Media Darling Page 8

  “You should thank me for giving him a distraction. When I walked in, you looked like you were going to murder him.” Tremont never missed her emotions, no matter how well she tried to conceal them. He was like Deidre that way. She pushed that thought aside. She didn’t want to think about Deidre right now. She was scheduled to fly to Colorado next weekend, and just thinking about the flight made her nauseous enough, forget about the reason she was going there. She swore she could feel that old ulcer from her teens making its presence known again.

  “It was close. He was nervously tapping his foot and pacing. I thought I’d have to restrain him with barbed wire. That was my only option.”

  “Clearly,” Tremont replied. He gave her a serious look. “He’s worried about you.”

  “He’s worried about himself.” She knew she was being childish, but she was feeling her own anxiety about the impending meeting and she didn’t want his burden as well.

  He cast a glance toward David, who seemed oblivious to them. Tremont stepped closer. “Do you want to talk about the plan?”

  This time it was her turn to deflect. “Do you want to tell me about your date with Sebastian?”

  Tremont gave her a look. “You are such a meddlesome little wench. Fine. It was a quick brunch. Except there was no food and only discussions of exercise and sweating. And smoothies. The man doesn’t eat bacon. Only fiber and lean protein.”

  “It shows. He’s practically godlike,” Emerson said.

  Tremont nodded in agreement. “I asked him if his middle name was Adonis. He said no, but he blushed a little. So I’m taking that as a win.”

  “So that’s why you’re drinking fortified carrot juice—because Sebastian recommended it.” She gave him a smug smile and he rolled his eyes. “I think you two are cute together. I support it. Plus, you eat like a sugar addicted college kid. It’ll be good for you to change your lifestyle in your advanced years.”

  “You did not just call me old.” Tremont looked scandalized. “I’m still younger than you, Grandma.”

  “By two months,” she pointed out.

  “Still makes me younger.” Tremont motioned between his body and hers with a sly smile. “You’re just jealous of my genetics and my incredibly fast metabolism. You have to work to look that good. I was born this way.”

  Emerson clinked her straw with his. “To good genes.”

  Tremont laughed and took a pull from his metal straw. “I like these. They keep the drink colder than the plastic ones.”

  “Plus they’re better for the environment.” Emerson had stopped using straws after reading Hayley’s piece about ocean pollution. She hadn’t told Tremont that was the reason, but that’s what instigated it. She felt good about the change. She wondered what Hayley was up to at this moment. She wondered that a lot when they were apart.

  “They’re here.” David stood at the edge of the kitchen looking twitchy.

  “I’ll be in shortly.” Emerson watched him walk away.

  “Are you ready for this?” Tremont’s face showed the concern she felt.

  “No.” The movie studio execs had reached out to David and her camp a few times in the last couple of days. They were getting nervous. They all seemed to be worried about her brand. Truthfully, she wasn’t exactly sure what her brand was anymore. One minute she was a victim to Rachel’s one-sided storytelling in which people commended her and her team for not responding to Rachel’s baiting in the media. The rest of the time she was made out to be a salacious media whore who got Rachel fired with her magical vagina that somehow influenced all the people she had supposedly slept with to get the role in Willow Path to begin with. If you believed the dark-web polls, Emerson must have over a thousand discarded lovers in her wake. Male. Female. It appeared the trolls thought she was nondiscriminatory in that department. Which was the only truth to any of this. But that wasn’t the point, was it? No. The point was the movie studio was having a conniption because Willow Path was supposed to be their Titanic. It was supposed to blow the competition out of the water and set the studio up for an awards season sweep next year. They’d agreed to have this meeting at Emerson’s rental property to keep it as private as possible. The last thing anyone wanted was some studio intern or onstage extra seeing them all getting together—looking serious—and calling TMZ. The plan was to act as if nothing Rachel said had any merit. They couldn’t well do that if it looked like they were circling the wagons. Which they were.

