Chapter Four
When I left Nancy’s office, I was so distracted by the racing thoughts fighting for my attention in my head that I almost ran a red light, the sound of a right-turning Range Rover blaring its horn startling me from my daze. I quickly wrenched my car into a gas station to pull myself together. With my heart still pounding and the car horn still echoing in my ears, I threw the gearshift into park and braced my arms on the steering wheel, my heaving chest still rising and falling in rapid succession.
France? There was no reason I technically couldn’t go, but what did I know about anything over there? Aside from the being on TV part, I knew squat about France and even less about fixing anything. But ... whether I wanted to admit it or not (or more like face it or not), maybe it was just the thing I needed to do in order to get myself off this path to nowhere.
My eyes flashed to the clock on my dashboard, and I sighed. If I didn’t get back on the road, I was going to be late to meet Rhys. I backed out of my spot, pulled out of the gas station with a bit more focus on the road, and zoomed to the Ivy on North Robertson Boulevard, rolling up to the valet at precisely 12:30 p.m. Rhys had texted earlier in the week asking if he could take me to lunch, an attempt to cheer me up after the disastrous Celebrity Ballroom finale. I agreed. Though we were broken up and had been for almost a year, he was still a very important (and at times, though I’m embarrassed to admit it, influential) person in my life.
For as posh as the Ivy was, with its high-profile celebrity clientele and award-winning design and decor, I’d sorta wished that he’d asked me to meet him at Lucinda’s, a stupid little hole-in-the-wall outside the LA city limits. Back when EVERLYday was airing and I was desperate to flee the barrage of cameras in the house, Brian (he went by his legal name back before the producers encouraged him to change it) and I would meet at Lucinda’s Hacienda, away from the flashes of the paparazzi, away from the chaos of the Everly whirlwind, and just enjoy being a regular couple.
We’d snack on chips and salsa and greasy gorditas and talk about anything and everything that wasn’t related to the show. And for just a little while ... every so often ... I felt normal again. I’d carry that feeling back to the house, and it would keep me grounded until the next time we could meet back up in our secret hideaway to recharge.
Brian and his nuclear family were just about the most ordinary people I’d ever met, which I know may not seem like such a feat, but living in Hollywood it was more than just a strange occurrence, it was like a goddamned alien sighting. And not gonna lie, back then I was ready for the Braunpheiffers to beam me the hell up and out of my house, which was becoming more of a circus with each passing year. EVERLYday, having started out as the smallest nugget of an idea, quickly spiraled into a cultural phenomenon none of us, especially my parents, could have ever seen coming.
Mom and Dad, self-proclaimed hippies, had dreamed of giving their five daughters a wholesome California upbringing, complete with farm-to-table meals and homemade beauty products long before either was particularly trendy. They started out selling their high-quality, homegrown organic products at farmers markets, specialty shops, and boutiques. Eventually, they opened a small store in downtown Santa Barbara called EVERLYthing and stocked it with Everly-brand recipe books, beauty and skin care products, candles, wine, home decor, and fabrics. The shop was popular with locals and the occasional tourist but didn’t have much of a reach beyond Santa Barbara, that was until Oprah Winfrey decided to pay the store a visit.
Legend has it, on a recommendation from her aesthetician, Oprah stopped into EVERLYthing and fell in love with not just the unique products but also my unique parents. She invited our entire family to appear on a segment of “Oprah’s Favorite Things,” where she touted my parents’ lifestyle brand and holistic approach to raising children. It wasn’t long after that appearance that the E! network made an offer for our family to star in a brand-new reality television show.
It was the early days of reality TV, before anyone realized just how powerful a medium it would become. My parents reluctantly agreed, figuring the show would last a season (maybe two?) and, while it was on, would help drum up some publicity for their growing brand. Within the first few months of airing, EVERLYday became the number one show on cable television. People quickly became obsessed with Mom’s natural aesthetic, clean living, vegetable garden, and tablescapes. They fell in love with Dad’s sense of humor, knowledge of wine, and furniture making. Most of all, the audience became enraptured with me and my four sisters, our fruit-inspired names and teenage antics bringing viewers back week after week for over a decade.
“So, Plum,” a hearty paparazzo called me back into the present, “when are we getting another sex tape? That first one was hot, but I think you’ve got more in you!”
“Or could have more in you, sweetheart!” an unidentified male voice added from the crowd of cameras. Sniggers and jeers tittered like the skittering of cockroaches.
My heart leaped into my throat, and it took everything in me to keep my pearly smile plastered to my face. The fat and slightly balding character known as “Brazen Brick” was always on the scene, equipped with vile one-liners and heart-stopping questions aimed to pull the usually composed celebs off their game and out of their stride.
“Oh, Brick, haven’t you found a new bone to chase?”
“Haven’t you?” he bit back. Another surge of laughter from the crowd.
I drew in a deep breath and turned back toward the sea of photographers. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that if you don’t have anything nice to say, you should keep your big mouth shut?”
