Under the Lights (12 page)

“Hey, Josh!” By now, Chuck and I are apparently old friends. “We actually missed your entrance, but were hoping you could do it again and ring the doorbell this time, let your mom answer. Get a whole ‘prodigal son returns' kind of shot.”

I have no idea what the fuck he's talking about, but I need this night over with and I need
not
to be filmed drinking, so I do what he says and force myself not to throw up all over my mother's Manolos.

“Josh, honey, it's so nice to have you home.” She's careful not to leave lip prints on my cheek, though her face is so heavily made up I'm sure she's left some trace of it somewhere on me anyway. “I made your favorite. How was filming today?”

I assume I'm supposed to pretend I'm the busiest fucking worker bee in Hollywood, so I make some shit up, let them make us reshoot it a hundred times, and then we're sitting at the table, a team of strangers watching us eat and filming asinine dinner conversation.

“This is so nice,” my mom says at some point. “I'm so glad we've decided to have these weekly family dinners.”

Weekly?
There is no fucking way I'm putting myself through this pain weekly. “Me too.”

“Maybe next week you'll bring a girl with you,” Mom teases playfully, as if that's a natural tone for her. And as if I've ever brought a girl to meet them, ever.

“Doubt it.” I stuff a dinner roll into my mouth, hoping it'll keep her from trying to get me to talk for a few minutes. It works, and she switches to gushing about her busy day to my father instead.

All of this only reinforces Ally's point—there is no way in hell people will watch this shit. We're boring as balls as a family, and even having me here doesn't change that. If they were hoping I'd start some shit at the table, they're gonna be sorely disappointed. Being docile and boring is even worse than not participating at all, I realize. I think my mom might even have been disappointed about the fact that I showed up in an outfit she couldn't trash in front of the cameras.

Just then, the doorbell rings, and when my mother says, “My, who could that be?” I
know
there's some sort of setup ahead that's going to piss me off.

Sure enough, when my mother returns to the dining room, Shannah fucking Barrett is walking in behind her.

“Joshua, look who's here!” Marsha gushes. “You could've told me you invited your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend?” I glare at Shannah. “You've gotta be fucking kidding me. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I've missed you.” My ex-fuckbuddy strolls over and drops a kiss on my cheek before taking a seat in the chair next to me, where I realize, like an idiot, there's been an extra place setting all along I hadn't noticed. “I was so happy when you called to invite me.”

“Like there's a flaming chance in hell I would've done that. I prefer my pork chops without a side of crabs via Garrett Morgan, thanks very much.” I look
straight at one of the cameramen and narrow my eyes. “Are you seriously filming this shit?”

“Don't worry,” Chuck assures us. “The final version will be very different.”

“As in, you'll edit it so it looks like I've actually spoken to this skank in the last six months,” I clarify.

“Joshua!”

“Christ, Marsha. You really scraped the bottom of the barrel looking for additional on-air ‘talent.' What the hell were you thinking?”

“Wow, Josh. Rude much?”

I turn to glare at Shannah. “This is seriously pathetic, even for you.”

She just smiles sunnily at me, and I know she's getting paid more than I am to be here.

“Oh, look, the main course is here.” One of my mother's many house minions—I can't even keep track of them by name—comes in with a huge platter of steaks, and finally, this night is looking up. I can't even imagine Shannah touching one, and she doesn't disappoint—just ignores the woman and points at the salad instead.

“So, Josh,” Shannah says when we've all got food on our plates, a quiet process I'm sure they'll be cutting out, especially so the minion doesn't get any airtime, “I'm really excited about your party next weekend.”

“You're not invited to the party,” I inform her, cutting a huge piece of steak and shoving it into my mouth as I eye the wine bottle near my mom with envy.

“What party, honey?”

As if my mother gives a shit. I can already tell there's a reason she's asking I'm not gonna like. “I'm having a party at my—at the Malibu house for the
Daylight
Falls
cast and crew. As a wrap-up for the show. A show you're not on,” I add pointedly to Shannah.

