Hollywood Nights Read online

  “How are you this morning, Tanner?” Martha said.

  “I’m fine.” I took a huge bite of the sandwich and prayed she’d buy the lie.

  “So, I was wondering about something.” Lana turned to me. Good grief, she had pounds of makeup already on her face. Not that she’d ever let me see her without mascara and foundation at a minimum. “Would you like to come with me to the ultrasound appointment in about two hours? It’s the first time we’ll get to see the baby together.”

  Martha coughed, and I gave her a sideways glance.

  “Are the cameras from the show going to be there?” I swallowed another bite of sandwich.

  Lana shook her head. “I don’t have anything scheduled. Besides, don’t you want to see our child?”

  She had me there.

  “I’ll go,” I said, more out of duty and curiosity than anything else. “Where is the appointment?”

  “Dr. Morad’s.” Lana grinned. “And I’m so happy you’re coming, Tanner. This time, I’m going to get things right. We needed a new start, and this baby is going to give it to us. I’m not going to hurt you again. I promise. Just give me a few weeks. You’ll see.”

  Martha, standing about five feet behind her, shook her head.

  Ten days after I arrived home, I dragged myself out of bed, fired up the Corolla, and drove into downtown Griffin. No more crying. No more staring at the phone, reading over and over again his plaintive, desperate text messages. No more mindless TV to pass the long afternoon hours while I waited for Dad to come home. Most of all, no more sitting on the back porch, staring into the woods while wishing Tanner would walk out from the trees and tell me this whole thing had been a bad dream.

  I needed a job. A real job.

  I hadn’t been unemployed since sixteen, when I took my first job at Sonic as a carhop. From that moment onward, I’d worked. In California, I’d bounced around a few times, but I still made money—I still made something. Work gave me a sense of purpose. It gave me meaning.

  At that moment, I could use a little bit of that.

  Downtown never had many businesses or signs of life, and it had even less following the 2008 economic recession. Growing up, the central strip of stores rimming the county courthouse never had vacancies, but now five stores remained in business: a pharmacy, a small diner, a general store called Malone’s, an electronics repair shop, and a dry cleaner. I parked the car, surveyed them, and chose Malone’s.

  “How can I help you?” Howard Malone, Dad’s longtime friend, walked out from the back office of the store, wiping his hands on his pants. When he saw me, his expression changed, and his grin widened. “Brynn Price. Surprised to see you here. What brings you to town?”

  “Been a long time.”

  “You in the city for a few days? Back for a visit?”

  “No.” I cleared my throat and glanced at the Corolla through the store’s grimy front windows. “Actually, I’m back for a while. Indefinitely.”

  “Well, fancy that.” Howard put down his towel and lumbered around the cash wrap toward a display of neutral-colored ties. “Heard you’ve been dating one of those Hollywood actors. Maybe you’d like to pick something out for him as a gift?”

  I should have expected this. Howard’s expression alone gave him away; he knew more about my love life than he wanted to say. News about Lana and Tanner had made it to the blogs, Facebook, and the tabloids. Since returning to Ohio, I’d stayed away from the stuff.

  “Actually, I’m here to ask if you need any help,” I said. “As in, employment.”

  Howard cocked his head. “Don’t get much traffic around here these days, Brynn. If you haven’t noticed, things have changed in Griffin, and not for the better.”

  “I know, I know. But I’ll take anything. Clerical. Customer service. I’ll be the janitor.” My voice strained. “Anything.”

  “You aren’t going back to LA, are you?”

  “No. I can’t go back there. Not the way I left things.”

  He sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the table of ties. “Okay. I’ll hire you. It won’t be much, but I can pay minimum wage. Want to start tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” I extended my hand as a wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you so much. Really, I mean that.”

  “Store opens at nine.” He shook my extended hand twice. “So be here no later than eight forty-five.”

  When I got back to the car, I placed the other phone call I’d been dreading. Andrea hadn’t been satisfied with my explanation on the road; she had insisted I take a few days to think about what I wanted, even though I’d told her over and over again I didn’t plan on coming back to LA and wouldn’t need representation anymore.

  “That’s a shame,” she said when I told her about my final decision, as I pulled the car out of the parking space. “Not at all what I thought I’d hear.”

  “It’s better this way. I don’t have the stomach to stay there. It’s not in my heart.”

  “They’re not going to be happy when they hear about this over at Hawthorne’s Landing. I got the sense they were excited to cast you. Could have been a permanent thing.”

  “I don’t care. Hollywood’s not for me. Not anymore.

  She tsked. “Just when your career was about to take off, kiddo.”

  “It was all a lie,” I said. “And I’m damn tired of lying all of the time.”

  “Brynn, please sort these shirts.” Howard Malone pointed to the large cardboard rectangle on the floor behind the register. “I’d do it, but my back’s acting up.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I broke open the package with a box cutter from the table’s drawer. We’d been at this for three weeks, but I already knew how things worked at Malone’s so well that I could have done most of the work without Howard. The store had four or five regulars in town plus the occasional browser, and did about $200 in sales a week. The rest came from online orders, which Howard had done a decent job creating through a crisp website he’d designed in WordPress. It all totaled about $500 in sales each week, and under $2,000 a month. Howard often referred to the store as his pet project. It had to be. Didn’t make enough profit for much else.