  “Let’s go before I lose my nerve.” Emerson left the remainder of her drink at the side of the sink and walked toward the sun porch to join the meeting. As she passed the grand picture window in the kitchen overlooking the backyard, she cast one last glimpse at the quiet and peaceful outdoor patio with the mountain view. Oh, what she would give to be able to take back every moment she’d ever shared with Rachel Blanche.

  Chapter Eight

  Hayley went for a run after the driver took her home. She grabbed her phone and took off along a hiking trail near her house. As she keyed into her apartment building and stopped by the mailboxes, she ran into Greta, her elderly neighbor next door.

  “Hi, Hayley.” Greta smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “How’s the entertainment biz?”

  Hayley took the grocery bags Greta had been struggling with and followed her up the three flights to the floor their apartments were on. “Oh, you know, thrilling.”

  “I bet.” Greta missed her sarcasm. “You’re so young and beautiful. Did you find a girlfriend yet?”

  “No, Greta.” Hayley helped her get the key in the lock, her gnarled and arthritic hands too clumsy to get the job done quickly. “I’m not dating anyone.”

  “You’ll find someone, dear. No worries.” Greta patted her cheek and forced her to take a piece of coconut pie with her as she retreated to her own apartment next door. She liked Greta. She reminded her of her grandmother.

  By the time she got home from her run, she had three missed calls from Alison, one from the office, and an email from Tremont. She was mighty popular these days, it seemed.

  She slumped into the kitchen chair and powered up her laptop as she let the events of this morning run through her mind. She’d been surprised by the passion she had seen in Emerson’s eyes when she challenged her. The fire had been intense and commanding. Emerson was easily the most attractive woman Hayley had ever seen, in person or in media. The magazines and photo spreads did no justice to the radiance she had in natural light. Her dark hair and light eyes were so unique, it was captivating. Hayley could see the appeal—Emerson was physical perfection.

  Hayley stared off into the distance for a moment before refocusing on the screen in front of her. She had a big job ahead. The Sun and Emerson’s camp had decided to promote the project with a series of teaser pieces over the next few months to ensure that the release of the complete article would match up with the release of Willow Path at the start of summer. In that time, Hayley had to uncover Emerson’s secrets and make sure that the story she told was a fair representation of the woman, her journey, and the Hollywood Sun. Oh, and somewhere in there she also had to prove she was a good enough writer to deserve the opportunity that had basically fallen in her lap. No pressure.

  She loaded her email and opened the file Tremont sent her. It was packed. Red flags and highlighted segments blurred the screen as she tried to see where she fit into Emerson’s schedule. She sighed as she attempted to decipher the abbreviations. After fifteen minutes of trying to decode this mess, she gave up and emailed him back asking for clarification. She listened to her voicemail and smiled as Alison’s enthusiastic and well-intentioned prodding came through the speaker of her cell. And Jonathan was calling for an update—that could wait.

  Hayley stretched in her chair and walked over to the fridge to pull out some water. When she settled back into her seat she noticed a file saved to the desktop that wasn’t there before. Her curiosity piqued, she opened the file and sipped her water as she scrolled down the text. It was from earlier,
it was Emerson’s work. Hayley had forgotten Emerson was typing during her interrogation. She’d been too distracted by the panic and feelings of being attacked.

  Hayley tilted her head and rested it on the back of the chair as she slid down, bringing one knee up to her chest. She relished the soft ache in her leg from the stretch. She ignored the phone that buzzed beside her on the table, focusing instead on the words in front of her.

  The document started with Emerson’s questions and Hayley’s responses. After the first few questions, Hayley noticed new information tacked on.

  What’s your favorite color? Purple. ES: blue

  How old are you? 28. ES: 27

  What’s your sign? Libra. ES: Cancer

  Did you play softball in high school? No. ES: you’re lying, first base

  Hayley chuckled at Emerson’s note. That was true. She did sort of play softball in high school, but only for half a season, and she never played during a live game. She was never good enough to be anything more than a member of the practice squad. She wondered how Emerson knew that, but her thoughts halted when she noticed the next bit.

