Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3) (8 page)

“How lovely to see you again, my dear.”

“The same,” I stutter, so in awe of her. She’s clad in a bohemian, ankle-length lavender dress with a paisley shawl that complements her smooth olive skin, deep-set eyes, and loose, waist-long silver hair. Despite the tremors, she looks healthier and more stunning than I remember. The Ayurvedic spa treatments must be working.

“So, my dear, did it work out with your gentleman friend?”

My breath hitches in my throat as a wave of sadness washes over me.

“Unfortunately, it didn’t,” I reply, not letting her know that it was Brandon, one of her most illustrious students. I don’t want anything to jeopardize my chances of getting into her academy. Nor do I want to embark on a conversation about my personal life and my former boss. I banish him to the back of my mind.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her husky voice is warm and genuine. “But these experiences are put into our lives to enrich it and draw from.”

“Yes, I agree.” My voice is shaky.

“Let me ask you, why do you want to become an actress?”

“It’s always been a big dream of mine. I pursued it and gave up. I’m finally ready to lead my dream and land it.” I paraphrase the wise words Bella shared with me at the spa with conviction and passion.

Smiling warmly, she folds her shaky hands in her lap. “Let’s get down to business then. What have you chosen to perform?”

“Juliet’s last soliloquy from
Romeo and Juliet
.”

Her smile widens. “Excellent. Please begin.”

“Where would you like me to perform it?”

“On the stage, of course.”

I stumble onto the stage. Drawing in a deep breath, I launch right into it. After a little bit of a rough start because I’m jittery with nerves, the words flow. Getting down on my knees, I transform into Juliet, the tragic maiden who falls in love with a devastating man she can’t have who has taken his life to be united in death with her. In my mind’s eye, I see my Romeo—Brandon—before me, his beautiful face permanently etched in my brain.

“O happy dagger

This is thy sheath

There rust and let me die.”

In true method actor fashion, I channel all my emotions and memories of him into my words. Tears spill from my eyes as I plunge an imaginary dagger into my heart.
Oh the pain!
I collapse onto the stage floor, so emotionally drained from my performance that I can’t lift myself up. Three faint claps sound in my ears.

“Bravo!”

I slowly raise my head and, with tears streaming down my cheeks, face Bella. She’s glowing.

“That was absolutely brilliant! The highlight of my otherwise mundane day and, by far, one of the best auditions I’ve ever witnessed.”

I’m waltzing on a cloud, in a state of disbelief. “Really?” I ask, my voice a mere squeak.

“Yes, my dear. Only one other student blew me away like that.” A wistful smile spreads on her lips. “And he went on to win a Golden Globe.”

Brandon. She must be referring to him. My chest tightens. “Does that mean I’ve been accepted to your program?”

“My dear, please show up next Saturday morning for your first class. Horatio at the front desk will give you the course list and syllabus on your way out. And if you need any financial aid, please let him know. We’re well-endowed thanks to our generous alumni.”

I’m still speechless and on my knees when Horatio enters the theater and wheels Bella away. A rollercoaster of emotions sweeps through me. Shock. Excitement. Happiness. I’ve been accepted to the Bella Stadler Academy of Acting! By Bella herself! And then suddenly, I realize I’m probably crouched on the very spot Brandon stood upon many times before. Perhaps he even lay right here playing Romeo. A powerful, painful connection to him rips through me as a sob pushes into my throat. There’s still a knife in my heart that I can’t pull out.

Zoey

I
live for my acting classes. I attend three mornings a week and all day on Saturdays. Ranging from “On Camera Scene Study” to “Intensive Shakespeare,” they get my mind off Brandon, though I would be lying not to say they keep me connected to him in some sick way. Though I’ve never seen her again, Bella is some kind of medium that keeps his spirit alive as much as I want to bury it.

The classes also help me stop dwelling on my mother’s killer—Frank Donatelli. To my frustration, Pops’s investigation has been moving forward at a snail’s pace; the elusive Donatelli is nowhere to be found and clues to his whereabouts don’t abound. Though Brandon’s hit and run may be connected to Donatelli, I refrain from asking my father about the status of that investigation. All I know is that Pops’s colleague, Lieutenant Mancuso, is handling it.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’ve discovered a passion. The acting workshops are intense, but I love them. They give me the chance to completely transform myself into another person and not hold back. I’m able to act out my emotions and be a master of my actions and words. While memorizing lines can be challenging, with my eidetic memory, it’s a piece of cake, much to the envy of my classmates. Both my peers and instructors think I have real talent. I’m humbled. Many want to know if I’ve had previous experience. I tell them I took a few acting classes after high school, but wasn’t serious. I don’t, however, tell a soul that I was Brandon Taylor’s personal assistant. No one needs to know.

Nor do I tell anyone about my birthday. On Monday, May eleventh, exactly one month to the day that I fled from Brandon and Cannes, I turn twenty-five. I have no big plans. I’m just having dinner with Auntie Jo and Pops. Auntie has promised to make me my favorite meal—her delicious roast beef with mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. It’s been a while since I’ve had a real meal. Between work and my acting classes, I’ve been surviving on take-out and ramen noodles. You’d think I’d stuff myself to fill the emptiness I still feel so often, but it’s just the opposite. Heartache has decreased my appetite. If there’s one thing for which I can be beholden to Brandon, I’m the thinnest I’ve ever been in my adult life. I’m a size eight. Okay, a plus size by Hollywood standards but a dream size for me.

After a stimulating acting class in the morning and my last massage client in the early evening, I head over to Pops and Jo’s house in Culver City. With the ridiculous rush hour traffic, it’s almost an hour drive. I flip on the radio and my heart fists.

