2. Griffin #2
Scarlet’s laying the fake-dating on mighty thick today, pushing my acting skills to their limit.
“When did you two take things off set? Because we all know you can carry the heat on-screen. Isn’t that right, folks?” She smirks at the audience.
They cheer wildly.
I clear my throat and remove Scarlet’s hand from my thigh, holding it instead. “Like Scarlet said, we grew up on set together. We became friends over the years. You could say it was only natural things would escalate over time.”
“Speaking of growing up on set. You and Scarlet originally met on The Clubhouse , right?”
I want to groan. Nothing like having your awkward teenage years recorded for the world to see.
Scarlet laughs. “Oh my gosh. I almost forgot about that. Griffin, do you remember that hair?—”
“We don’t need to mention that particular detail, Scar.”
“Oh, but we certainly do. As it so happens, we have a clip here today.” Gwen gestures to the large screen behind our chairs.
“Greeeeat.”
The audience chuckles at my discomfort.
Scarlet bounces with giddiness on the couch.
The ensuing clip highlights my embarrassingly awful hairstyle while singing on stage.
If Justin Bieber’s swooped hair and Justin Timberlake’s curly hair phases got together and had a baby—that’s what I looked like.
A gangly, curly-headed mop-top pre-teen.
Not my finest age. After suffering years of torment from both my cast mates and the public for my gangly form, I took my fitness regimen to another level in my later teen years.
I’d hoped it’d help take the public scrutiny off my body. Not highlight it.
For a while, it was great. I thrived on the attention from girls and from the rush of my father’s praise and attention. Had my mom been around, maybe I would’ve realized there was more to life than such a shallow existence. It may have taken me a while, but now I crave something deeper.
“What about you, Griffin? Did you love an early rise to stardom?”
“With that flashy hairstyle and those wardrobe choices?” I laugh. “No, I did not. But it definitely sparked a passion for acting.” I loved that it brought people together—my parents mostly.
“That’s right. You went directly from The Clubhouse to Malibu Shores , correct?”
“Yup.”
“What plans do you two have now that this is the show’s final season? Are you having a hard time leaving it behind? Rumor has it, Griffin, you’re looking to move toward film. Is that correct?”
I relax into my seat for the first time since the interview began, finally able to tell a complete truth. “Yes. I’m looking forward to the new chapter in my career.”
“It could mean longer days and even months away from home. Are you sure you can handle being away from your girlfriend that long? Or perhaps you two are looking to star in something else together?”
Scarlet turns toward me, and I smile at her.
“I think she’ll be fine on her own for a while, but I’m sure there will be future projects together at some point.”
It’s no hardship for me to leave the show behind. I’m done acting in angsty teeny-bopper shows. I was ready to close that chapter two years ago. I’d only renewed my contract for two more seasons to appease my dad and because I didn’t have any other options lined up.
What if there are no other future film contracts?
Yet another reason I’m determined to fulfill my contract with Wesley.
“So, you guys are in it for the long haul then?” She wiggles her fingers toward us.
Not long at all, actually. Eight weeks and two days, to be exact. Just three weeks after the show’s season premiere event. Not that I’m counting.
I look dotingly at Scarlet, my acting skills in peak form. “Absolutely.”
“Can I keep your shirt?” Luke asks as he maneuvers the SUV into Los Angeles traffic, exiting the studio lot.
I look over at him from the passenger seat. “Why?”
“I think it’d make a nice Christmas gift for my mom.” His smile bursts wide across his face.
I punch his bicep, solid from his years in the military. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
He laughs. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
“I plan on burning this thing when I get home tonight.” I buttoned two more buttons on the shirt, but the seams stretched too taut, threatening to pop a button loose at any moment.
Luke thumbs to the backseat. “You’ve got your gym clothes you could wear.”
I considered the possibility, but seeing as we’re driving directly to a swimwear photoshoot where I’ll be removing my clothes yet again, I didn’t see the sense in putting on my stinky gym clothes. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Just trying to be helpful as your trusty personal assistant.” He finger-guns me and winks.
“Would you two quit acting like children?” my father quips from the backseat. “Just focus on getting us there, Luke. We’re cutting it close.”