  The deepest pools are not found in the ground. They are not in a hollow, they are not man-made, they are man-born. The deepest pools are found in the soul. They hide secrets in shadows and keep mysteries from being discovered. Those pools protect the fragileness of its owner’s mortality, the weaknesses, the passions, the deepest, darkest parts of oneself. The soul of it. The heart of it. And when something breaks through the surface of those pools—when it is breached, and its security put into question—ripples spread throughout. Those ripples go on and on until they contact the walls encasing that pool. One small stone, one pebble, one tiny moment can disrupt the calm and the quiet and it can damage the safety of the environment. Because souls may be deep, but they are delicate. And once someone invades their boundaries, the damage done is irreversible. Every ripple causes a change.

  You won’t find the answers to your questions here. Everyone has something worth protecting. It’s why most people don’t make direct eye contact when they speak—they’re fearful someone will see something they want to hide. But when you talk to me, you do. Almost unafraid. Maybe you should be. But as I said before, I am not your opponent. I am merely someone who wants to be heard and seen for my authentic truth. I want to be seen as a human being with a beating heart and a living soul who is more than a headline on a page. I didn’t mean to offend you with my questions today. I just wanted you to see some of what it’s like to be me these days. All the days. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. And I didn’t mean what I said about your outfit. I think you look nice.

  Hayley smiled at the last bit. Emerson had a way of continually surprising her. She wondered how she had managed to type that during all the accusing and intimidating. She closed the file and renamed it ES Musings, leaving it on the desktop to go back to later. Hayley reached into her messenger bag and pulled out the stack of her writings. This was a nifty collection—she had it all saved electronically but hadn’t reread the old stuff in years. It would be fun—and probably super embarrassing—to revisit some of this. She sipped her water and laughed at the amusing notations Emerson sprinkled throughout. She liked that woman more and more every moment.

  * * *

  A week had passed before Hayley had the chance to meet up with Emerson again. They shared what one might call a lunch, but it was really a thirty-minute car ride to the movie studio with Tremont hovering over them both in the back of a limo. Emerson had to do automated dialogue replacement voice-over work for some of the scenes reshot with Piper, and she seemed uncomfortable about it.

  Emerson ate fruit and sipped water; Hayley skipped a meal in favor of taking notes instead. They talked a little about Emerson’s life growing up, but she was mostly vague.

  “You have a unique first name. Is there any significance to it?” Hayley started with the easy questions to warm Emerson up to the harder ones she had planned.

  “My mother went through a transcendentalist phase where she exclusively read Ralph Waldo Emerson works for the last few months of pregnancy. I guess she didn’t think Waldo was an appropriate name for a little girl.” Emerson shrugged. Hayley much preferred Emerson to Waldo. Hayley much preferred Emerson, in general, to most things, but she was trying to avoid falling into that rabbit hole and to focus on the task at hand. The task of getting to know Emerson. Which, she was finding, was making her prefer Emerson more and more, over and over again. This was a vicious cycle.

  “What did you want to be when you grew up?” Hayley watched Emerson as she quietly chewed her grapes and gazed out the window.

  “This,” Emerson replied simply, her attention directed to Hayley.

  “An actress?”

  “Of sorts, yes.” She paused. “What about you?”

  “Um, I’ve always wanted to write, I guess.” Hayley chewed her bottom lip and tried to decide whether she should be annoyed by Emerson’s deflection or surprised by the way the redirected question felt heavy to her.

  “That sounds confident”—Emerson had the ghost of a smile on her lips as she leaned back and crossed her legs—“so let’s try that again. What did you want to be when you grew up, Hayley?”

  “A writer,” Hayley said with more conviction. She furrowed her brow. “You didn’t really answer my question, Emerson.”

  Emerson smiled at this response. “Yes, I did. I had dreams of being in a life much like the one I am in now. You, on the other hand, seem unconvinced that you’ve accomplished your childhood dreams.”

  When Hayley didn’t reply, Emerson leaned forward and pushed the remainder of her fruit into Hayley’s hand. “You need to eat something, Hayley. It’s lunch.”

