Here Without You (20 page)

‘That’s new.’

She shrugs. ‘I just don’t want River getting hurt because of it. Especially the whole illegitimate thing. So … I was
thinking about giving Rowena an exclusive for the first photos of River –’

‘What?
No
. Why would you even consider letting one of those vultures take photos of him?’

‘Because, c’mon, Reid, be realistic – they’re
gonna take photos
of him. This is a huge story, and Hollywood babies are stalked hard. If we have Rowena do them, we diffuse some of the demand for him,
and
control how he’s presented to the general public.’

I grimace. ‘Alarmingly, that makes some sense …’

‘Of course it does. Look. He’s four. If we can manage the way his story is told now, it will become the accepted account of his life. Once he’s old enough to realize we’re his real parents, it won’t be a big deal.’

‘Except when he figures out that you and I were
happy
-happy at least once, which should absolutely be our secret code word for
sex
.’ I flutter my lashes and affect a feminine voice. ‘Reid, since you have River this weekend, I’m going to
happy-happy
my new personal trainer!’

‘Shut
up
.’ She punches me in the arm just hard enough to bruise. ‘I don’t do people who work for me. Gross. And trust me, you’ve been getting a lot more
happy-happy
than I have recently.’

‘Jealous?’ She tries to punch me again and I block her and laugh. ‘Didn’t you say you’d decided to do the season finale of
Life’s a Beach
, along with that brainless beefcake you were involved with – what’s his name – Xavier something-or-other? I’m sure he’d be game for a little
happy-happy
.’

Hiding her face, she laughs. ‘Ugh! We were involved all of
once
– he was all pretty and no skill.’

‘Unlike yours truly.’ Grinning wickedly, I waggle my brows and she rolls her eyes.

‘Christ, your ego always was ginormous. Unbelievably, it appears to have grown. How does your new girlfriend handle that thing? Or is that what you like about her being an ordinary girl – ass over elbows because hot superstar Reid Alexander is paying attention to her.’

I feel like she’s just poked my good mood with a pin. ‘Dori’s not like that.’

‘Oh?’

‘She’s never been awestruck by me or impressed by the whole celebrity thing, whether I wanted her to or not. She doesn’t think of me like that.’

She arches a brow. ‘So you say. But you can’t escape who you are, Reid, and neither can she.’

And with those words, Brooke verbalizes exactly what I’m worried about. The odd solidarity building between us today served as somewhat of a distraction from my uneasiness concerning Dori, but that’s all it was – a distraction.

‘I’m going to step outside and call her,’ I say.

But of course, Dori doesn’t answer. I disconnect when it rolls to voicemail, and then send her another text, in which I try to sound like I’m not about to lose it because she hasn’t answered me since she got out of my car forty-eight hours ago.

Reid:
You never told me how you did in the exam. Everything okay? Depressed to be the ripe old age of 19?

I stare at Reid’s last text again and know I have to answer him. He’s in Austin, with the mother of his child – who I didn’t know existed until two days ago. All Sunday evening, I thought about what he said. How he hadn’t known the baby was his. That he didn’t know how to tell me.

I inferred from these words that he didn’t want to tell me at all, and I should be angry or tolerant or hurt over the lie. I am all those things – but over his child’s existence, not over the fact that he didn’t tell me. Once I got over the shock of it, I can see why he didn’t want to tell me.

Because he feared I’d react like this. Maybe he even knew I would.

It’s been hours since that last text, but when I answer it, he replies immediately.

Me:
I survived the exam. 19 is a weird age to be. I think I should feel older. Or younger. I can’t decide.

Reid:
I’ll give you a heads-up on 20 in 3.5 weeks. I suspect it may be more of the same.

Me:
At least it will be a different decade. Observable progress.

Reid:
True.

Reid:
We met with Brooke’s attorney and caseworker. They’re going to try to make this as simple as possible, so the process isn’t extended thanks to me joining it.

Reid:
Can I call you now? Or tomorrow night when I’m home?

Me:
I’ve got a study group in a few minutes and a guest lecturer symposium tomorrow.

Reid:
Ok. I’m heading to Utah on Thursday morning to start shooting scenes there, but I’ll text you.

A few photos of our night out in San Francisco made it on to the gossip sites. It took a couple of days for anyone to identify me, and even still, there are sceptics – because in that blue dress and heels and Reid’s shoulder partially blocking my face, I look nothing at all like that girl from Habitat. Nothing like an ordinary girl from LA.

The most vocal disbelievers think I’m someone minor from his last film, or the new one that begins shooting in a couple of days. According to rumours, taking a bed-to-bed
sampling of the female cast members is customary for Reid Alexander. I’ve tried to get Kayla and Aimee to stop sending me links to the photos and stories – but they’re far too excited to ‘know’ a celebrity like Reid.