“Zoe invited me,” she says sweetly, as if I like Zoe any better. She's not even as hot.

“What a lovely idea.” Marsha looks pleased, and I can practically feel her winking at the cameras, as if there's a chance in hell I'd let them near the party.

“You know not a single person there would sign a waiver letting them be on a reality show, right?”

“Oh, I'm sure a few would be okay with it,” Shannah says airily, and I wonder if I could get away with kicking her under the table.

“Well, it's something to talk about.” Marsha's voice is the sweet-with-an-edge she's perfected over years of soap work, and normally it rolls off my back, but today it reminds me I've actually got something at stake. She's got my back against a wall—again—and it needs to end. She needs to stop having any semblance of control over my life. And apparently, the only way to make that happen is to give up control over the one thing she's got.

Which means it's time for me to find a real job and a new home.

How's your salad?” Zander asks me for the second time. He has a bit of cilantro on his cheek, but I've already told him about it a couple of times, and I've gotten bored of watching him try to get it. His fault for not realizing cilantro is terrible.

“Still good,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. We've been at Giunio's for twenty minutes, having exactly this kind of boring back-and-forth, both of us just kind of poking at our food. How is it possible that I can have lengthy conversations with Brianna and even Josh, but I can't talk to my own boyfriend? “This place is cute.”

“Jamie and Robin came here last week and said it was swarming with paparazzi.” He frowns, but only for a second, because Zander Wilson never frowns for longer than that. “Doesn't seem to be the night for them, but at least the food's good.”

“It's kind of nice to have some privacy for once,” I offer, because that sounds like how I should feel. I wish it was. Not that I love posing for the paparazzi all the time, but at least when Zander and I are in a conversational dead zone, they kick us into action, get us holding hands and flirting. And it's fun. I like those parts of being in a relationship.

I just think it'd be nice to have the feelings behind it, too.

Not that I'm trying very hard.
I hide a sigh in my mineral water. I suck at this. And if I want things to be better, I have to make more of an effort.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath that would make Raoul proud, I reach across the table and rub the piece of cilantro from Zander's lip, letting my finger linger there for a second too long. His lips really are nice and soft; if only I didn't know it's because he has an intense lip-care regimen.

He smiles, and I know I've made the right move.

“Yeah, I'm glad your plans changed tonight and you were able to come out.” He takes my hand and squeezes it, then places it gently back on the table. “I feel like we haven't spent much time together lately.”

“It's true.” I spear a piece of calamari and take a bite. “It's been hard for me with Ally leaving, so…” I'm about to tell him I've been hanging out with Brianna more, but for some reason, I don't want to bring her up with him. Not like he cares who I'm shopping or working out with these days, anyway. “Um, yeah. You still wanna go to Beyoncé's concert next week, right?”

“Of course. And the Wonder Ball is coming up next month. Did I mention Jamie's having a party beforehand?”

“You didn't, but that sounds great.” I push some extra warmth into my smile and take his hand. “We should also just…hang out more. It was nice when you came by my trailer the other week. Maybe I could come by the studio for a rehearsal sometime?”

“I'd like that.” He strokes the back of my hand with his thumb as he says it, and it feels nice.

I can totally do this.

“And I haven't been to your house in…I don't even know how long,” I add. “Remember when I used to come hang out with you and the guys?” I drop my voice
a little. “And…just you.” Not that we did anything more than make out when I did—mostly, we just watched recordings of the Wonder Boys' earlier shows—but I hope it'll stir something in him. And that whatever it stirs in him will find its way to me soon. Because I'm getting really freaking tired of being so…unstirred.

I'm eighteen. I'm hot. He's hot. Shouldn't we…stir? Shouldn't we at least
want
to?

