Where You Are

“We didn’t have sex, okay?” Her words are angry, like she’s spitting them at me. “What he told her was true. He fell asleep, and I fell asleep next to him.”

I’m driving in a state of shock. I actually have to snap my mouth closed. “Okay, wait. Are you telling me he hasn’t nailed either of you? You’re right. Forget the like me comment.”

“No shit.”

My hands tighten on the wheel. “Now what?” A more pointless question has never been asked. There is no now what. This is done. We’ve lost. On the other hand, neither of us has actually lost anything. We just managed to land right back where we started, like that damned board game with the ladders and slides that Mom played with me when I was a kid, before she decided to become a full-time drunk.

“Premiere night,” she says.

“Premiere night what? Are you planning to drape yourself over the buffet table naked and hope that gets his attention? Sounds like he’s made his choice to me.”

“What happens between Graham and me is my business, not yours,” she shoots back. I imagine her frothing at the mouth, because frankly, that’s how she sounds. “Yours is to be there to console Emma when she needs it, because she’s going to need it.”

I shake my head, incredulous at how confident she is in the face of failure. “Right.”

Ignoring me, she strategizes out loud, and I listen in spite of my misgivings. “Go to her room before we all leave for the premiere. Discuss walking the red carpet together, the seating arrangements at the theater, hanging out at the party, whatever. While you’re there, leave something in her room, somewhere not very visible—like your phone. Turn it to silent and lock it, of course. And delete all the messages, just in case.”

Brooke has gone off the double agent deep end.

“I don’t think Emma’s the sort to break into my phone and read the messages—”

“Shut up and let me think.” Goddamn I’ll be glad when this is over. I’d love to tell her to go to hell, but she’s still dangling Emma as a possibility, so I bite my tongue. “As soon as we’re all in our rooms after the party, call her from your room phone. Tell her you left your cell in her room, and ask her if she can bring it down the hall to your room, because you aren’t feeling well. When you hang up with her, call my cell. Be ready to come out and handle her. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah, sure, I can handle her. What exactly am I going to be handling?”

“I don’t know. I have to think. Just be ready. When I hang up, give it a few seconds and then come into the hallway and find her.”

*** *** ***

GRAHAM

I fly into LA with Tim Warner—Mr. Bennet in School Pride—who also lives in New York. We discuss future projects and chat about Reid—specifically, Reid and Emma’s fake relationship. I find myself drumming the arm of the seat and not making eye contact when he mentions that they’re cute together.

“Is something wrong?” Tim says with a small tilt of his head.

“Um, no.” I try to appear confused by the question, shaking my head and giving a small shrug.

“Humph.” He’s not falling for it. “Graham, I was a g*y boy in Alabama in the early eighties. In the interest of saving my own ass, I learned how to be enigmatic, and how to outright fib, so I know it when I see it. You have the mysterious part down, but son, you can’t lie worth a crap. Confession is good for the soul, I hear. So, what’s got you coming out of your skin?”

Like Brooke, he has no accent. “You don’t sound like you’re from Alabama,” I hedge.

He shrugs. “I shot off to New York when I was seventeen, determined to separate myself from my past in every possible way. A good thing overall, but also a little tragic. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. Since we have a five-hour flight ahead of us, you might as well start talking.” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll wear you down eventually.”

I sigh, conceding defeat. “Have you ever had to pretend to be in a relationship with a costar, because production wanted you to?”

He gives me a pointed look. “No, but I’ve certainly had to pretend not to be in a relationship with a costar because production didn’t want me to.”

I stare at my hands. “Yeah? Well, me too. Though production doesn’t actually know about it. It’s more an unspoken clause, under the edict that Emma and Reid look involved.”

“I thought they were? They had a tiff or something—”

“No, they broke up last fall.”

We both accept coffee service and a warm cookie from the flight attendant. Say what you will—flying first class is a shocking illustration of dissimilarity between the privileged and the non-privileged. While Tim and I will enjoy a catered meal, several snacks, hot towels and all the attention we could want, hundreds of people in the back of the plane are lucky to get a bag of pretzels and a can of soda.

“Ah… Well, as my g*ydar is going pbbbt where you’re concerned, I’m guessing your secret lover is Emma, not Reid. For how long is this edict in place?”

I chuckle at the mere thought of Reid and me in a relationship, but my blood runs molten at the notion of Emma as my lover. “Uh, yes, Emma. And until after the release.”

“The premiere is tonight, and the release is Friday—that’s only two days away! What’s with the mopey puppy face?”

I run a hand through my hair. Gay or not, Tim is a guy. “I can’t stand watching the two of them pretend. Maybe because they did have a thing going last fall—I keep imagining them together, which is senseless and asinine. But it’s driving me nuts. I’ve never felt like this.”