My mind drifts back a few months, to when we’d begun hanging out at his place, to the night I taunted him about having a popular novel with predominantly female fans on his bedside table. Brushing aside my snarky tone, he informed me he was up for the lead role in the film, as though this was no big deal. Deliberately, he gave me that lazy smile and asked if I thought he could
bring him to life
on the big screen.

He knew exactly what those words would do, once unleashed in my imagination.

Before I could hide my astonishment, he teased me by guessing that I was one of those ‘brainy’ girls who only got in trouble for reading past lights-out. (I was.) Before I left that night, he’d kissed me – a lot – while a tiny sliver of my mind’s eye was unable to stop picturing him as that brooding character I knew too well.

Thus began the weeks of what we termed being
reckless
– and I worry that from my viewpoint, at least, that word defines our entire relationship. Reid lives his life in a reckless way, and ever since his life collided with mine last summer, I’ve been unbalanced. The trajectory of my safe, small orbit cannot contain him, and no amount of wishing will change that.

He told me on Sunday that once news of River breaks, it will be a circus. I’m not sure what he means, not entirely, but I have a better idea than most. The
truth
will only be
what the truth looks to be, not what it is. The media will toss out possibilities, and fans will gobble them down, making up their own storylines. They’ll want to see Reid and his beautiful ex back together, saving their son from the horrors of drug addicts and foster care, and they won’t want a plain-Jane nobody interloper in the mix.

Claudia drives Raul, Afton and me to Zachary’s Pizza to brainstorm ideas for our group project. Afton and I don’t own a car, and Raul’s tiny, ill-maintained Fiat seats two and is forever running on fumes. He and Claudia argued about this all the way here and are still at it.

‘You
never
drive, even that one time it was just the two of us.’

Raul peruses the menu, his eyebrows arched defensively towards his black spiked hair. ‘So I’d rather bum rides or take public transport everywhere and have a social life than buy gas for my little deathtrap – sue me.’

‘Bum is right,’ Claudia murmurs.

‘You do know pizza can be delivered? We didn’t have to show up in person,’ he says.

‘Not from Zachary’s. And other places are
so
not the same –’

‘
Vraiment!
’ Afton interjects in French, though by the looks they give each other, neither of them speaks it. ‘This place is the best. Now stop fighting, you two.
God
.’ She punctuates this edict with a pout, which ruins the stern mother effect.

Gesturing at her with his menu, Raul objects. ‘We’re not
fighting, we’re sparring. It’s what we do. If you don’t like it, turn away.’ He makes a
move-along
motion with his free hand.

Afton rolls her eyes. ‘I vote thin crust spinach and mushroom.’

Raul is horrified. ‘No way. I’m a man. I need
meat
and I want it
stuffed
.’

‘That’s what he said,’ Claudia mumbles.

Before Raul can return fire, I notice one of the girls from my building who saw me with Reid the night he stayed in my dorm – one of the girls on the receiving end of that spontaneous wink of his. She’s sitting at an adjacent table with several other girls, and they’re all leaning their heads together and staring – at me.

‘Uh-oh,’ Claudia tells me quietly. ‘I think your cover is blown.’

‘What cover? What’s going on?’ Afton is wide-eyed and speaking in a whisper that could be heard two tables away.

‘Why. Are. We. Whispering?’ Raul asks, whispering just as loudly.

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ I ask, and they all look at me like I’m insane. There’s a mob of people waiting for tables, and we’ve got one.

A waiter appears, as though Raul’s growling stomach conjured him. ‘What can I get for you guys tonight?’

As Raul and Afton order, Claudia scoots her chair a bit, blocking me from maybe two people at the table of six. ‘Just ignore them.’

Ignore them.
Right
. I rearrange my silverware, all too aware that they’ve pulled out cell phones now and are taking pictures. Of
me
. When I was with Reid on Saturday night, and he guided me into the restaurant with one arm around my waist, the paparazzi flashes were different. The photos were of him, and I was merely with him.

Here, I’m alone, ordering dinner with friends, living my average-girl life.

Except for the whole
strangers photographing me
part.

‘Why is that gaggle of sororstitutes taking our picture?’ Raul asks when the waiter leaves.

Claudia sputters, ‘Don’t call them
that
, you sexist –’

‘Have you seen the parade of them through my dorm room? No. You have not.’ One of Raul’s roommates is a total man-whore, and is beyond skilled – according to Raul – at locating and successfully propositioning every willing girl on campus. ‘I can sleep through just about anything now. A condition which makes me sad for my lost innocence.’

Claudia barks a laugh. ‘Oh, please. If
you’re
innocent, I’m the Dali Lama.’

‘
Namaste
,’ he returns.

‘Excuse me.’ Oh, no. Elevator girl – holding a magazine, folded open to a page splashed with photographs of various celebrities everywhere from fashion shows to deli counters to poolside. Right in the centre: Reid in his grey suit and blue tie, and me, semi-obscured by Reid’s body, in the blue dress. ‘This is
you
, isn’t it? And when Geneva and I saw you in the elevator – that was
him
, wasn’t it? I mean, I can
understand why you’d want to keep it on the
down-low
, but come
on
.’