“Unforgettable”—the Nat and Natalie version—is playing. A torrent of emotions hits me as tears trickle down my cheeks. I think of Mama. I think of him. To make matters even worse, I pass a gigantic billboard promoting the season finale of
Kurt Kussler
with a three dimensional Brandon aiming his gun. On the other side of the street is one of Katrina, practically naked and clutching Gucci, promoting her live televised wedding to Brandon at the end of the month. I’m so emotionally distraught I run a red light and narrowly miss being hit by another car. An angry horn blasts in my ears as I pull over to catch my breath. Trembling and teary-eyed, I turn off the radio. But I can’t turn off my emotions. I can’t fucking forget him. I can hardly breathe.

Despite my unstable condition, I manage to make it to my parents’ house. After parking on the street, I ring the doorbell. The front door swings open and a loud “Surprise! Happy Birthday!” resounds in my ears. My jaw crashes to the floor. Oh my God! Jeffrey and Chaz are here too! I thought they both were away on business—Jeffrey in San Francisco for a billionaire’s son’s bar mitzvah and his fashion designer fiancé Chaz in D.C. for a trunk show, but they’ve both flown in for my birthday. And to top things off, my event-planner brother has decked out the house with Mylar balloons and a glittery disco ball for my silver birthday. Stevie Wonder’s “Happy Birthday” blasts on the stereo system as I run up to give them each a big hug. The frown I was wearing earlier is replaced by a smile. I love them both. They’ve been so instrumental in my healing process. They loathe Brandon as much as I do, calling him every pejorative name in the book of gay insults, from douchebag to bitch.

I’m simply wowed. The dining room table is spectacular, draped with shimmering silver fabric upon which exotic white flowers in tall silver vases and silver candleholders are artfully arranged. We all take a seat. Just Pops is missing.

“Where’s Pops?” I ask Jo, looking her way with admiration. God bless her. After telling her about the Brandon affair, she swore off
Kurt Kussler,
which was a huge, selfless sacrifice, considering how much she loved the series, especially this season’s episodes. So looking forward to the season finale, she even donated her signed DVD collection and photo to Out of the Closet, a local charitable thrift store. The bottom line: she wants nothing to do with the man who broke my heart.

Before she can respond to my question, I hear a car pull into the driveway.

Jo smiles. “That must be him now.”

Two minutes later, Pops, still wearing his ubiquitous trench coat, joins us. He’s carrying a huge flat carton. It must measure four feet by six.

“What’s that?” I ask him as he sets it down against a wall.

He plunks down in the vacant chair at the head of the table. “It’s something for you. It came to my office today.”

I knit my brows. “Who’s it from?”

Draping his coat on the back of the chair, he shrugs his shoulders. “No idea. There’s no return address.”

“Open it! Open it!” singsongs Jeffrey who loves surprises.

“Maybe it’s from a secret admirer,” chimes in Chaz.

I let out a little laugh. “I don’t think so.” There is one guy in my acting classes who seems to like me, but he has no clue today’s my birthday. Nor does he know where Pops works.

“C’mon, Zoester, open it!” urges my impatient brother.

“Okay, okay.” With my sharp meat knife in hand, I amble over to the huge package and slice through the center seam with the blade’s serrated edge. The hissing sound of the splitting cardboard gives me goosebumps. With the long slit I’ve made in the box, I’m able to peek inside. My eyes grow wide and my breath hitches in my throat. I’m totally taken aback.

Oh my God! It’s the
Kurt Kussler
poster I left behind at Brandon’s place. Except now it’s in a brand new frame with glass and it’s signed.

♥

Brandon Taylor

My emotions teeter between rage and anguish, the latter winning by a landslide. Bile rises in my throat.

The fucking, fucking egotistical bastard. How could he do this? Torture me, make me suffer on my birthday? Though it was on my resumé, he never acknowledged it before. In fact, he made me work straight through it. The fucker. The sadistic fucker. How dare he put himself in my face? My lungs constricting, I blink back traitorous tears.

Jo’s sweet voice intercepts my emotional turmoil. “Honey, what is it?”

Her query can read two ways. What’s inside the box? Or what’s going on inside me? I opt for the former interpretation.

“Um…it’s just a poster I ordered from Crate & Barrel for my new apartment,” I stutter. “I-I had it sent to Pops’s office just in case I wasn’t home.”

“Ooh! I want to see it,” croons Jeffrey.

“Yeah. C’mon, show and tell,” coos Chaz.

I meet Pops’s discerning gaze. His keen mind can cut through bullshit like a knife. He knows I’m lying up my ass.

“Um, uh, I’d like to keep it in the box. I don’t want it to get messed up in my car.”

Jeffrey and Chaz shout “Boo” in unison. Jo unknowingly comes to the rescue.

“C’mon boys, behave. Leave Zoey alone. You’ll see it when she hangs it up in her new apartment. And by the way, you must see it. It’s really quite charming.”

I quirk a fake smile. Inside, I’m falling apart into a million little pieces.

As I stumble back to my seat, Jo excuses herself to serve dinner.

Nausea washes over me. My appetite gone, I pick at my food. And when Auntie Jo brings the extravagant homemade buttercream cake to the table after the main course, I barely have the strength to blow out the twenty-five sparkling candles plus the one for good luck. The loudly sung words of “Happy Birthday” drift into my ears.

The day Mama died was the unhappiest birthday of my life. Despite thoughtful presents from my family, including a month’s worth of acting lessons from Pops and Auntie Jo to supplement my scholarship and a gorgeous ivory spaghetti-strap dress from fashion designer Chaz, this is a close second.

My heart splintering, I make a wish. Despite the good luck candle, I know it won’t come true.