I think I might like this going slower thing.
*** *** ***
Emma
All morning, I keep blushing for no apparent reason—every time I think of the fact that I’ve kissed two insanely hot guys in the last two days. I still haven’t heard from Graham. Reid sent me a text this morning wishing me good luck with filming today.
His fans know where we’re filming, and they showed up early to stand just outside the barricades surrounding the house. But he isn’t filming today, so all but the most tenacious of them eventually trickled away. Chloe and my father are visiting the set this afternoon, and when their taxi arrives, there’s renewed excitement among the dozen or so fans until they exit. Chloe’s outfit today consists of skintight lowrise jeans, wedge heels, and a low-hanging peasant blouse that would look more appropriate on someone in high school. And I don’t mean someone who teaches high school.
When I go outside to authorize them through set security, a couple of the fans holler, “Emma!” I turn and wave, surprised they know who I am.
The afternoon’s schedule consists mainly of a scene including Tim Warner and Leslie Neale as Lizbeth’s parents, a fact that sends Chloe into insufferable enthusiasm overdrive. As Tim and Leslie are discussing the interaction they’ll be filming first, Chloe interrupts to tell them how she’s been a huge fan since she was a little girl. Tim stops talking, flabbergasted, and Leslie stares at Chloe for a moment before saying, “Thank you dear, and who are you?”
“Oh! I’m Emma’s mother!” I cringe at both this semi-fabrication and the appalling fact that she’s legitimately connected to me at all.
As I dream of trap doors and the benefits of quicksand, Leslie and Tim turn towards me, and I try to make myself think screw everyone else even though the last thing I want is for these two distinguished actors to have a poor opinion of me, even if MiShaun is right and it isn’t fair for them to judge me based on Chloe.
Leslie recovers first. “Well, I’m sure you’re proud of her. She’s so talented. At the moment, though, we’ve got to get this scene set up. If you’d just make yourself comfortable and enjoy watching Emma work…” She leads Chloe to a chair off-set and motions to an assistant to the PA, asking her to get Mrs. Pierce something to drink. As she turns from a stunned and silent Chloe, Leslie winks at me.
I think I love her.
***
At the end of the day, I’m exhausted and running on five or six non-consecutive hours of sleep, but Chloe insists on going out to dinner since they’re leaving early in the morning. I want nothing more than room service, a conversation with Emily about all the kissing going on, and some sleep.
“We’ll make it an early night,” my father says. “I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you how great you were today.” Unable to help myself, I warm under his words, leaning my head on his shoulder as he pats my knee.
Over dinner at a local barbeque place, Chloe talks about how awesome Leslie was for an hour and a half straight while my father squeezes in a sentence or two praising my performance. In the taxi, I dig my phone from my bag to text Emily. There are two missed calls and two texts from her; the restaurant was so loud that I didn’t hear the phone alerts. The first text says: CALL ME. That’s scary, considering the all caps, but the second, sent half an hour ago, is way more frightening: GOOGLE YOURSELF AND THEN CALL ME.
Once in my room, I boot up my laptop and type my name into the search box. And there, spread across the Internet, in multiple locations including every Reid Alexander fanpage, are indistinct photos and rampant speculation about Reid Alexander and his current costar, Emma Pierce, who were kissing, offscreen, at a club in Austin.
Oh. Shit.
I’d texted with Emily about the kiss the previous night, but there’s a vast difference in getting the unadorned facts via text, and seeing it in grainy color on a 17-inch monitor, accompanied by assorted enhanced close-ups of the action.
“I had no idea anyone could even see us. Oh, God.”
“No reason to panic. Let’s be logical. Okay, Reid Alexander kissed you, for real, not lights-camera-action. And like what practically ninety-nine percent of girls would do if faced with Reid Alexander’s lips, you went for it.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s the problem, exactly, besides the whole thing getting outed to the world? You said he was an amazing kisser.”
“He is… but… there’s this, uh, complication I was going to talk to you about tonight, before I knew all of this. Remember the guy I’ve been running with?”
“Graham, right?”
“Yeah. Well, he kissed me. Monday night.”
“Okay, back up. What?” I visualize her waving her hands around. Emily can be on the phone and driving, and she’ll wave both hands around. She says it helps her think. “Is this the same Graham you said was ‘just a friend’ or some other Graham?”
“Oh, God.”
“Sorry, Em. You know sarcasm is my coping mechanism. Go on. Spill it.”
I curl on my side in the middle of my bed, exactly where Graham and I were. “I’ve felt this… building attraction to him, and we spent all Saturday evening talking, and then we were watching a movie, and I fell asleep and when I woke up he was gone.”
“So. Talking in bed on Saturday. Interesting. And then Monday, what?”
“I couldn’t sleep, and I knocked on his door, thinking we could talk, or something…”
“Emma,” Emily says, calling bullshit on me.