  Four shirts came out of the box and onto the shelf attached to one of the sidewalls of the store.

  “Listen, I was thinking we could use these to make a display.” I gestured to the front window. “Would be a great place for it, and if we added a few of those hats the display would brighten up the store.”

  The front door jangled and I spun around, still clutching one shirt.

  Rick Stevens, Griffin’s lone postman, strode through the front door with a large stash of mail in his hands. “Good afternoon, you two.”

  “Good to see you,” I said, and Howard echoed me.

  Rick had a kind smile for me, but he paused for a beat, and frowned when our gazes locked. He and his wife also knew my dad rather well, and Rick sometimes played poker with him at the Elks Lodge. As a kid, he’d reminded me of Santa Claus, always ruddy-faced and flushed from his route.

  “Gonna need to come in here for a few things next week.” Rick patted his robust stomach. “Wife says the pants are getting a little tight. Need a new size.”

  He and Howard laughed.

  Rick then placed the mail next to the cash register and said a few things to Howard. When he turned around and walked away, I knew exactly why he’d given me such a concerned look.

  There, on top of all the rest of the mail, lay the latest copy of Chatter magazine. A photo of Lana and Tanner graced the center of the cover. Lana smiled, posing for an arranged photo shoot. Tanner smiled, too, but his face didn’t have glee written all over it like hers did.

  My heart fell into my ankles. My stomach lifted. For a moment, I thought I would faint.

  Hollywood’s Golden Couple: Together Again, and Expecting a BABY GIRL! The headline streaked across the center of the cover. A few smaller headlines promised readers a first-look at Lana and Tanner’s renewed relationship, the ins
ide scoop on how they planned to make their home “baby-ready,” and all of the details on how the new arrival had brought them “closer together than ever.”

  I’d read Chatter enough times to know how the inside of the magazine would appear. Lots of sugary, staged photos of them, a few anonymous sources close to the couple providing “insider details about their baby’s nursery” and tips on how to get Lana’s radiant pregnancy style. All of it was staged for maximum exposure.

  “Brynn? Brynn? Are you okay? Brynn?”

  I tore my gaze away from the cover and turned to Howard, who also frowned at me. “What? Did you say something?”

  “I’ve been—what are you—” He grabbed the magazine from the counter and flipped it over. An ad for expensive face cream decorated the back page. “Are you okay? I’ve asked you about fifteen times.”

  I swallowed, but the nausea didn’t subside. Instead, it grew and twisted my tender stomach. “Can you give me a second?”

  I rushed into the bathroom next to the stockroom and threw up. Not a lot came, but enough. Then, with an empty stomach, I hovered over the toilet and threw up nothing but bile. It was as if I purged my entire life in Los Angeles and all of the collateral damage that had come with it. God, my time out in California had run deep.

  Howard knocked on the door after my vomiting subsided. “Brynn, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said as I wiped my mouth and turned on the faucet. The mirror showed me a woman who’d lost about ten pounds since I left Hollywood, who had bloodshot eyes and a haggard face. But it also showed a woman who didn’t care anymore. “I’ve never been better.”

  And in a way, I was. I finally had something I’d been missing: clarity about everything.

  I wanted to forget Tanner Vance and get on with my life. Whatever we’d once had was obliterated. Perhaps that was for the best.

  Two Months Later

  “Have a seat.” Ian Rose shook my hand, then stroked his rough gray beard and returned to his own chair, an ancient leather one with a long gash across the cushion, which duct tape held together. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Except, this was our second meeting, and the first one hadn’t been pleasant. At least, it hadn’t been for me. I shrugged and sat down in the wooden chair facing his desk.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” I said.

  Ian tapped his fingers on the desk, and the whole overall greasiness of his office stood out to me. A few hamburgers from In-N-Out over here, a lone, empty soda can and a tray full of days-old cigarette ashes over there, stacks of papers that covered every open space, and a small laptop fighting for air amongst the clutter. Ian himself rounded out the picture—a mess of scraggly beard hairs, remnants of bad life choices, and deep wrinkles that etched trails across his face. Had we not been in an office with his name stenciled on the door, I might have thought he was homeless.

  “I have your report.” Ian shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Both reports, actually.” He cleared his throat when he retrieved two thick manila envelopes from the piles. Both had IR Investigations printed on the front.

  “What did you find?” I said, aware I sounded haggard and frustrated. It had been such a long couple of months. “Anything?”

  “You came here a month ago because you had some—suspicions. Questions. Doubts. I hope today you can get some answers.” He presented the folders to me. The top one was much larger than the other. “You’ll find a complete report inside the top one.”

  What I found when I opened the envelope made me suck in a long breath. It was all there, right on top, in large, glossy photographs that left nothing out. I leafed through the two dozen, and each one surprised me more than the last.

  “This is extensive,” I said, when my shuffling got to a series of photos taken outside the Beverly Hilton. The most telling one showed me how far the betrayal had gone. “You all do good work.”

