Indiscreet by Nicole French

23

After a quick catnap, we sailed back to the marina, where Will skillfully berthed (or so he said when he corrected my jargon). But both of us were quiet on the sail back, like we knew that there was something coming. A haze of smoke had settled around LA over the last few days from the end-of-summer wildfires up north. They weren’t close, but you always felt the threat.

“So, I was thinking,” Will said as he got the boat in order. “I should invite my mom to the wrap party.”

I arched a brow in surprise. “Oh?”

In the last two months, Tricia Owens-Baker hadn’t been allowed anywhere near production in order to respect the sensitivity of Will as an artist. It was one of the few demands that Beauregard had yielded on—partly, I expected, because of pressure from the director. In the end, getting a good performance from their star, and thus making more money, was more important than Max del Conte’s sadistic games. And two months ago, Will had been so adamant about keeping her off set. This was definitely an about-face.

Will nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it…I think I need to make peace.” He finished tying the rope onto the dock. “We probably won’t ever have the greatest relationship, but I can’t avoid her forever, right? It’s been four years.”

I considered while we walked. My mom and I weren’t the greatest example of a mother-child relationship. All I knew of Tricia Owens-Baker was that she was the kind of woman who would separate a small boy from his father in order to make money. And that she was the kind of mother who would slap her son across the face after not seeing him for four years. So, no, I definitely wasn’t inclined to like Tricia Owens-Baker at all.

But if Will could be magnanimous, then I supposed I could try. For his sake.

“I think that’s nice,” I said finally. “And I guess I should probably tell you something too.”

Will slung a long arm around my neck, tucking me into his side. “What’s up, buttercup?”

I didn’t laugh. “Um…today…something happened when you were on set, doing your, um, sex scene with Amelia.”

The thought erased all the good vibes we’d developed that afternoon. I’d spent the last few hours pretending the incidents with Theo and Amelia hadn’t happened. Putting out that fire in the back of my mind. Keeping it far from Will’s and my rare moment of peace and solitude.

But just like that, there was smoke on the horizon again.

Will stopped and turned to me. “Maggie, it wasn’t a sex scene. Is that what she told you? I swear to God, that little—”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” I said. “It was…I overheard something on the audio headphones at base camp.”

Will frowned. “What did you hear? Because the scene was about two minutes long. We had to be in bed together, but it was thirty seconds of dialogue, a fake kiss, and then I get up and leave. That was it.” He sneered. “Can you believe they make us wear full body makeup for that shit?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about him in bed with Amelia no matter how briefly. “That’s—that’s not the point,” I said. “Anyway, she was being catty, but it picked up on the mic, and it pissed me off. Talking about how easy it used to be to get you into b-bed or whatever. B-back then.”

My lower lip began to quiver before I could stop it. Dammit. I knew that wasn’t Will anymore. I knew that wasn’t my Will, at least. But it didn’t make the idea hurt any less.

“Lil. Lily pad.”

I looked up, unable to keep my eyes from tearing.

Will cupped my face with both hands. “Baby. You know she’s full of shit, right?”

“I…sure. I know. But back then…is it true, the stories about how wild you were?”

Will’s shoulders deflated. “Lil, I told you what kind of person I was before. I was empty, looking for the next high that could help me ignore my meaningless fucking life. You…you do a lot of stupid things when you’re high out of your mind, babe.”

I nodded minutely, but a tear started to fall nonetheless. So it was true, and this was his way of telling me. That the pictures of him stumbling out of nightclubs, about all his wild nights…none of them had been the product of media manipulation.

Would he ever miss that? Was there a part of him that wanted that release again?

Will leaned down and kissed the tear away. “You,” he said. “That’s all I want, Lil. Just you.”

I swallowed and accepted a second kiss he offered. “I know,” I said. “But I…I really hate it when she talks about you like that. Like, I don’t know. You still belong to her. It makes me want to…”

“Want to what?”

A blond brow rose, and a dimple appeared in Will’s left cheek. The bastard, he was amused by this.

“It makes me want to kick her bony ass,” I said clearly. “And then it makes me want to trap you in your trailer so you don’t forget who you do belong to.”

