Not in the Script (20 page)

“No, this is called self-defense, which is actually
encouraged
. So if you ever threaten me again, in any way, the next time you see your pretty face on a magazine cover, it will have the headline
STALKER
printed above it.”

I don't need to wait for Troy's reply. I've just delivered the performance of my life, and his stunned look says enough.

Emma leaves a message Sunday afternoon. She says, “Don't believe anything you see or hear about this weekend until I tell you about it myself. Tomorrow, at work.”

She must not have checked the schedule, because I have Monday off. When I don't hear from her by nine that night, I give in and call her. She doesn't pick up, but sends me a text right away:
On the phone with my mom and publicist. For 50 more hours. Ugh. Sorry.

Tuesday morning, when Emma is on location somewhere else, I walk into the sound studio to find Brett in the foam-padded booth. The whole left side of his face is black and blue. “Ouch,” I tell the sound guy.

He shrugs. “Never a boring day with this dude.”

“Hey! I can hear you!” Brett says.

“No, you can't,” the sound guy replies with a laugh, just then
turning on his mic. He tweaks a few more controls on the massive mixing board. “Okay, let's go again with that last line … we're rolling.”

Brett looks back to the jumbo TV on the wall and watches himself walk across a football field with Kimmi. I remember it being really windy the day they shot this scene, so the mics probably didn't get a good take.

If there's just a word or two missing, we can usually do “wild lines” right on set, where a few retakes are done using a boom mic. Then everything is patched together during editing. But when full lines are missing like this, we come into the actual sound studio for automated dialogue replacement. The tricky thing with ADR is to match the pacing of your words to the exact movement of your mouth, and the tone of your voice to the emotion your character is supposed to be feeling. It takes some getting used to, but I kinda like the process.

This sound studio is also used by the Foley artists—actors who re-create the crunching of gravel under boots, the dropping of books, slamming of doors, just about every background noise imaginable. Watching them work could entertain me for hours—each footstep, creak, and thud is performed with choreographed precision. And they do it take after take until they get it perfect, just like the actors on set.

Sound editing is way more complicated than I ever could've guessed.

There are three beeps and Brett goes back to his mic. “Just drop it, Kassidy,” he says. “It isn't worth investigating.”

The sound guy checks and double-checks the recording. “Got it,” he tells Brett. “You're almost as good as one-take Jake here.”

I was hoping he wouldn't remember the nickname he gave me last time.

“I hate you, man,” Brett says when he comes out of the booth. “Everywhere I go: Rah, rah! Jake is
great
! If I had pom-poms of my own, I'd shove them down your throat.”

“I think I saw some in a prop box a few days ago,” I reply. “But if we're gonna fight, I like my chances. You look like a pretty good punching bag.”

“Oh, this.” Brett rubs a hand over his face. “You know what happened, right?”

“Kimmi?” I ask.

“That was my first guess too,” the sound guy says. “I'll be back in five.”

He leaves the sound studio, and Brett tells me, “You obviously don't watch the entertainment news
or
go online—it's been all over the last couple of days. And the tabloids are out today.” I just shrug, so he goes on. “Emma and I went to a party at Club 99 Saturday night, and Troy Dawson spotted us getting cozy in a booth. Emma refused to talk to him, but he wouldn't leave her alone, so I … had to take care of things.”

I have no idea how long I stand there, mulling over the words
getting cozy
, before I process the rest of what he said. “Whoa. Seriously?”

Does Emma's no-dating policy only apply to me?

“Yeah, man. Totally nuts,” Brett says. “But I've never seen anyone so freaked out. Emma started shaking like an earthquake when she saw Troy, and I had to wonder why, you know?” The possibilities make me sick enough to stop thinking about my wounded pride. “So when Troy wouldn't back down, I snapped. Even McGregor told me I did the right thing.”

He probably did. I clap him on the shoulder. “I guess that makes you a hero. A butt-ugly one right now, but still.”

Brett and Emma
? I don't get it. But Troy making Emma so nervous … that bugs me even more. What did he do to her?

Studying a script for at least an hour every night doesn't fit well with my regular workout schedule, so now I do my core work while memorizing lines—which is why I'm in the middle of crunches, and only wearing gym shorts, when Emma shows up on my porch Tuesday night.

“Um …
hello
,” she says, her wide blue eyes finally darting from my bare chest to my face. “I saw a sign today that sort of worries me. That river behind us is called Rattlesnake Creek, so does that mean …?”

“Didn't we already have this talk about Arizona?” I ask.

“Yes, but I didn't expect snakes to be … you know, waiting outside my kitchen door. Like stray cats.”

“Well, if you're worried about them going hungry, you could always toss them a few raw eggs,” I say, not sure if I should invite her in or not. After thinking about her and Brett all day, I'm leaning toward
not
. But I also can't stop thinking about the way Troy must've treated her. “Other than that, you just have to be careful. Stay on the path, watch where you step.”

Emma shivers. “Holy. Freaking.
Crap
.”

I shrug. “I guess, if it would make you feel better, I could try to … I don't know, herd them back into the mountains? I might've done a merit badge for that in Scouts.”

