A mask. A black mask. The kind people wear to masquerade parties.
Or Black Bashes.
I put it in the cart on top of the baby stuff and hit the cashier.
One way or another I’m going to figure out what’s going on there tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
#ThatCalmWasReallyTheStorm
“HEY,” Valencia calls out as she enters my trailer.
“Hey,” I say back absently as I stare at the article in the Hollywood tabloid. “Did you see this shit?”
She sits down in the booth across the table from me in the area that serves as a dining room. “I saw. What are you gonna do?”
I look up at her. She’s still the same girl I knew all those years ago. Being on set with her again has been fun. We’re like puzzle pieces that were missing and finally someone put them back together again. She’s even prettier now than she was at sixteen, if you can believe it. I guess wealth and the ability to take extended vacations between projects have that benefit. She only does one movie a year, if that. But every single one of them has been a major blockbuster. “I’ve got to take care of it. I need to stop this.”
“Vaughn, you can’t stop her story. It is what it is. There’s records of her everywhere. These images are just one more reason to let it go. Don’t get involved. They will tear you apart.”
“She’s my wife, Valencia. I can’t just let them threaten this kind of exposure and let it pass.”
“So what’s your answer? You’ve already done what you could.” She points to the tabloid that has a sensitive picture of my wife taken off Twitter. “And they still found a way to get it.”
“Yeah, because that Amy bitch from Buzz sold them.”
“This tabloid says specifically that’s not where they came from. You can’t blame her. I mean, honestly, Vaughn. Your wife took those photos and sent them over Twitter. She knew what she was doing.”
“I asked her to.”
“So what? You used to ask me to do plenty of stupid things if I remember correctly. A lot worse than taking naked selfies.”
“We didn’t have selfies back then.” I grin.
“My point is, I never said yes.”
She’s been saying this all day, but I can’t take the coward’s way out and blame Grace for what’s happening. For what’s about to happen.
“There’s more to this story than you know, Val. A lot more.”
“So tell me. Maybe I can help.”
I consider it. I really do. Valencia has always been on my side and I have no doubt she’d be on my side now. But the knock comes on the door, telling us to be on set in five minutes. Five minutes just isn’t enough time. “Later, maybe. After the party.”
“So you’re going?”
“I said I was. I am. And you don’t have to come because it’s gonna be a mess.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Normally I’d be up for anything, Vaughn. I’d stand by you for anything. And I still will. But not at that party.” She shakes her head. “They tore apart my best friend a few years ago and we made the mistake of going. I know what’s going to happen and I can’t watch you go through that.”
I squeeze her hand back, thankful that she’s so loyal, that she’s one of the only people in Hollywood who really does have my back. “I get it, Val. I don’t expect you to be there. And thanks for the tickets. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a good friend.”
She smiles coyly. “Well, the next scene says we’ll be more than friends soon. And I can’t wait. So let’s go.”
Chapter Eighteen
#SometimesGettingLostHelpsYouBeFound
I TURN out of the Target parking lot and see the sign for Beverly Boulevard. Yes! I know where that is, so I don’t need the GPS.
I turn and lose myself in thought. I feel like there’s so much going on behind the scenes that I don’t know about, it’s starting to make me nervous. Like Vaughn leaving for work today. He just said a few days ago he was looking forward to the long weekend. Well, working on Black Friday sorta interrupts the long weekend. So what he said was either a lie then, or this is a lie now.
What could they possibly have to do today? Maybe I should stop by the studio and see what he’s up to? I chuckle a little at my ridiculousness… but then I figure why not? I’m allowed to go onto the set. Well, maybe not. But I’m pretty sure no one will tell me no if I show up there.
I look up at the street signs to find one that might take me over near Studio City, but none of them look familiar. In fact, I’m heading towards downtown. Which is not the direction I thought I was going.
I stop at a red light and try to figure out where I am and how to get back to where I need to be. The GPS is on, so I hit the new destination button and I’m about to program it in when the car behind me honks.
The light is green. I move forward and get into the right lane so I can pull over and turn around, and as soon as I make that turn, I know I’m in the wrong neighborhood. There’s a lot of people hanging out in front of apartment buildings and they are mostly young men.
I want to just turn into the first parking lot and go back the way I came, but there’s a crowd hanging out there that does not look very friendly. I continue up the street, make another right, and hope I can just go around the block to get back on Beverly Boulevard. There are fewer people out on this street, mostly because it’s warehouses, but there are no more streets to turn onto.
A girl who is very pregnant drags a suitcase to an empty bus stop and I wonder if she’s escaping or coming home.
Maybe my life does suck. Maybe I did have some bad breaks. And maybe my old neighborhood in Denver wasn’t the safest in the city. But it was a far cry from the living conditions I imagine lurk behind these crumbling buildings.
I would be scared to death to walk anywhere here, let alone be pregnant and dragging a suitcase.
My heart is beating fast even though I realize this is irrational. “Don’t be stupid, Grace,” I tell myself. “You’re not lost. You’re one block away from Beverly and you have a help button on your rear-view mirror if you need it. Just make the next right turn and it will dump you back where you were.”
I finally come to another street where I can turn right, but as soon as I make that turn, I realize it dead-ends at a large apartment building.
