Cut to the Chase (21 page)

The dedication.

In her first book, she’d thanked her college photography professor. The passionate and animated little man who always wore black pants, a crisp white shirt, and slender black suspenders had opened up her world to infinite creative possibilities. Her second book expressed gratitude to her parents. Even though a degree of disappointment in her choice of professions seemed to perfume the air in her parents’ house, she thanked them for rearing her and putting her through college. She loved her parents and, after all, had found her calling, no matter how frequently they crooked their eyebrows.

To
, she typed. She had many wonderful people in her life and she could name any one of them, but only one name seemed appropriate.

To Avalon.
She deleted that.
To A.R.—for the lovely woman you are inside.

That sounded so brainless.

She stared at the page on her computer. Then she typed:
To A.R.—the woman I’ve fallen unbelievably hard for. I can’t get you out of my mind and wish every day that things were different. You’re the lightest breath on my neck, the warmest arms around my shoulders, the everything I could ever want.

The weight of a million what-ifs threatened to crumple her. What if she gave Avalon another chance? She hesitated, her finger hovering over the Backspace key like a jumper on the roof of a building. She let her finger fall onto the key, pressed it, and watched the words disappear until it simply read
To A.R.

She hit Save and sent the manuscript to Carmen.

*

“Take me home.” Avalon’s head sloshed around with the woozy effects that alcohol had caused, but not so much that she couldn’t realize that agreeing to have dinner with Jessica had been a very bad idea.

“We’re right by the Abbey. I want another drink. Just one more.” Jessica’s three drinks at dinner had already taken effect as she veered over the lane lines on Melrose Avenue.

Avalon grabbed the side armrest. She checked her watch. She’d limited herself to two drinks, and it had been over an hour since her first. “Pull over, Jess.”

“Why?”

“Just pull over. I’m driving.”

“We’re almost there.”

Not with the way she was driving. They’d be lucky if they reached anywhere safely. Avalon’s stomach tightened in frustration. She didn’t want to spend one more minute with her ex.

Over the previous week, Jessica had left a number of polite and apologetic voice mails asking if they could mend their differences, and Avalon had unwisely taken the bait.

With
The Last Stand
now in post-production, Avalon was bombarded with interviews and press coverage, and Billy was in the final stages of negotiations with Garrett, almost ready to ink the deal that would put her in Spain on his film. She was busy and fairly happy, except for one thing. The hole Paige had left in her heart remained tender and sore. Thoughts of her filled every void in her life. She replayed the day at the Chateau Marmont pool so many times that she stayed sick with regret, and as badly as she wanted to mend the pain she’d caused Paige, their last words seemed to cement the finality of their different lives.

She had reluctantly agreed to Jessica’s invitation for dinner at Cecconi’s, and from the minute they arrived, Jessica had acted like they were back together. Jessica tried to put her arm around her, moved her chair as close to her as possible, leaned in romantically, and laughed way too loud for the actual conversation at hand. The room erupted in buzzing faster than a chain saw cuts through pine. Conversely, every minute with Jessica seemed to pass slower than stalactites form, so Avalon ordered the Italian tapas for both of them because they would be brought to the table faster than dinner.

Jessica managed to down three drinks in that time and hardly absorbed the message of
we’re over
that Avalon had peppered the conversation with.

Finally, Avalon said, “Jessica, I’m not sure why you wanted to have dinner, but I can tell you that you’re putting on quite a show.”

“No, I’m not.”

“If you want to officially mend our differences, they’re mended, okay? We’re not getting back together. I’ll be civil with you in public and I want the same.”

“Baby, let’s just enjoy the evening—”

“I’m not enjoying this. And I want to leave.”

“Okay,” she said, but it wasn’t until Jessica was behind the wheel that Avalon realized how inebriated she was. All the more irritated, she grew incensed when the car lurched every time Jessica turned to talk to her. Not only did she need to get her out of the driver’s seat, she intended to drive her home and call herself a cab.

“Pull the fucking car over! I’m going to drive!”

With a few jerks, Jessica managed to get over to a red curb and stop. They switched seats and Avalon pulled back onto Melrose.