  Hayley accepted the fruit and Emerson started again. “What kind of writer did you want to be?”

  “I guess I always wanted to be a screenwriter,” she replied, feeling a little shy at her admission. Emerson had a way of making her feel…things. Shy was one of them apparently.

  “Oh?” Emerson’s expression was genuine. Hayley knew she had her full attention now. That made her feel things as well.

  Hayley picked out the honeydew melon and chewed it slowly. “Yes. But I don’t think I knew what that was at the time. I wanted to make stories for people to see in real life. Not just on a page. Not just in a fantasy world of written text.”

  Emerson nodded. “To bring a story to life, make it real—I understand that.”

  “Is that what you wanted? Is that the life you envisioned for yourself?” Hayley tried again.

  Emerson looked at her with that intense stare she’d seen before. After a beat, she replied, “I suppose, yes. I can remember wanting to be a princess in a tower, with loyal subjects and love and the safety of the guards in a castle. I remember wanting to ride horses in open fields and play with puppies on hot summer nights by a lake. I remember wanting to sing songs that people knew the words to and dance with strangers, laughing along with me. So I guess I always dreamed of something like this—a life of making a living by pretending to be something I’m not. An actress is the perfect career for a dreamer who refuses to be tied to one dream. Don’t you think?”

  Hayley nodded and thought back to the ES Musings file on her desktop. Emerson had a way with words, just one more sign of perfection to add to the list. “Maybe you should write, Emerson. That was beautiful.”

  A soft laugh from Emerson’s plump lips had Hayley swooning. Focus, Hayley, focus. “Thank you, but I think I’ll leave that up to you.”

  Hayley felt like Emerson was loosening up a bit, so she decided to leap into the more important details she was searching for. “Tell me about The Willow Path Convergence. Why did you take that role?”

  Emerson paused, seeming to collect her thoughts. “I think, in a lot of ways, this role picked me.”

  Hayley waited for her to elaborate.

  Emerson shifted and straightened up a bit. “Willow Path is everyone and no one, right? I mean, you’ve read
the synopsis by now, I’d assume.”

  Hayley nodded. She’d seen the trailers about a thousand times in preparation for working with Emerson. The movie was based on the record-setting New York Times best seller, and with its author, Kate Stanton, involved in the script development and lauded female director Paige Montgomery at the helm, it was promising to be a groundbreaking film for the women’s empowerment movement.

  “Yes. Rhea and her boyfriend Kevin are falling out of love. Rhea proposes a cross-country road trip to help reignite their relationship, and along the way they meet a drifter named Willow Path. She’s a catalyst for all kinds of self-discovery and change.” Hayley would have seen it regardless of her current situation. As a wannabe screenwriter, the dimly lit single-shot cinematography of it alone was appealing to her. It added to the rawness alluded to in all the press about the movie. And a storyline with a love triangle featuring two women, that had major studio backing? Consider her interest off the charts. “It sounds fascinating.”

  Emerson’s smile was genuine. “Wait until you see how they modified the ending.”

  “I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I’m beyond excited. But enough fangirling—back to the question. Why did you audition for the role of Willow and not Rhea? Especially when most people are assuming Rhea is the main character.”

  Emerson sighed. “I’ve been acting for almost my entire life. And I’ve seen the same scripts—year after year—arrive at my doorstep. The stories are the same. Hero needs busty brunette love interest to rescue to justify his violent problem-solving tactics. Or art heist with ensuing car chase necessary to redeem wronged con artist on quest for redemption. The one I see most, though—the one that makes my skin crawl—is the story about the college frat boy with the endless privilege who learns about life the hard way by having to get back the girl of his dreams after he inadvertently cheats on her, forgets an important event, is a thoughtless asshole, whatever. That’s the character arc that crosses my table: beautiful girl needed to fulfill male sidekick or damsel role to make money for the movie studios. That’s the gist of it. Look pretty, don’t make too many waves. Get paid. It’s as easy as that.”