“My nickname’s Brazen Brick, sweet cheeks, what do you think?” he replied, snapping one last flash in my face before I blindly ducked inside.
Upon recognizing me, the hostess motioned for me to follow her out to where I guessed she’d already seated Rhys on the patio. Seemingly straight out of a Better Homes Gardens spread, the Ivy’s expansive outdoor-seating area was lusciously decorated with peonies in full bloom, an ornate trellis covered with colorful spring buds, ivy. The earthy fragrance of Spanish moss paired perfectly with the aromas of bright citrus and farm-fresh vegetables wafting from the kitchen. Quaint mismatched tables rounded out the shabby-chic decor.
My eyes locked with Rhys’s from across the room, causing my chest to tighten and my stomach to dip. I experienced that same dizzying sensation every single time I looked at him. Even after our many ups and downs, both in and out of the public eye, the sight of him threw me off balance just as much as when we first met. He had a knack for always looking impossibly perfect, yet so comfortably cool. Back in the day, back when he was still Brian Braunpheiffer, he was more unassuming about his appeal and the attention that came with it. Rhys Braun, however, was acutely aware of his undeniable good looks and relished every aspect of them.
That wasn’t the reason we broke up, but it was certainly an indication of how much he’d transformed over the last couple of years. When we first met, he wanted nothing to do with the spotlight. But then the EVERLYday producers seized the opportunity to give me a bigger storyline and wooed Rhys onto the show with a contract large enough to cover his college tuition. They changed his name, his haircut, and his clothes, and by the time the team was through and the show had finally wrapped after its thirteenth season, he was almost unrecognizable to me.
For as much as he delighted in the limelight and attention, like Dr. Frankenstein, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of guilt and remorse at the monster I’d helped create. I’d never properly mourned Brian Braunpheiffer, his metamorphosis to Rhys Braun was just that fast. Though, some part of me still held out the smallest glimmer of hope that underneath all that pomade and Botox, the real him was still somewhere in there, and I couldn’t help but wonder who he would have become had our paths never crossed.
With EVERLYday behind us, we both sought out new ventures, which resulted in spending less and less time together. And even though the relationship was already pretty frayed at that point, I wasn’t ready to let it go. So when Rhys tossed out the idea of making a sex tape to reconnect and renew our intimacy, I’d initially been incredibly hesitant for obvious reasons. But then I thought about everything he and I had been through, and all we were at risk of losing, and how much I wanted to be who and what he wanted, and eventually I agreed.
And a few months later, when I’d almost completely forgotten about the tape, a hacker somehow cracked Rhys’s files and data, including the private content intended for his eyes only, and leaked it out to the media. I fell apart, trying like hell to keep my head held high in spite of the shame and embarrassment I felt. My friends probably saw it. My family knew of it. And everyone in the country, if not the world, was a voyeur to a special moment that had been meant only for him. It took months for me to shake the feeling that everywhere I went, people were picturing me naked.
The irony, though, was that while the sex tape made me infamous, it made Rhys even more famous. He started to get bit parts in shows and movies while I became even more of a joke, a punch line, a cautionary tale. And even though it wasn’t his fault, I couldn’t help but start to resent the double standard. His star rose as mine began to flicker and fade. We drifted further and further apart until there was no reason to try to hold on any longer, and we broke up.
Standing up from his chair to kiss me on the cheek, he slipped his hand behind my neck and into the roots of my hair, sending sparks of electricity right down to my toes. If just looking at him took my breath away, then his touch completely robbed me of every oxygen molecule in my body.
“Hey, babe, you look fantastic.” He pulled out my chair, escorted me to it, and slid it firmly beneath me.
“Do I? I feel like I was just ambushed by a firing squad.”
I watched him circle the table to his seat, the crisp whiteness of his shirt sharp against the bright colors of the flowers and vibrant greenery around him.
“What do you mean? Brazen Brick? He’s harmless,” Rhys said as he unfurled a linen napkin onto his lap.
“Jesus, it’s been over a year now. How is our sex tape still front-page news?”
He held up his phone and showed me the same GIF I’d shown Nancy, me frantically trying to essentially tear off my Regency gown on live TV. “I have a feeling this might have a little something to do with it,” he answered with a shrug.
“Uggghhhh ...”I hung my head in my hands.
He turned the phone back to himself and watched the GIF play through its loop a few more times, his face set in a look of approval. “It’s really not that bad. You actually looked incredible. Then again, you always do,” he offered as consolation, but the comment didn’t make me feel any better. “But, if you ask me, you were robbed. It’s not your fault the costume didn’t come off in time.”
“Unfortunately, you know that’s not how it works on live TV. You don’t get second chances. You get one shot, and I blew mine.”
He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. “I still say you were robbed. You were the best damn dancer they had this season. Any season, for that matter.”
And this was the side of Rhys I loved. He was firmly in my corner. Always.