Or Black Bashes.
I put it in the cart on top of the baby stuff and hit the cashier.
One way or another I’m going to figure out what’s going on there tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
#ThatCalmWasReallyTheStorm
“HEY,” Valencia calls out as she enters my trailer.
“Hey,” I say back absently as I stare at the article in the Hollywood tabloid. “Did you see this shit?”
She sits down in the booth across the table from me in the area that serves as a dining room. “I saw. What are you gonna do?”
I look up at her. She’s still the same girl I knew all those years ago. Being on set with her again has been fun. We’re like puzzle pieces that were missing and finally someone put them back together again. She’s even prettier now than she was at sixteen, if you can believe it. I guess wealth and the ability to take extended vacations between projects have that benefit. She only does one movie a year, if that. But every single one of them has been a major blockbuster. “I’ve got to take care of it. I need to stop this.”
“Vaughn, you can’t stop her story. It is what it is. There’s records of her everywhere. These images are just one more reason to let it go. Don’t get involved. They will tear you apart.”
“She’s my wife, Valencia. I can’t just let them threaten this kind of exposure and let it pass.”
“So what’s your answer? You’ve already done what you could.” She points to the tabloid that has a sensitive picture of my wife taken off Twitter. “And they still found a way to get it.”
“Yeah, because that Amy bitch from Buzz sold them.”
“This tabloid says specifically that’s not where they came from. You can’t blame her. I mean, honestly, Vaughn. Your wife took those photos and sent them over Twitter. She knew what she was doing.”
“I asked her to.”
“So what? You used to ask me to do plenty of stupid things if I remember correctly. A lot worse than taking naked selfies.”
“We didn’t have selfies back then.” I grin.
“My point is, I never said yes.”
She’s been saying this all day, but I can’t take the coward’s way out and blame Grace for what’s happening. For what’s about to happen.
“There’s more to this story than you know, Val. A lot more.”
“So tell me. Maybe I can help.”
I consider it. I really do. Valencia has always been on my side and I have no doubt she’d be on my side now. But the knock comes on the door, telling us to be on set in five minutes. Five minutes just isn’t enough time. “Later, maybe. After the party.”
“So you’re going?”
“I said I was. I am. And you don’t have to come because it’s gonna be a mess.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Normally I’d be up for anything, Vaughn. I’d stand by you for anything. And I still will. But not at that party.” She shakes her head. “They tore apart my best friend a few years ago and we made the mistake of going. I know what’s going to happen and I can’t watch you go through that.”
I squeeze her hand back, thankful that she’s so loyal, that she’s one of the only people in Hollywood who really does have my back. “I get it, Val. I don’t expect you to be there. And thanks for the tickets. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a good friend.”
She smiles coyly. “Well, the next scene says we’ll be more than friends soon. And I can’t wait. So let’s go.”
Chapter Eighteen
#SometimesGettingLostHelpsYouBeFound
I TURN out of the Target parking lot and see the sign for Beverly Boulevard. Yes! I know where that is, so I don’t need the GPS.
I turn and lose myself in thought. I feel like there’s so much going on behind the scenes that I don’t know about, it’s starting to make me nervous. Like Vaughn leaving for work today. He just said a few days ago he was looking forward to the long weekend. Well, working on Black Friday sorta interrupts the long weekend. So what he said was either a lie then, or this is a lie now.
What could they possibly have to do today? Maybe I should stop by the studio and see what he’s up to? I chuckle a little at my ridiculousness… but then I figure why not? I’m allowed to go onto the set. Well, maybe not. But I’m pretty sure no one will tell me no if I show up there.
I look up at the street signs to find one that might take me over near Studio City, but none of them look familiar. In fact, I’m heading towards downtown. Which is not the direction I thought I was going.
I stop at a red light and try to figure out where I am and how to get back to where I need to be. The GPS is on, so I hit the new destination button and I’m about to program it in when the car behind me honks.
The light is green. I move forward and get into the right lane so I can pull over and turn around, and as soon as I make that turn, I know I’m in the wrong neighborhood. There’s a lot of people hanging out in front of apartment buildings and they are mostly young men.
I want to just turn into the first parking lot and go back the way I came, but there’s a crowd hanging out there that does not look very friendly. I continue up the street, make another right, and hope I can just go around the block to get back on Beverly Boulevard. There are fewer people out on this street, mostly because it’s warehouses, but there are no more streets to turn onto.
A girl who is very pregnant drags a suitcase to an empty bus stop and I wonder if she’s escaping or coming home.
Maybe my life does suck. Maybe I did have some bad breaks. And maybe my old neighborhood in Denver wasn’t the safest in the city. But it was a far cry from the living conditions I imagine lurk behind these crumbling buildings.
I would be scared to death to walk anywhere here, let alone be pregnant and dragging a suitcase.
My heart is beating fast even though I realize this is irrational. “Don’t be stupid, Grace,” I tell myself. “You’re not lost. You’re one block away from Beverly and you have a help button on your rear-view mirror if you need it. Just make the next right turn and it will dump you back where you were.”
I finally come to another street where I can turn right, but as soon as I make that turn, I realize it dead-ends at a large apartment building.