Emma laughs and she has me, right there. I can't stay away from her.

“Actually, could you just go running with me?” Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, and she has on a tight gray tank and navy running shorts. She's looking way too pretty for actual exercise. “I want to explain all this crazy L.A. stuff.”

“Sure,” I say, even though I'd rather die a slow death than hear any more about it. “But we agreed that Friday night wasn't a date, so there's really nothing you need to
explain
.”

“I get that. It's just that I wasn't on a date with Brett either.” Emma reveals a rolled-up tabloid she's been holding behind her back. “And I at least want my friends to know the truth.”

I scoop my shirt off the floor and pull it on. “The press made a big deal out of nothing—guys fight over girls all the time. They'll be buddies again by next weekend.”

“But they weren't really fighting over me,” Emma says, opening the tabloid to expose two full pages of pictures that suggest otherwise. “And this ‘hot new romance' crap is silly.”

I point out a photo of Brett and Emma nestling like turtledoves in a booth. Brett was right about getting cozy. “I wonder where they got
that
idea.”

This earns me a stabbing glare, so I hurry to add, “Sorry, but—”

“Jake, it was wrong for me to believe someone else's interpretation of you and the waitress, wasn't it?” Emma backs me up through the doorway of my condo and shuts the door behind her. I gulp. “So, please, just let me separate fact from fiction so you don't make the same mistake. Believe it or not, even pictures can lie.”

I kinda like this alpha-Emma thing she has going on. “Whatever, that's cool.”

“Good. Then read this first.” Emma hands me the article:

Brett Crawford was seen cuddling with his new flame, Emma Taylor, in several hot spots this past weekend. According to sources, the couple met just over two weeks ago on the set of the upcoming television drama,
Coyote
Hills
.

A source close to the young stars revealed, “They were totally in their own world, oblivious to anyone else.” Others agree that this is the real thing, not another one of Crawford's weekend flings.

After an exciting day at the motocross, where the pair was anything but ashamed to show affection, they attended the birthday party of a common friend, Sara Roberts, held at Club 99. This was where trouble broke out.

According to eyewitnesses, Taylor's ex, Troy Dawson, saw her kissing Crawford in a private corner booth, and approached the couple. When Taylor refused to speak with him, Dawson began slinging insults, berating her
traditional values
and telling Crawford that he would have a better time with one of his “other ten girls.”

Crawford leaped from the booth in a flash, sources say, taking Dawson to the ground. A short fistfight later, with a frightened Taylor crouching under the table, all were released without any charges.

Taylor was later seen crying on Crawford's chest in the club parking lot. A friend of the couple confirmed that Taylor later spoke with Dawson to ask that he give her some room in her new relationship. “He looked seriously ticked
off,” said the insider. Taylor was reported to have then walked calmly back to Crawford's waiting arms.

With this hot new romance, we see a refreshing change in Crawford's choice of women. Perhaps a girl with “traditional values” can turn this once golden boy back into the star we all used to adore. Here's to love, and to the beginning of a new celebrity couple—Brett and Emma. Or, as we'll now refer to them:
Bremma
.

I only skim the story because I already read it at a grocery store on the way home from work. I hand the tabloid back to Emma, never wanting to touch it again.

“Want to know how much of that is pure garbage?” Emma asks. I nod, grab my running shoes by the door, and sit on one of my massive beanbag chairs. “In a nutshell: most of it's true,” she goes on, sending a shockwave through me. “All but the important parts, which is usually the case with stories like this.”

“Okay. Which parts?” I ask.

Emma sits next to me, but on the floor. I don't have a couch in my living room. Just two beanbags, a pimped-out entertainment center, and a single lamp—everything is pretty much black.

“I'll explain using these pictures,” Emma says. She points to one from the motocross where she's facing Brett and he has his hands on her arms. Her smile explains enough. “This photo actually features a cameo appearance by
you
, because I'd just read your text about your invisible brother Charlie, and it made me laugh. Brett didn't know we were texting and was only asking me about dinner plans. But you know him, he can't talk without touching.”

“Oh,” is all I say to that, lost in thoughts about her massive smile in the photo being because of
me
, not Brett. I point to one of the shots from Club 99. “What about this?”

Our arms keep brushing when we move. Her skin is warm.

“We weren't even close to kissing in that booth. From any other camera angle, that would've been obvious,” she replies. “But there isn't nearly enough sting in a caption that says, ‘Brett and Emma were whispering.' We were trying to decide if Kimmi had tipped off the photographer at the race so she could be seen with our group and get some personal publicity.”

This detail alone gives Emma's story more credibility. “Do you think Kimmi could've been one of the sources for the article?”

“It's possible.” She looks up at me with those eyes that could make me believe anything. “But some reporters attach any label they want, to quote practically anyone. Like a ‘source close to the couple' could mean someone who just happened to be sitting a few tables away from us—not an actual friend. And a
friend
could mean someone who ‘seems to have our best interest at heart.' Oh, and my favorite: the
insider
. I swear a person can be anywhere
inside
the state of California, but tabloid reporters make it sound like a stranger is living inside my own head because he's so
well
informed. It's a stupid play on words.”