I glance at the digital clock. It’s three p.m. “We’ve got plenty of time, Dad. I’m not required to be there until five.”
“They’ll need plenty of time for hair and makeup.”
“Gonna make your ugly face all pretty,” Luke inserts.
“We don’t want to set a bad impression by showing up late.” Dad releases a You’re being difficult sigh and looks up from his phone. “Son, sometimes I wonder if you even care about your career anymore.”
Here we go again.
I do care. I’ve bent over backward the last decade in my career to keep him happy. And never once has he noticed. Exhibit A: agreeing to the bogus interview with my very fake girlfriend. Taking pictures together is one thing, but lying to the American public? Makes my skin itch.
“Don’t worry, sir, I’ll get him there in plenty of time to get beautified.” Luke smirks before changing lanes, passing a slow car.
I smile despite my father souring my mood. At least my cousin understands. He has his own dad issues. Then again, he just avoids his. Part of me wishes I could, but then I’d have no parent left. I’d be no better than Mom. Just giving up on him.
Luke slams on the brakes at a red light.
A dog waits on the corner. There are people around it, but no one acknowledges it. The opposite light turns green and everyone crosses. The dog waits a second and then steps onto the street. It walks in front of the SUV, favoring its hind leg.
“That dog is limping.”
Luke tracks it with his gaze, the same as me. “Sure is. Poor guy.”
Our light turns green, but Luke keeps the car idling. We both watch, making sure it crosses safely. It’s panting, its ribs protruding through its skin, its fur covered in filth.
“I know it’s been a while since you’ve been stateside, Luke, but green means go.” Dad inserts.
Luke grips the wheel tighter and presses the gas.
“Wait!” I can’t help myself. The SUV lurches to a stop. “We can’t just leave it.”
Dad ignores the suffering dog and goes right back to his phone. “Sure we can. It’ll be fine. We’re going to be late. Go, Luke.”
I clench my jaw, hating how much my father still treats me like a child.
Luke looks at me. “What do you want to do?” I appreciate his loyalty, heeding me instead of my father.
My heart beats in my ribcage. It’s a minor thing—to stop for a dog. There are probably hundreds of homeless dogs in Los Angeles. And yet, guilt presses me all the same. “Pull over.”
Luke pulls into an empty parallel parking spot.
“Son, this is ridiculous. We don’t have ti?—”
I open and close my door before he can finish and jog across the street toward the dog. It’s collapsed on the sidewalk into some shade in front of a surf shop.
“Hey there, fella.” I crouch near it.
It curls tighter into a ball and looks away.
I note it’s actually a female. The poor thing is breathing heavily.
I wish I’d grabbed my water bottle. She’s probably thirsty.
Her back leg has a wound—fresh enough that the blood is red.
Flies buzz around her, but she’s too tired to care.
Her fur is covered in dirt, marring its golden-tan color. There’s no collar.
Luke hollers from across the street. “Is it okay?”
“Not sure. Doesn’t look too great. Can you search the GPS for a vet nearby?”
“Sure.” He slips back into the vehicle.
I don’t care what my dad says. I never want to be the kind of person who’s too busy to help someone hurting—even if it is a dog. I inch closer. Her head lifts. Her eyes study me, but she’s too weak to care.
“I’m going to get you some help, girl. Okay?” I reach under and scoop her into my arms.
Luke meets me at the rear passenger door, opening it. “The closest vet is a few miles away, but there’s a shelter within a mile.”
“Griffin, we don’t have time for this nonsense. We’re already going to be late as it is.” My dad shifts in his seat, pressing against his door like this weak, hurting dog has rabies.
Gently, I lay her in the seat. I pull my gym bag from the floorboard and grab a shirt. “It’s fine. We have time.” I wrap her injured back leg. “Luke, let’s just go to the shelter. They’ll surely be able to get her some help.”
“Got it.” Luke jogs around the SUV and selects the address in the GPS.
“We’re going to take care of you, girl, okay?” I close the door and slip into the passenger seat.
I may not be able to control every aspect of my career, but for this one, small moment, I can do something I want to do for a change.