Chapter 13
Marcus is close enough for me to feel the way he tenses at the producer’s statement. “Lofty expectations are one thing, my friend, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s a production with lots of people involved. Human nature dictates there will no doubt be issues along the way,” Marcus states.
“Now, now, Ortega. Let’s not jinx my movie with such pessimism.” Parker flashes a pretty, practice pout that the reports capture with a myriad of clicks, exactly the way he wants.
“Practicality,” Marcus corrects. “Never pessimism.”
Through it all, I zip my lips shut, smiling without showing teeth, well aware of the crowding press, the circle of them around us and steadily closing in.
“Don’t tell me you’re doubting the abilities of my starlet here.”
Marcus shakes his head. “Never. She’s the only one I trust implicitly, after all. I have full confidence in her abilities.”
“You better be. This is my movie we’re talking about.” Parker laughs, his hands sliding into his pockets.
I gulp, the audible sound overshadowed by another round of clicking from the cameras.
Hisstarlet.
Hismovie.
It might be easier to handle the way he speaks, the way he looks, the way he acts, if I actually liked the man. As it is, Parker comes across as a douchebag with the first words out of his mouth, and it cements the idea I formed of him at the audition. Reading for him had been easy despite it all. Working for him?
My gut tells me it won’t be nearly as simple and immediately, regret filters into my system. I force it all aside as Marcus drops his hand to mine and squeezes. Hard.
A warning for me to watch my mouth and play the part, whether I like it or not.
A completely different part than the one of Alicia, if I’m reading the situation correctly, but at least I’m used to wearing this mask. It never used to be one for me. I used to be the one who commanded the red carpet and the spotlight, who walked through these premieres easily, naturally.
Things changed.
“Mr. Heath!” One of the reporters shoulders their way toward us, their smile fanatic. “Tell us more about your upcoming film. Word has it you’ve tapped Miss Stone here as your lead.”
“Miss Stone, Miss Stone, how do you feel about getting involved with Mr. Heath so soon after the plane crash?” another reporter comments loudly.
“Mr. Ortega, as your client’s first legitimate role, what can you tell us about the terms you’ve negotiated?” This one comes from a third party, and soon, all the voices mingle together in one needle sharp, piercing drone.
“I’m thrilled Mr. Ortega is excited about my movie.” Parker speaks loudly to gather the attention on him, a king holding court.
“Of course we’re talking about the movie,” Marcus cuts in, although it’s almost impossible to hear him. “It’s all the reports want to know about, beyond the macabre.”
Yes, I’ve heard too many questions about it. Everyone wants to know how I feel, how I’m adjusting. Or worse: they want to know details of the crime scene and if it really was a simple equipment malfunction, or something far more sinister.
“Not to mention, it’s Empire’s first real part.” Parker looks smug and sounds smugger. It’s not really a good image for him, but I have a feeling it’s his favorite image. He takes a step in front of me and turns to look out over the crowd. “The sooner she gets used to commanding this type of media attention, the easier it will be for all of us.”
“Thank you again for the opportunity,” I tell him, trying to be nice and polite, even when his gaze leaves a stain on me. He just plain creeps me out.
“Oh, it’s my pleasure, Empire. My pleasure. Why don’t you come over here, and we’ll do a couple of press interviews? The two of us, to get you used to what you’ll be going through once filming commences?”
I don’t like the way he says my name, either. The entitlement of those two syllables. The way he scours me from head to toe, lingering on my breasts and the bare skin at my stomach where the straps crisscross.
“We’re about to head inside,” Marcus says. “We don’t have time for interviews.”
“So soon? Not before we pose for a few pictures together.” Parker, without saying so, won’t let me go until he’s done with me. Marcus and I realize that at the same time and, judging from his put-out groan, he’s just as unhappy about it. “Can’t squander the photo ops, you know?”
Parker no sooner finishes speaking before he grabs me, hauling me to his side and away from Marcus. His palm lands hot and proprietary on my bare waist. He angles me to show me off to the cameras, and I barely have time to compose myself before what feels like a thousand flashes go off at the same time.
The media eats it up, exactly as he’d wanted, exactly as I knew would happen, and still, it startles me as black dots dance in front of my eyes from so many flashes.
“Mr. Heath, tell us about your latest production. Early buzz says this will be a surefire contender for the Oscars,” one reporter calls out. “Do you care to expound on it?”
“Oscar buzz already, and we haven’t released the title for the project!” Parker lets out a booming laugh. “I must be doing something right.”
I pull slightly away from Parker when his fingers dig a little too deeply into my skin. He draws his hand off my waist, down to my hip, his index and middle fingers tickling the bone before he settles again.
There”s no good way for me to get out of this, not when the crowds press closer and Parker crows in front of them, not when he laps up the attention and holds me tighter. I’m stuck, torn between having to cling to him to remain steady and pulling at his hold to get him to loosen his grip.
I want out.
It’s getting harder to breathe, and a line of sweat trails down my spine. I’m overheated, I’m chilled, I’m drowning, and my knees lock to keep me upright. Even my toes ache from where they cramp in my high heels, and the moment with Marcus in the hallway feels like a million years ago.
I’ve got to get out where there’s more air. Where is Marcus? Did he…did he leave me here?
I glance over my shoulder, straining to find him in the sea of faces around us. Marcus? I mouth his name, but no sound comes out.
“Miss Stone is a blessing to my movie. Her presence is going to catapult an already amazing script to new heights. I mean, honestly, just look at her.” Parker turns to me with his smile lit with savage delight. “She’s even more beautiful than her mother. The rising starlet who puts the aging actress to shame. Hers is a face made for movies, and if Olivia Stone was alive, I’m sure she’d agree!”