When they approached Robertson, Jessica said, “Go to the Abbey. Turn here. Turn here.”

“I’m taking you home.”

Jessica yelled
What?
and grabbed the steering wheel, tugging it toward the right. Avalon raised her arm to wrench the wheel from Jessica’s grip and turned the wheel in the opposite direction. In a split second, the struggle escalated, the car accelerated, and tires screeched. An explosion seemed to break Avalon’s eardrums, and something punched her in the face as shattering glass and a sickening crunch of metal brought the car to a stop.

Paige collected her stage-play notebook and scooped her keys off the counter. Dee Jae’s classes had been her salvation, filling her nights with activities much more productive than ice cream, Oreo cookies, and
I Love Lucy
reruns.

Her cell phone chirped. “Hi, Chris, I’m just on my way out the—”

“Turn your TV on.”

“What?”

“Channel Two. It’s coming on after the commercial break.”

Paige picked up her remote and clicked the television on. “What is?”

“Just watch.”

A car commercial ended and
Entertainment Tonight
came on. A picture of Avalon appeared on the screen and host Nancy O’Dell began to speak.

“As we reported before the break, actress Avalon Randolph has just been released from the hospital after a car accident last night that resulted in the total loss of the Aston Martin she was driving. Reports say she was driving erratically and smashed into a brick building on the corner of Melrose and San Vicente. When police arrived, she allegedly fought with them and resisted arrest. A Breathalyzer test registered point zero eight, the bare minimum needed for a DUI. Jessica Wiley, her ex-lover, was also in the car at the time and is reported to own the car. Avalon and Jessica were taken to Cedar Sinai Hospital, where they were treated for their injuries. Avalon was then booked at the nearby Hollywood police station and released earlier this evening.”

Paige slowly dropped to the couch. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Chris said. “I mean, what the hell?”

It seemed that Avalon was okay, arrest and injuries aside, but what was she doing with Jessica? A sour slab of nausea landed in the bottom of her stomach. Were they back together? She wanted to cry. Yes, she had refused Avalon’s white flag, but selfishly, as long as Avalon wasn’t dating anyone else, she still held out hope that something might change. Now hopelessness leached though her skin and into her bloodstream, poisoning any chance of love and even staining the memories of their time together. It was truly over, and nothing would help her feel even the slightest bit okay.

She felt the hardness of the car keys in her hand and gripped them tight. Even the sanctuary of Dee Jae’s class was gone.

*

Lawyers. A necessary cog in the wheels of business. The unemotional rescuer of the unlawful.

Avalon sat glumly in a mahogany-paneled office of Stanley Erickson. How many celebrities had contributed to his high-rise view overlooking Century City and the endless maze of thickly carpeted offices and expensive furniture that filled the entire twelfth floor of his renowned plea-bargaining principality?

She shouldn’t have gone anywhere with Jessica. It had been stupid to think she could get Jessica to understand that it was over for good. She’d hoped she could close the fissure of contempt between them and end the constant drama. She didn’t need that kind of bullshit anymore. That was precisely the part of the package Paige hadn’t wanted. And though she’d lost Paige, the least she could do was honor her words and start to act in a way that Paige would be proud of. But she’d accomplished quite the opposite. She’d caused an even bigger scene by crashing the car with her ex. Maybe the part Paige was talking about was impossible to remove.

She’d had a stomachache since the night at Paige’s doorstep. Though Paige’s words had been the truth, they’d cut her with the devastation of a machete. The deep, ripping pain reminded her of the loving woman she no longer had. Each time she lay down, the sharp sting of loss ground into her like little shards of glass rubbed roughly into her skin. And the realization of how she’d fucked up was like someone pouring alcohol mercilessly into the bloody wound.

“Four months of community service and suspension of your driver’s license,” Stanley said after reviewing her paperwork for, maybe, two minutes.

“No fucking way,” she shouted.

Michele D. rested her hand on Avalon’s wrist. “Is that the best you can do?”