“That sounds nice,” he says, but his voice has gotten a little funny. He's still holding my hand, though. And then he smiles, and I remember exactly why he has over a million Twitter followers. “Actually, as long as we're talking about this, I had something I wanted to discuss with you. I think you're gonna like it, and we may as well take advantage of the fact that this place is quiet.”

“I'm intrigued.” I say it teasingly, but I really am. I can't remember the last time Zander and I talked about…anything. My first thought is that he's going on a huge tour this summer and wants me to come with. I'd been hoping to be filming a movie, but auditions outside of the typical bit parts have been pretty minimal. It
would
be nice to have something to keep me busy… “What's up?”

He takes my other hand in his and looks me in the eye. “Vanessa Park, will you take a purity pledge with me?”

My fists instinctively curl up in his hands, and he yelps as one of my sharp nails nicks his palm. “Whoops, sorry!” I blurt, relaxing my fingers. “You just…surprised me a little there.” I drop my voice to whisper-level. “You want to take a purity pledge? We're not even having sex.”

“Which is exactly why it's perfect. I never thought I'd find another virgin in Hollywood,” he says, his eyes
and smile warming as he squeezes my hands. “You mean so much to me, Vanessa, and I think this is the perfect journey for us. You're pure, and I'm pure, and what better way to express that than with a public pledge? Think of what role models we'll be.”

Role models.
Zander's found my magic words. I've always loved the idea of people looking up to me, the way I look up to women like Lucy Liu and Maggie Q—fellow Asian-American actors who paved the way for girls like me to believe they can actually do this acting thing, who let us see characters who look like us. I'd kinda always hoped kids would see me the same way someday.

Could they now? For this?

Did I want them to? For this?

It's not like I'm not a virgin by choice—I am. I want my first to be someone I'm really, truly in love with, and I don't care if that's cheesy or even if everyone else thinks it's naïve. And I've always liked that Zander's a virgin, too. I know he'll never push me to go too fast or do anything I'm not ready for.

So, really, isn't this kinda, sorta perfect?

“What exactly does this entail?” I ask. “We just make a statement to the press that we're committing to not having sex?”

“Well, and obviously we'd need to get rings,” says Zander, his smile widening. I can't remember the last time I saw his eyes glow like this. He's clearly thought about this a lot, and though I don't really know what it means, I like that he cares. But…rings?

“Don't rings seem a little marital?”

“That's the point,” he says patiently. “They're a symbol of purity until marriage. Then you replace them with wedding rings.”

Wedding rings?
“Zander, we're
so
not old enough to get married, or even think about marriage.”
We don't even love each other.
“Doesn't this seem a little fast?”

His patience is dimming. “Not really. We've been together almost six months, and neither one of us believes in premarital sex. We should share that with the world. Besides, we're not
that
young. My parents got married at twenty.”

And now they hate each other and only stay together because they don't believe in divorce
, I think but don't say. Instead, I try to remember what conversations Zander and I have had about sex. We definitely shared that we're virgins, that we think other people jump into bed quickly…but I don't think I ever said I didn't believe in premarital sex. I mean, I don't really think about it in terms of marriage. I think about it in terms of love. When Ally slept with Liam, she was in love with him, and it was right for her. And even if she hadn't been, I wouldn't say I didn't
believe
in it. It's just…not for me.

But if I'm that in love with someone that I'd want to give him my virginity, I guess I'd wanna marry him, right?

Suddenly, Giunio's feels like it's about a zillion degrees.

“I mean, right?” Zander's seriously turning up the smile wattage now, and he looks so sweet. And he has a point—it could be a great thing for kids to see that not
everyone
is doing it. Instead of being peer-pressured into sex they're not ready for, maybe we could help them see that waiting is something to be proud of.

“Zander! Vanessa! Over here!”

We turn to see paparazzi gathering right outside the glass front of the restaurant, huge cameras in hand, encouraging smiles on their faces. Zander and I
are still sitting there with our hands clasped together, undoubtedly making exactly the kind of genuine, sweet, romantic picture our fans die for.