I cross my fingers under the table. ‘We’re … friends.’ I don’t even know why I’m lying.
I hate lying
.

She arches an eyebrow. ‘So what’s he doing with
Brooke Cameron
? I mean – you said the guy you were with was your
boyfriend
before, when we asked …’

Darn her memory. ‘He just … didn’t want to be recognized.’

‘Because he didn’t want it getting back to her that he was spending nights with you?’

My jaw falls open. Luckily, Claudia says, ‘Hey, look. We’re trying to have a study group session here. She says they’re friends, and she has no comment on what’s-her-name. And please tell your friends that taking pictures of people they don’t know is
rude
. Tah-tah and buh-bye.’

The girl turns on her heel and shoots back to the table, where all six heads are conferring.

‘Fudge,’ I say.

By Wednesday evening, there’s an indistinct photo of Reid and Brooke Cameron outside a courthouse in downtown Austin on Tuesday morning. That’s when the speculation starts in earnest. The photos of them in the airport and on the plane – each reading something, not touching and not speaking to each other – all of a sudden look like a lovers’ spat.

That girl in San Francisco must be the cause of it, one site speculates. Brooke must have gone home to Texas, upset,
and he followed her. But what are they doing at a courthouse?

Everyone has an opinion, and of course, neither of them can be reached for comment.

Reid:
Why aren’t you answering my texts or calls?

Every time I get a text, I think maybe it’s from Dori, but it’s not.

This morning, Mom texted photos of the renovations in my old room. She and Dad set up home study appointments, and we’ve all filled out questionnaires that are every bit as intrusive as Brooke warned me they’d be. Mom is somehow
happy
about River, which floors me but doesn’t seem to stun Dad, who says he knew it would go one of two ways.

He told her, she cried, and then she called to tell me she was proud of me.

She’s only said that to me once before – the day I beat up a kid at school who’d lifted a girl’s skirt in front of everyone in the playground and thought it was funny – until I busted his lip open. We both got suspended, though our exclusive private school had a zero tolerance for violence policy. Funny how zero tolerance turns into we’re-tolerating-it-just-this-once when affluent parents throw money at the problem.

That was ten years ago.

I just got a text from Emma, who I’ve only talked to twice since the Vancouver film festival last fall; getting a text from her is out of the blue.

Emma:
Dad called to tell me I’d got a call from a caseworker in Texas, and I assumed it was about Brooke, but it was about YOU?

Me:
Wow, that was fast.

Emma:
 ???

Me:
We’re asking for joint custody.

Emma:
Hold on. I must be hallucinating. I read that you two have been … seeing each other, which I thought could not be for real. But YOU and BROOKE – joint custody? Can you talk???

Me:
Sure, I’ve got a few minutes.

‘I see you’ve been reading the gossip sites,’ I answer in place of
hello
, grabbing a bottle of water from the craft services trailer and moving away from the current scene being shot. I’m in full costume and make-up – including a couple of authentic-looking blades, one tucked into a holster on my belt and another in my boot, but I’ve got fifteen or twenty minutes until I’m up.

‘Reid, you know I’m not allowed to read those. Emily reads them. I’m shown links or given summarized news on a need-to-know basis only.’

‘Still? I guess now she’s protecting you from the legions of Graham-stalkers, eh?’ She growls and I can’t help but
laugh. ‘Well, you can tell
Emily
that hearsay concerning Brooke’s and my rekindled relationship is baseless. I’m with Dori. Not that she’s talking to me.’

‘And the
joint custody
thing you just so casually mentioned?’

‘Yeah, that’s a thing. Not a thing that’s out yet – but it will be. Soon.’

She sighs. ‘Reid – you know that once that’s out, it’s going to underscore the perception that you and Brooke are together, and the media will push that angle full throttle. I don’t know your girlfriend, but if it was me, I’d be
really
bothered. You need to talk to her.’

‘I
know
that – but she’s not answering my calls or texts. Her parents hate me. I don’t actually know any of her friends. I’m going to try to make a quick trip to Berkeley on Saturday, but right now I’m stuck on location in the middle of a fucking canyon in fucking
Utah
 …’ I release a snarl of complete frustration and stop just short of running my hand through my perfectly styled set hair. ‘And why am I talking to you about this?’

‘Because I’m nosy?’

I laugh and heave a sigh.

‘I know I’m not a
regular girl
compared to Dori – especially since I’ll be banking on my previous film career to help me land Broadway auditions. But I do know how it feels to watch my movie-star boyfriend be publicly salivated over by thousands of girls, to have him constantly rumoured to be hooking up with other people. It’s hard to take sometimes, even if I know it’s total rubbish. And I trust Graham more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.’