Avalon didn’t even try to stop her knee from bouncing in frustration. “Christ…”

Stanley looked up from his papers. “I’m not selling you a used car, Ms. Randolph. The
best I can do
is what I can convince the DA of. You’ll be responsible for restitution to both the car and the building. You have priors, I see, for disorderly conduct. That doesn’t help. With the recent publicity around some celebrities, the days of light sentences are quickly coming to an end.”

The day before, the charges read at the arraignment were like sharp whacks from a wooden paddle: DUI, resisting arrest, property damage auto, property damage structure. After her plea of not guilty, the judge ordered her free on bail, which she immediately paid. Michele D. picked her up, told her she’d set up a meeting with Erickson, and dropped her off at home.

With stomach-turning clarity, she remembered the whole night: the crash, the scuffle with the police, the hospital visit, and the police station. Most upsetting was her confrontation with the West Hollywood PD. She was so enraged at Jessica and then so spun up by the crash, she’d taken it out on them. Her mouth had spouted foolish and rash bullshit like the cops were the paparazzi. But they weren’t. And with an abrupt clank of handcuffs, her goose had been cooked.

All this because she had agreed to dinner with Jessica. She touched her split lip, running her fingers lightly over the four stitches that still hurt quite a bit. She had burned her hand on the chemicals from the airbag when it had exploded, and the bruise that traveled from her shoulder down past her collarbone was tender, but that was the extent of her injuries. Community service would be publicly embarrassing, but it wasn’t horrible. Even though Jessica was far drunker, Avalon had gotten behind the wheel and crashed the car. She had to step up and take that responsibility. Losing her license would also be incredibly inconvenient, but she could hire a driver. Anything was better than jail time.

“Fine,” she said. “When does this all start?”

“We’ll see at your preliminary hearing. I’ll talk to the DA and see if we can settle on a plea.”

She turned to Michele D. “At least I’ve got Garrett Chain’s film to look forward to. Do you think they’ll let me go to Spain in the middle of all this?”

Michele D.’s face seemed to pale instantly.

Avalon’s stomach lurched. “What?”

Michele D. spoke to Erickson. “Are we done here?”

He nodded and, as she stood, Avalon did the same.

“What, Michele?”

Without another word, Michele walked out, and all Avalon could do was will her now-shaking legs to follow.

*

Michele sat in her car with her cell phone in the palm of her hand. The speakerphone made her agent, Billy, sound like a nervous cricket in tall grass.

“Garrett’s already gotten wind of this, Avalon,” he said. “We’re out of the negotiations.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“He says you’re too much of a risk to production.”

“When have I ever missed a day of work?”

“We need to set up a meeting with Garrett,” Michele D. said.

“He’s got to be”—Avalon began to say, and when Michele D. raised her hand, Avalon slapped it away—“kidding!”

“I already asked. He said no.”

“I'm the best choice for this. The top choice.”

“I know,” Billy said. “But he’s adamant.”

“He’s an ass.” Avalon’s head was throbbing in turmoil.

“What are our options, Billy?”

The protracted pause screamed in Avalon’s ears.

“Nothing. We’re out.”

“Shit.” She needed aspirin badly.

“Until this washes over,” Michele D. looked dangerously stern, “you need to stay out of the press. I don’t want you talking to anyone.”

“This is when the paparazzi will be at its nosiest. They’ll be relentless,” Avalon said.

“And you don’t say a word, do you understand? No comments about how unfair this all is or that it happens to a lot of stars. If you’re seen out, go about your business without opening your mouth.”

She shook her head, disbelief making it pound so loudly she could hear the thumping of her heart.

“I’m canceling all interviews, as well. I don’t want anyone thinking about you at all.”

“Fuck.” Avalon’s frustration boiled inside. That was tantamount to death.

Frenetic colored lights raced around Avalon’s peripheral vision like bees swarming around a huge hive, and deafening music pounded so loudly, her chest rumbled. Long ago, it seemed, she had cared who saw her sitting at the Effen bar in the Abbey, but now she wanted desperately to be invisible. She hunched over her fourth or maybe fifth glass of vodka, ignoring the steady influx of stargazing, hopeful women who sidled up next to her, only to leave after realizing she wouldn’t look up and acknowledge them.