My gut plummets.
How dare he? How dare he bring her up, here, now… How could he talk about my mother that way? She’s dead. The plane crash—
There’s no way to control my face, and thank God, I don’t have to try. Marcus interrupts, and his hand wraps around my elbow to tug me out of Parker’s grasp.
“That’s enough. Sorry to pull her away.” Marcus does exactly that, but there is nothing in his steadying presence that will help me. Not when my mind is reeling and it’s suddenly hard to catch my breath.
Why would Parker bring up Mom? It doesn’t matter what I look like, and it doesn’t make any sense to compare the two of us. So why would you say something so crass in front of all these people?
Does he want the attention on him badly enough to use low hanging fruit to get it?
Or does he think it will cause an even larger media stir?
Each inhalation is a struggle, even as Marcus pulls me out of there. He transfers his grip to my torso, my waist, hugging me close, making sure I’m under the protection of his arm.
“Are you going to be okay to go inside?” he asks in a low tone.
His voice is a million miles away.
I shake my head as he calls my name.
“Empire? Look at me. Are you all right? What’s the matter?”
My chest hurts. My heart expands, contracts, skips a beat, and the straps on the dress are too tight. Parker…Parker doesn’t even know what he’s said, does he? He doesn”t care about anyone or anything except himself and his reputation. His stupid movie.
Why did I let myself get talked into working with such an odious man? Why did I let my need to please Marcus outweigh every hesitation I had?
I’m barely aware of Marcus. I only know we’re moving, and there are eyes on us—too many, turning in my direction as we walk, but I’m too lost to care what they’re all thinking. A giant knot of iron forms in my chest, pressing outward, forcing itself painfully against my ribs. The din of the crowd is distant and tinny, but their heat and presence is very real.
Marcus drags his cell out of the pocket of his suit jacket and makes a call, barking out syllables before he leads me toward the rear exit of the theater.
“Hang on a little bit longer for me, okay? You”re going to be fine. Hold on for me.” He keeps the words flowing in a soothing mantra, although it does nothing for the chill in my blood.
I’m losing it. In front of these people, my peers and the rapid press, I’m losing it, and all it took was mention of my mother. How am I ever going to learn to keep it together at these functions? Marcus dragged me out today to help me, and all it ended up doing was pushing me to my breaking point.
The car is outside the rear door waiting once he gets us outside, and only a few security guards patrol the exit. The majority of the paps are already inside with the other actors and actresses, ready for the premiere to start.
Marcus throws open the door, pushes me into the backseat, and the car takes off in the span of a few heartbeats.
“I need out. Marcus, I need—” I have no idea what I need, but the dress has got to go. The straps cut into me and constrict like a straitjacket.
I tear at the fabric, my nails slipping along the lines of pearls. Nothing I do works. The dress stays in place as tears leak down my cheeks, bringing my supposedly waterproof mascara with it. The burning in my eyes intensifies with each mile we drag along the road.
“Empire, you’re okay,” Marcus tries to say. “We’re out of there.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not okay. I’m not okay.”
The rest of the drive is a blur until the limo pulls up in front of the house, and a small, terse thought in the back of my head says I’ve ruined the night for both of us. My emotions are too wild and chaotic for me to care.
Marcus leads me to the door, keeping me in place while he fumbles for the keys, cursing all the way. Then, we’re inside, and I’m pawing at the dress. He’s letting me, letting me tear the fabric, knot the laces, rip the seams and pop the pearls off.
“Try to calm down.”
“I’m not going to calm down! You heard what he said.” One of the straps loosen and the shoulder slides down, but I still can’t breathe. “You heard what he said about Mom.”
He stares me down. “I heard a lot of things. Parker was talking out of his ass because that’s what he does. It’s his job to incite the crowds.”
Marcus sounds as though he’s trying to be logical and hanging on by a sheer thread.
“He has no right to talk about her. I don’t want to hear her name come out of his mouth,” I rage through tears.
“I’m sorry to say, you”ll have to get used to it. People are going to talk. It’s impossible to rip out all their tongues.”
He grabs me, and I turn on him, yelling, screaming in his face. “How could you get me involved with a man like that? Why didn’t you protect me?” I beat my fists against him, and he might as well be made of stone for all he moves. “You just left me there. You protected my parents, but you couldn’t step up for me?”
He’s the one who pushed me to accept the part. He made me feel like I had no choice.
“I did step up for you! I got you out, didn’t I?”
What about me made Marcus fall short tonight? Because it had to be me. He’d done everything in his power to be there for my mother and father, like a wall around them, always looking out for their best interests.
He let me rage, let me hit him, until I slapped him across the face, and his eyes darkened threateningly.
“You are a spoiled little brat,” he growled. “Ungrateful for every fucking thing in her miserable life, except you’re the one making yourself miserable.”
I laugh in his face. “You think I want to feel this way? You are so out of your mind.”
“You don’t understand this business at all, and it’s not like you haven’t been in it your entire fucking life. It’s time for you to wake up and open your damn eyes. People work for producers they don’t like all the goddamn time, Empire. Even your parents took a lot of roles they didn’t want to because that’s what you do when you’re making your mark. You take the parts. You do the lines, and you stifle your revulsion of the directors, and producers, and managers. You’re just fucking lucky that I’m here to actually look out for you, because if I’d let you sign that contract when Parker first handed it over, you’d be screwed right now.”
“I don’t want to make my mark.”
“You were born into this world, and you’re the one who made the choice to stay in it.”
“I don’t want to make my mark,” I repeat. “I don’t give a shit about Hollywood, or your career, or any of it! I just want out.”