  “We try.” Another cough from Ian. “At least, that’s what we often hear from clients. The other guys don’t find out the kind of information we do.”

  “How many times?” I said, my voice wooden and flat. “How many times, do you think?” Here was confirmation of what I had long suspected, but instead of feeling angry or relieved, I had a numbness all over my body. Almost as if this hadn’t happened to me at all.

  “At least fifteen times. More than my guys expected. Enough to prove what you think.”

  “That she’s a liar,” I said, finishing his sentence. “That she’s a goddamn motherfucking bitch of a liar, and she’s not going to get away with this anymore.”

  Ian opened a greasy, stale wrapper and took a large bite of hamburger. He spoke to me as he chewed. “Isn’t it better to know? Better than being on the hook for something.”

  A flush of flush of anger pulsed through me. How dare Lana? How dare she cheat on me? And how dare she lie to me like this?

  “She’s pregnant and she says I’m the father.” I rubbed my face, as if that would wipe away the magnitude of this information and the proof of what I now held in my hands. “But now this changes everything.”

  “Honestly, from the looks of it, this has been going on for a while.” Ian ate some more of the hamburger, ketchup and mustard staining his lips and chin. “People who are new at things like this usually aren’t so—comfortable with each other.” A third bite. “She waits for you to leave, then makes a phone call. A few times, he’s been over to your house when you’re not there.”

  If I hadn’t needed the photos, I would have ripped them all up right then, just to get out some mounting aggression.

  “What about the pregnancy?” I said. “Is the baby mine?”

  As if a private investigator I had hired in a fit of rage one night had the answer to this mystery.

  Ian licked his lips. “I can’t tell you for sure. You might be the baby’s father. All I can tell you is Lana is seeing someone else, besides you.” He pointed at the manila envelope. “And those photos prove it, and we’ve cross-checked everything. My men do good work.”

  He was right; they did. I wouldn’t have hired IR Investigations if they didn’t.

  “Lana is going to pay for this,” I said. “I won’t let her get away with it. Not this time.”

  Ian hesitated. “There’s something else you need to know.”

  “What?” I braced myself for anything.

  “He’s married.” Ian shook his head, but his eyes softened in relief. “We’ve been able to confirm that, too.”

  I gulped. I had no idea how to reply.

  “Please don’t do anything drastic,” Ian said, the concern in his voice clearer than anything else in his office. “Well, if nothing else, don’t do it in the name of our investigation.”

  He was making a joke, but I didn’t find it funny.

  “I’m fine,” I said, and stood up from the rickety chair. “I’m going to be fine.”

  I paid the outstanding bill and left, not allowing myself to open the second envelope until I got inside my Acura. That one didn’t have any photos, just a generalized report and some basic information. Still, it told me as much as the one about Lana. I had a place, a narrative, and enough basic details to go on when it came time to pursue the next steps. And for the first time in weeks, I had something else: hope.

  I turned on the car and threw it into gear. It was time.

  Roberta placed a cup of coffee on the glossy end table next to my red couch and sat down on the edge of the chair next to it. She looked down at her shoes and not at me.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I said. We hadn’t said much in the last half hour or so, and the air in the house had become thick with tension and anticipation.

  “I have to admit, I wish I hadn’t seen those photos.” She shuddered, and her gaze met mine.

  “Some things can’t be unseen, but in a way, I’m glad. At least I know now, before it’s too late.”

  Roberta gulped. “And what are you going to do about the baby?”

  “I do
n’t know.” I raked a hand through my hair. “I keep thinking, what have I done to deserve all of this bullshit? All of this personal hell?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I should never have gotten involved with Lana,” I muttered, more to myself than to Roberta. “Biggest mistake of my life. It has cost me everything.”

  Sitting there, as I counted down the minutes until Lana walked through my door, I thought about the night we first met, more than three years before. We’d both been on the guest list for some Chatter magazine Oscar party in Malibu, and Lana bumped into me as the crowd thickened around the line for one of the bars. She’d spilled her white wine on my shirt and she’d seemed so upset about it; there, under the mix of pink and blue lights, I had marveled at the way they played with her honeycomb hair, and how her blue dress hugged every curve and twist of her body. Lana could dazzle when she wanted to, and she had certainly done that with me.

  But now, that dazzle had faded.

  I looked at my watch. “She said she’d be here about four.”

  Roberta nodded.

  We fell into an awkward silence again as the last few minutes stretched into hours and then days. I had never wanted time to pass so fast in my life. When the engine of Lana’s BMW rumbled up the drive, my heart quickened, and my lungs threatened to jump out of my throat.

  She appeared, seconds later, a whirlwind of perfume with an air of breezy satisfaction.

  “There you are, babe,” Lana said after she blew through the front door. She carried a large shopping bag from Bye Bye Baby on one arm and a Balenciaga bag on the other. She set them both down and took of her Ray-Ban sunglasses. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Roberta.”

  Roberta’s eyes widened and one eyebrow raised. She had never been Lana’s biggest fan. I nodded at her.

  This was it.

  “How was your day, Tanner?” Lana said.