Chapter 11 Lana #2
Darnell braked heavily, swinging Lana forward. Her seatbelt snapped taut, and the car shuddered to a stop behind a car. A red light.
“Paps will do anything to get a reaction,” Darnell said. “Shout all kinds of shit to get under your skin. Chase you on motorbikes, force you off the road, hoping you’ll go full road rage.”
“That happens?” Lana asked.
“Oh yeah,” Griffin said. “Just after I got my license, a bunch of paps surrounded me and jumped on my car. Couldn’t see a damn thing because of the camera flashes.”
“That when you ran over that photographer’s foot?” Darnell said.
“Not intentionally—he put it there! And then he threatened to sue and I had to pay him off. He’s still one of my regulars, always trying to get a rise out of me. I see his ratty red face everywhere.”
“Do you get that too, Darnell?” Lana asked.
Darnell stomped on the accelerator, flinging Lana back. “I’ve had my moments, but people don’t hassle me like they hassle Griffin. Our friend here is what they call uber-famous.”
“They don’t call me that.”
“Elvis, Marilyn, Liz Taylor, Michael Jackson, Oprah, Griffin Hart. Rest of us can walk down the street without people going ape-shit—a few cameras maybe, but nothing death-defying. Plus, you might have heard that Griffin’s an asshole, so he deserves all the trolling he gets.”
“Thanks, D.”
“It’s tougher on this generation. Me and my buddies?
We got up to some crazy stuff in the day, of which there is no documentary evidence.
Any of it would be career-ending today. But Griffin here?
He’s been photographed and videotaped all his life.
You could probably string together uninterrupted footage from the internet of every moment he’s spent in public since the blessed day he was born. ”
“In case you’re still wondering why I don’t get out much,” Griffin said.
“But that’s your problem, son. You don’t go out enough.
Simple economics—the less you go out, the more demand there is for photos.
” Darnell blasted the horn at a delivery truck driver who was contemplating double parking.
The traffic was thickening, confining Darnell.
The SUV was sticking to their wake. “See, everyone knows I swim at the one beach, right? Every morning for decades. So no one cares anymore. Someone takes a picture of me in my Speedos and it’s worthless, ’coz those photos are everywhere.
I lowered my own novelty value by over-exposing myself. ”
“Literally,” Griffin said.
“I know you’re in a different category, but I’m telling you your only way out of this is to be a hundred percent visible. Walk around naked every day, and people will get so used to seeing your junk that they don’t even look anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s not me.”
“You’re right—not sure people would tire of seeing your junk. Remember when you went undercover at Coachella?”
“Oh man, don’t tell Lana that.”
“Everyone knows that story!”
“Lana might be the one exception.”
“Either you can tell me, or I can google it later,” she said.
“Come on, come on, stay green for papa,” Darnell muttered as they crawled to a set of lights. “Couple more minutes and we’re there.”
“I wore a Big Bird suit, okay?” Griffin said.
“And for a few hours, it was the bomb, though I was sweating like a walking Jacuzzi. Everyone still wanted selfies, but no one knew it was me! My security team were in plain clothes, and they thought it was hilarious. But then I had to take off the head to fit into the porta-potty, and when I came out, there were cameras everywhere.”
“So, if you’re thinking about getting mixed up with this guy, you best be prepared for some crazy shit.”
“It’s not like that, Darnell.”
Griffin’s flat tone and the speed of his clarification were a little humbling for Lana. For no good reason. Even if something was happening, it didn’t take a relationship therapist to see their lives were incompatible.
“Yeah, okay.” Again, Darnell sounded dubious. Lana wished she could ask him why. He obviously knew Griffin well. What vibe was he picking up? Did she want there to be a vibe?
They fell silent as they drew up to the looming gray bulk of the convention center. Darnell grabbed a black cap from the back seat and pulled it on. Next to the building was a Gods and Mortals billboard with a gigantic, half-naked Griffin Hart on it.
“Well, that’s surreal,” Lana said, staring at it.
Griffin grunted. “Some things you never get used to.”
“Hey buddy, I was sorry to hear about Toby Fong,” Darnell said, out of nowhere, looking at Griffin in the driver’s mirror.
“Me, too.”
“The parallels are inescapable.”
Parallels? Griffin’s gaze darted to Lana and snapped guiltily away. He turned to look out the back. “They’re only a couple of cars behind.”
“No stress, we have arrived.”
Darnell swung into a gate guarded by security guards, cops, and people in dark suits. “Are those Secret Service agents?” she said.
“They are,” Darnell said. “We are mooching off the VP’s security. Those guys behind us won’t want to take on this kind of firepower.”
Sure enough, the SUV had pulled over up the road. Lana squinted but couldn’t make out the plates. She noted the goons had swapped the balaclavas for N95 masks.
Darnell rolled down a window, pulling his cap low. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said to the nearest security guard. “I’m bringing in Griffin Hart and his personal assistant.”
Darnell shot a look at Griffin, who groaned and rolled his window down. “Hey, there,” he said with forced cockiness.
The guard waved them through to a holding area, where trunks were being searched and undercarriages checked with mirrors on poles.
“It’s worked,” Lana said. Behind them, the SUV moved off the curb and headed down a side street.
“Oh good,” Griffin said. “Can we leave now?”
Darnell cruised to a halt and killed the engine. “Not until we’ve taken care of this phone. Your friends back there aren’t worried because they assume they can pick up the trail again.”
Another security guard approached.
“You don’t have a weapon in your glove compartment, do you, Darnell?” Griffin mumbled.
“Not that these guys will find. Lana, give me your sister’s phone, and yours. I’ll redirect your sister’s calls and texts to you, in case anyone else contacts her. They won’t be able to track that.”
When Darnell was finished, he got out of the car, holding up Vivien’s phone.
“I’ll go hide this on a Metro bus. Should keep them going in circles.
And I’ll get back to that butt-dial message, while you take your chances with this detective.
” He turned to the guards and staff, as Griffin switched to the driver’s seat.
“Sorry to disappoint—Mr. Hart has been called away. He’ll be sure to double his donation, though.
” To Griffin, he muttered. “Keep your head down this time.”
“I’ll be stealth,” Griffin said, starting the engine.
“You’ve got to be the least stealth person in L.A.,” Lana said.
Darnell laughed. “Oh, I can see why you like her.”
Griffin rolled up the window.
“I can’t believe I just met Darnell Lascelles,” Lana said as Griffin maneuvered the car.
“He’s just another guy who drips pee on the bathroom floor. I take real care not to, by the way.”
“Are you trying to impress me with … your toilet training?”
“Are you impressed?”
She slowly shook her head, laughing. Truth was, she was more impressed by him with every hour. She blew out a breath. She needed to stop fantasizing that there was more to this than two people thrown together in a crisis. This was about Vivien.
“Lana? I think you just retracted.”
“Yeah. I’m just … I’m grateful we both got left behind yesterday.” Purely for Vivien’s sake, she told herself. Nothing else. This was just like a crush on any famous person: hypothetical, harmless, and hopeless.
Griffin gave one of his rare, genuine smiles—the kind that made her breath hitch. “I feel the same way.”
Yeah, she thought. I’m not sure you do.