By the time I was done speaking, I was practically shaking. And when I turned back to Will, he had his arms crossed over his chest, making his forearms and biceps flex distractingly.

“Good,” he said.

I gaped. “Good?”

He grabbed my chin. “Yeah. Good. Because now you know how I felt every time I had to watch Lucas stare at your ass twenty times a day. And you know how I feel every time I think about what that piece of shit Theo del Conte did to you.” He stamped a quick, harsh kiss on my lips. “It’s a violent thing, love. It’s sharp as a fucking razor and can rip your heart to shreds.”

His grip on my chin squeezed a little harder, and for a few seconds, he looked me over the same way you might look at a snake or some other kind of predator. One that you thought might kill you. But in the end, when our eyes met again, his softened, and he released me.

“What I feel for you, baby…sometimes I think it’s not natural. Because when you look at me, it’s like you see inside, deep down, in the places no one else can reach.” He shook his head, like the very idea was impossible. “And you know, if my pain is yours, Lil, then your pain is mine. That’s how it works.”

He took my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles.

“I know,” I said softly. Then, with more conviction: “I know.”

Will looked at me for a bit longer. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I know you do.” He exhaled, like some invisible weight had been lifted.

“Will?”

He looked back at me. “Yeah, babe?”

“Theo’s here.”

Will’s eyes became as wide as the sky as he looked frantically around the marina. “What?”

I took a step back with my hands raised. “Whoa, calm down. P-please. Not here here. I saw him today. At the studio.”

He flinched at the sound of my stutter. “Don’t tell me to fucking calm down, Maggie! Your rapist showed up at my place of work to harass both of us, and you want me to calm down? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I wanted y-you to take a second to think about it,” I said. “You just got done talking about how the idea of him makes you feel v-violent—I didn’t want you to risk anything. And I didn’t want to ruin what little time together we actually had today!”

“I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me.” He whipped his phone out and started swiping violently. “Fuck!” he shouted when it was clear he had no service. He snatched my hand and started dragging me back through the marina, around a corner of the dock toward the parking lot where Garrett and Hakeem were still waiting for us in the car.

And somehow, it was like turning that corner brought us immediately back into the real world. Both of our cell phones went off immediately, as we walked back into service raising an alarm of multiple text messages, emails, missed calls, and more. People had been trying to reach us for hours.

“Oh, shit.” Will stared at his phone with pure horror.

“What?”

All the anger that had carved up his beautiful face moments before vanished. Now all I saw was regret.

“Oh, Lil,” he said as he sank down to a squat. He rocked back until he landed on his ass, then buried his face in his hands.

“Will, what is it?”

“I’m sorry,” he said over and over again. He handed me the phone, which had some kind of gallery on it. “So fucking sorry.”

He buried his face in his hands, turning back to the ocean while I scrolled dumbfounded, through picture after blurry picture of the two of us only a few hours before. Will lying on his back, long limbs relaxed in bliss. The water on either side of the boat blinking in the light while I took off my shirt, then my bra. Pictures of me kissing him. Of Will kissing me. Of his hands, my hands…everywhere until, eventually, he picked me up and we disappeared into the cabin.

It wasn’t porn. But it was…close. And it was my body, gyrating atop him like a two-bit dancer at some gentleman’s club. Mine and his, so intimately entwined, and completely on display.

I couldn’t breathe.

“What—w-what the hell is this?” I stuttered, holding the phone back out. “I d-don’t understand. Who took this? Where is that posted?”

My hand shook, but Will managed to take the phone before I dropped it. He clambered back up.

“Some psycho with a telephoto in the trees, I’m guessing,” he said as he pulled me into his chest. “Probably sold it to some shitty tabloid sites. Benny says it’s on a bunch already.”

“In f-four hours?” My head hurt trying to process how quickly this was happening. “How—how did they even—where were—” I shook my head, unable to get out a coherent sentence.

“I know, babe, I know.” Will shushed into my ear, rocking me lightly. “Come on, let’s go home. We will find out who did this, Lil. I promise.”

