Chapter 15 #2
“Let me read it to you.” Paul puts his glasses back on, picking up the iPad and scrolling through the article.
“Alexander Morgan’s father allowed a pedophile to abuse him for years.
” He swipes across to another article. “Is Alexander Morgan’s father responsible for allowing a pedophile to molest him?
Want me to continue?” Paul pushes his glasses down his nose.
“Why would they say that?” A stutter appears in my voice.
“Because you said your father’s friend was the teacher. That he encouraged you to take David on the road with you,” Connie jumps in.
Her words slice through me like a scalpel with no anesthesia.
During family therapy, I’d gotten to air all the things I’d been holding back: Frustration toward my parents for having to placate my brother by minimizing or hiding my own success.
Anger toward my dad for not getting rid of David when I pleaded with him to.
They’d even shared a few home truths with me.
How hurt they felt when I always took out all my anger on them.
How Harrison felt neglected by my absence, when all he wanted was to have me around.
Not the Alexander Morgan the world wanted, but Al, his big brother.
I thought I’d processed all the hurt and pain with my family.
That the deep wounds that had left their scars had finally begun to heal.
But clearly, in that video last night, I still had a lot of hurt and anger toward my father.
I still held him responsible, even though he had no idea his friend was a pedophile.
“That’s why you run things past us, Alexander.” Paul puts the iPad down on top of a pile of magazines in front of him. “So we can look over everything. We ensure your words aren’t misconstrued.”
I’m barely able to concentrate on what Paul is saying.
I glance at the clock on the trailer wall. New Mexico’s only an hour ahead of California, and it’s not even 9 a.m. there. Hopefully Dad hasn’t seen the news.
“I need to call my father.” I grab my phone and dial my dad.
The sound gets louder with each successive ring.
Please let him answer.
Someone get me the gun and put me out of my misery.
I’m slowly drowning in the verbal Niagara Falls coming from Laura’s mouth. Her voice is like nails down a chalkboard.
Laura’s been chewing my ear off for the last five minutes while we sit in the wooden chairs on set.
Our respective surnames are written on the black fabric.
The crew, getting things reset on the soundstage for the murder scene, can’t work quickly enough.
Two people move the couch to make space for a tall lampshade.
Another person adjusts the family portrait on the wall.
“Can you believe he still hasn’t returned any of my messages or calls?” Indignation lines her every word as she leans across to me.
Clearly, personal space isn’t something she’s familiar with.
“Does he know?” My gaze is drawn to her belly.
Her bump is barely noticeable, hidden by a shawl wardrobe gave her to cover her usual toned physique.
“Of course not. That coward’s been too busy frolicking with his latest costar to pay attention to anything else.” Her eyes rage with a wild fury, igniting the air around us with an electric tension.
Someone, please rescue me from this torture.
Apparently, Brian’s been out on the Amalfi Coast the past week, after landing the lead in Greta Gerwig’s next feature film, alongside an up-and-coming actress who looks remarkably similar to Laura.
“I have a right mind to fly out to Italy right after we wrap. Turn up on his set and drop the news to him right there and then.” Heat radiates from her body as she rests her elbow on the corner of my chair.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Lucy walking toward me with my iced coffee.
Thank God, I’m still allowed to have my caffeine addiction.
“Any word?” I ask Lucy, grabbing my drink from her.
Her smile quickly disappears. Clearly the answer doesn’t warrant a response. But the shake of her head confirms it. She pulls my phone from the side of her green-and-brown camouflage combats and hands it to me.
I’d called my dad, mom, and brother from the trailer, but none of them answered.
I look at the text messages I sent each of them.
My mom and brother’s are both left on read.
My dad’s still has the word Delivered underneath it, leaving me uncertain whether he’s ignoring me or just hasn’t seen the calls and messages.
I go back to the main screen and scroll up to see if Christopher’s messaged back—nope—as Laura leans over even further, to the point that she’s practically in my lap.
“Who’s Betty?”
“No one,” I snap back, locking my phone and handing it back to Lucy.
The lack of responses adds to the weight of disappointment and guilt that’s followed me round all day.
“Anyways, back to me. What do you think?” Laura retreats slightly as she pushes her fingers through her hair.
“About?”
“About flying to Italy to confront Brian!” Her eyes widen in disbelief. Like duh! she seems to be saying.
The one benefit to Laura’s narcissism is that she hasn’t once mentioned anything about the video I posted, the VMAs, or asked how I’ve been the past two months.
She acts as if nothing has happened. Which, despite me wanting to shoot myself as I listen to her go on about Brian, is a welcome distraction from the glares and whispers that have greeted me since I returned to set.
Having someone else’s drama occupy my mind, even if it has to be Laura’s, offers a momentary respite and helps me realize that I’m not the only one navigating shit.
“Look, I’m not best placed to advise on this kind of thing. But I think showing up unannounced probably isn’t the best way to go.”
The thought makes my whole body stiffen.
“Well, what would you do?” She reaches over to the potato chips sitting on the table in front of us.
“If he’s not answering your calls or returning your messages, and you’re not going to be able to hide your bump for much longer, I’d probably message him. Let him know you’re pregnant before he finds out from a picture in the press or on your socials.”
While I doubt Brian is checking his socials that much while on set, I know for a fact that he’s almost as obsessed with being a celebrity as Laura is. He constantly checked People Magazine, Entertainment Weekly, and the National Enquirer when he was here to see if he’d been featured.
I’d grown tired of seeing my face splashed across the newspapers and magazines a long time ago.
The novelty quickly wears off when journalists turn on you.
But I understood how exciting it all was for Brian.
His star is on the rise and his career is heading in the direction he’s dreamed of ever since he was a child.
“This is what I’ve written.” Laura passes me her phone.
Laura
I’m pregnant. You’re the father. Call me or I’m going to the press.
“What do you think?”
I pass her phone back and reach for a potato chip.
“I’m not sure threatening going to the press is the…”
“Too late.” Laura smirks. “It’s already sent.” She drops her phone back on the table.
Jesus.
I don’t waste time arguing or responding. Instead, I get up from the chair and make my way back to set. I prepare myself to kill her character, while thinking that Brian will probably want to change places with me when he reads her text.
The poor guy. One short-lived romance, and now he’s set to be tied to her for the rest of his life.
Thank God this is my final scene with her, and I can leave her drama behind.