there and her face reddened. I focused on the playlist and pretended I hadn’t noticed.

Karen came in from the kitchen. “Okay,” she said. “Done. What do you think?” She held up the banner she’d been making:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JASMINE,
in pink and silver.

“It’s beautiful,” I said with feeling.

“You’re sure about...you know. The name? Because I made the letters so they can be rearranged.” She demonstrated. “And we already have an ‘E’ and an ‘M’ and an ‘A’ in ‘JASMINE’ so I’d only need to make another ‘M’ and—”

I shook my head. “I’m sure.”

I’d realized that I didn’t have to choose between being Emma and Jasmine. Even a fake personality you create is still part of you, and there were parts of Jasmine I wanted to keep. Her bouncy optimism, her sexual appetite, her style. But there were parts of Emma I wanted to keep, too. I couldn’t live without that deep, almost spiritual connection she could make with Ryan. I needed to really
feel
, both in sex and in love. So I became not Emma or Jasmine, but
me.

But I was keeping the name.

Karen hung the banner and then joined us messing with the playlist. After finishing off their first album together, she and Connor were taking a well-earned rest before starting on their second. Of course,
rest
for Karen meant she was only playing the cello for two hours a day. Three,
tops.

She was still experimenting and pushing her limits...but now she wasn’t afraid to ask for help. I’d spent a good portion of the previous night on the phone to her, browsing an online lingerie store and picking out something to surprise Connor with (“Really? A corset? Are you sure?” “I’m sure, Karen, I’m sure.”).

It felt like I had the old Karen back...and now that she had a head start on me in the Serious Relationship stakes, I could ask her for advice, too. (“Really? Making him mashed potatoes and gravy is romantic? You sure?” “I’m sure, Jasmine, I’m sure.”).

Karen of course, had graduated the year before. Nat, Clarissa, and I were a few months away. Nat, with her demons finally behind her, had excelled in her dancing and was choosing between two different dance companies. Clarissa had her eye on a spot with an internationally-touring ballet company. (“All those European cities they tour in have casinos!” she’d told me excitedly. “Neil can come with me and we’ll
clean up!).

I’d had to miss some classes to fit in filming the first season of
Blue & Red
, but Fenbrook was pretty flexible that way—their ultimate aim was for us to secure jobs, after all. I was going to have to work my ass off in the break between seasons, but things were much easier now I didn’t have to work a bar job to pay the rent. The paycheck from the pilot and the generous contract Dixon had given me would keep me going for a good long while.

There was another reason I’d missed classes, too. About a month after the trial, I’d taken the difficult decision to go to the police about my rape. Retelling it all was traumatic but I didn’t have to go through a trial. Faced with the knowledge that my dad was already in prison for twenty long years and would no doubt testify against them to try to reduce his sentence, Brady, Thomas and Earl all pled guilty. They got five years each, with no parole.