Hell, yeah.
Daria shows Emma to the exit after we run another couple of scenes and Richter tells her he’ll be in touch. She nods and thanks him, glancing at me. My relaxed expression gives nothing away, but there’s no doubt in my mind—she’s Lizbeth.
*** *** ***
Emma
When I come home from the gym a week after the audition, my father and Chloe are popping a bottle of champagne. “You got the part!” he says as Chloe squeals and offers me a glass. I’ve been chosen to play Lizbeth Bennet in School Pride. The financial details were settled for more than I’ve earned in the past several years combined. Filming will start in mid-August, on location in Austin.
Dazed by the news, the salary, and the thought of working with Reid Alexander for three solid months, I do what any other girl would do. I grab my phone and text my best friend. Emily is at choir practice, but I’m hoping the threat of choir director ire won’t keep her from answering.
Me: I GOT IT
Em: OHMYGOD!!!
Me: I know! Holy SHIT.
Em: I have never been jealous of you before, but OMG REID ALEXANDER!?!!!!
Me: I’ll call you after the champagne celebration and chloe’s dance of glee. UGH.
Em: Ignore her. This is about YOU <3
Me: Will try, idk if ignoring her is possible, you have no idea.
Em: Oh trust me, i have an idea.
***
“I guess we might not be able to do this forever, huh?” Emily says, glancing around the mall food court, the straw of her smoothie never leaving her mouth. It’s late July. In less than a month, I’ll be departing for Austin to film my first wide-release movie.
“What, go out in public?” I recall the paparazzi-mobbed celeb I’d watched from the hotel restaurant in LA. “I don’t think I’ll be that well-known.”
“Well, we don’t know how famous you’ll be, do we? Don’t forget,” she leans closer and lowers her voice, “you’ll be kissing Reid Alexander, making you the object of loathing and hate mail for half the preteen girls from here to Canada.”
Any time I think of that kiss, I still feel it. What I said about hot guys not being the best kissers? Scratch. That.
“Crap.”
“Totally. Except the kissing Reid Alexander part.” Emily leers, waggling her eyebrows.
“Em,” I shake my head, “you have a one-track mind.”
“Whatev, babe. I’ve tried to warn you regarding the underbelly of the lives of the rich and famous—it isn’t pretty. Drugs, drinking, accidental p**n …” She slurps the last of her smoothie.
“Emily, you know I don’t—okay wait, what the hell is accidental p**n ?”
“You know, the kind where you have no idea your innocently lascivious weekend was filmed through a teeny camera in the ceiling, until it’s too late and people are downloading it off the Internet like, well, online p**n .” She swirls a fry through the pool of ketchup we’re sharing.
“Innocently lascivious?” I’m not sure if I should be insulted or jealous of this version of myself that Emily is painting.
“Hey, I’m not judging your sex life here, I’m just saying it like it is.”
“Emily Watson, you know better than anyone that I don’t have a sex life.”
“Hollywood changes things like that. It’s like a giant vortex of hedonism.” Clearly, Emily needs a break from her SAT prep books.
“And you’re the expert on all things Hollywood.”
“Duh. I read the Globe, Sun, Star and of course The National Enquirer. The facts are all there. It’s a seamy little business you’ve gotten yourself into.” Emily has inherited the online form of her mother’s inability to pass a juicy tabloid cover in the grocery line without buying it. On many occasions we’ve grabbed stacks of them on the way to the pool, where we challenge each other to unearth the wackiest story.
“I wish I could take you with me,” I tell her, meaning it. “You keep me sane.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll just have to keep doing it from afar. One of us is obligated to actually attend high school, while the other stars in a movie in which she attends high school. Irony. Gotta love it.”
Chapter 7
REID
No matter how rich or famous you are, you still have to pack when you go somewhere, and packing for a three-month absence is a pain in the ass.
Tadd Wyler is playing my character’s best friend, Charlie. We were introduced at a Grammy’s after-party a couple of years ago and have been friends since then, so this was uber cool news. He’s meeting me on the flight, and production is sending a bodyguard along with us, which is a first. Usually one delivers me to the flight and another meets me when I land. My last film came out two months ago and the recognition factor has gone through the roof since then. You haven’t lived until just standing near a pack of girls makes them cry. Insanity.
Bob the bodyguard arrives right on time, sweeping three months of luggage into his beefy paws and ferrying it out to the waiting limo in two trips. He’s a brick building shaped like a man. I can’t imagine anyone getting past this guy—not that I’m afraid of my fan base, but en masse, they can get a little out of hand. “I’ll be back for the rest of your luggage, and then I’ll wait in the car. We’ll leave in about fifteen minutes, if that’s good with you, Mr. Alexander.”
I need to get over the strangeness of grown men calling me Mr. Alexander. I feel like they can’t be talking to me. “Thanks, man. And call me Reid.”