“So what’s next? What do you have lined up?”
Just as I was about to tell him about the show in France, our server came by to take our orders. I didn’t even bother opening the menu; Rhys was already ordering for us both.
“Two Cobb salads and two iced teas. For her salad, no eggs or avocado, and if you could put the dressing on the side. Oh, and we’ll take extra ice and lemon in both of the drinks.” He looked up at me to confirm. I nodded. It was exactly right.
He handed the server back the menus and leaned in to the table. “So, tell me, what big and exciting project is Plum Everly headed off to next?”
“I met with Nancy this morning. To be honest with you, the well’s starting to run a little dry.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been on ten different reality series. I’ve done Karaoke Combat, where I sang off-key renditions of pop classics while dodging foam projectiles being shot from the audience. I survived a competitive baking show where the microwave ovens spontaneously burst into flames. I even managed to come in second place on Celebrity Zookeepers.”
“Wait, I don’t remember that one.”
My eyes grew wide. “It’s because we don’t talk about it. I don’t think I will ever go back to a zoo so long as I live.”
“I’m sure PETA will be glad to hear it,” he joked.
“And you want to know the worst part?”
“Worse than being target practice while belting out ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’?” He laughed. “Sure, lay it on me.”
“In not a single one of those shows was I actually able to be myself. I mean, not really. I’m always playing a character, a role, whatever version of Plum Everly best fit their narrative. Foam projectiles and flaming ovens aside, nothing about reality TV is real, least of all me.”
“What are you even talking about?” He reached for my hands and gave them a squeeze. “You are Plum Everly—the same girl who walked into my freshman chemistry lab and took my breath away. You were real then, and you’re real now. And it breaks my heart to think you don’t see that.”
“No, I’m not. I couldn’t be that girl even if I tried. I’ve been too many other versions of her to even remember what she liked, what she wanted, who she was.”
The server came by to deliver our teas. Rhys took a long sip and said, “Look at where you are. Why would you want to go backward? Life is about moving forward and embracing new and exciting opportunities.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say, Rhys. I’m not being offered new and exciting opportunities. Not anymore. I mean, there is this one thing filming in France that could maybe be—”
He cut me off. “Look, there are always ways to get yourself back into the spotlight, just ask Brazen Brick.” His eyebrows bounced suggestively as he thumbed his attention to the entrance where Brick had been staked out earlier.
I blinked hard. “What? What did you just say?”
He rolled his eyes playfully. “What I’m saying is that maybe it’s time for us to work on a sequel? You can even direct this one? We can spend a bit more time in editing ...” His voice trailed off at the end of the sentence in consideration.
My heart plunged like a Marvel superhero in free fall. “So it wasn’t a hacker at all? You put it out there, didn’t you? You were the one who leaked the tape?” I could barely put the words together to form an actual question.
Rhys pushed his hand through his hair and sat up a little straighter. “I’m ... I’m sorry, Plum. But really, I did it for you. For us. And let’s be honest, whether it was a hacker or it was me, it doesn’t change anything.”
His words hurt, but his cavalier attitude was a knife in the gut. “Doesn’t change anything? Rhys, it changes everything. You sold me out.” I tried to keep my voice even and low, always aware of the watchful eyes.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little bit here? How do you not realize I was doing it as a way to break both of us out of the box we’d been put in? You’ve got to see now how it was the right move for both of our careers.”
Tears welled in the corners of my eyes, but I swiped at them before they could fall. “What career? I’m a joke.”
He pulled his hands down off the table and tucked them in his lap. “Look, we can still flip the script here. The wardrobe malfunction you had on Celebrity Ballroom, well that ... that can serve as the coming attraction for our little movie. C’mon, you can be Daphne again. I’ll play the Duke. It’ll be perfect.”
I wanted to slap him. Punch him square in the throat. Or shove the tape so far up his ass, he’d be projecting the film out his eyeballs! He clearly had no remorse, and even worse, he was ready to double down. But instead of allowing my emotions to overtake me, I looked over at him ... doleful and resigned. Who even was this man seated across from me? I didn’t recognize him at all. We were a million miles and a thousand versions of ourselves apart since our days in freshman chemistry, and there was no going back. Not from this. Though I’d said goodbye to Brian Braunpheiffer years ago, now I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was finally time to say goodbye to Rhys Braun for good.
“You can go to hell,” I spat, tossing my cloth napkin from my lap onto the table in one fluid motion as I stood.
Rhys jumped up and called after me, but there was no looking back. I hurried out of the Ivy, flipping my ticket to the valet and jumping into my car as soon as it was pulled around. I had barely shifted into drive when I began jabbing at buttons on my steering wheel to activate the familiar ding of my car’s automated Bluetooth system.
“Call Nancy on cell,” I shouted, pulling out onto North Robertson without signaling and stepping on the gas. “Nancy, I’m in. Go ahead and set up that meeting with Tributary.”