Stunned, I let him guide me down the dock while he swiped on his phone. Benny picked up immediately, but I could barely listen while Will shouted.

“The only people who knew we were on that boat were Corbyn, Garrett, and Hakeem. So I want to know who the fuck ratted us out, Benny.”

There was a long silence while Benny talked.

“Yeah,” Will replied. “She saw it. She’s…she’s shook up.” He listened a few more minutes, then his eyes flashed open. “What? Are you kidding? Benny, how the fuck do they even know where we are now?” There was some more talk, and Will swore heavily under his breath. “Fine. No, no, it’s fine. I need to get her out of here. Yeah, I’ll call you when we’re back at the house.”

He ended the call and turned to me. “Well, when it rains, it pours, I guess. Things just got a lot worse.”

“There is a fucking porn movie of me on the internet, Will! How could things get worse?”

“They could have filmed us inside the cabin too?”

Will was joking, but I only glared at him, not finding the idea at all funny. He wilted, and it was then I realized that familiar weight, which had settled on his broad shoulders ever since he’d left the lake, was back.

“What?” I asked “What made it worse?”

He just pointed down the length of the long dock. I squinted past his shaky fingers.

“Fuck,” he said as he scanned the marina parking lot. “Fucking fuck.”

Will dialed another number, and almost immediately, Hakeem answered.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice sounding clearly through the speaker. “We got a bit of a situation here. About twenty-thirty paps are basically stuck to the gate. You ready to go?”

Will glared down the dock, where we could see Hakeem speaking into the phone while Garrett was doing his best to block off the pack of photographers crowding the entrance. We’d been spotted, and already, flashes were going off.

“What the fuck is going on?” Will snapped. “How did they even know to come here?”

“Man, I don’t know.” Hakeem’s voice was tight. He clearly didn’t care for the insinuation on Will’s part. “But we need to get you out. Safely. Then we can talk about who the fuck snitched.”

I frowned. Hakeem and Garrett wouldn’t rat out our location, which meant that it must have gotten out on set somehow. Corbyn had been talking…and someone else had tipped off the paps.

Will shook his head. His entire body was starting to shake. “You didn’t think to call some backup?”

“Of course we did,” Hakeem snapped. “But it’s motherfuckin’ rush hour in Los Angeles, and didn’t nobody ask you to go European on a boat, did they?”

“So what’s the fucking plan?” Will growled. “How the fuck are we supposed to get out of here with that mess?”

I shrank, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me close. His grip was so tight, my bones crunched.

“Don’t let go,” he whispered, and it was then I realized his gruffness covered his fear. Will wasn’t angry at me or anyone else. He was as scared as I was—maybe more.

He continued to listen, holding me close while Hakeem rattled off a set of directions.

“Okay,” he said after he ended the call. He shoved his phone in his back pocket and turned to me, sliding his sunglasses back down despite the darkening sky. “Put your shades on, Lil. Otherwise you won’t be able to see.”

I glanced again toward the photographers, setting off another round of flashes and audible clicks, even from fifty feet away. Then I reached into my purse and did as I was told.

“Garrett and Hakeem are going to do their best to block our way to the car. But it’s not going to be like the premiere. There’s no blockade or extra security. They are going to shout at us—at you, probably—maybe even grab you, try to get you to look at them. Whatever you do, don’t let them in, okay? Don’t talk. Don’t give them anything. Not even a ‘no comment.’ Hey.” Will pulled me back to look at him. “You ready?”

I wished to God I could see his eyes, measure his expression. Was I ready? I didn’t know.

“Let’s go,” I whispered.

I followed him down the dock, and as we approached the entrance where Hakeem and Garrett were forcefully preventing the horde of photographers from crossing through the gate, the flashes went off in a frenzy. They started shouting our names, anything they could think of to get us to look at them.

“Fitz! Where were you and Maggie, Fitz?”

“How does Amelia feel about your new girl?”

“Did you have a nice sail?”

“Whose boat is that?”

“Guys, we just need to get home,” Will grumbled as we started to push through the crowd. But there wasn’t really a way to get past them completely, since they continued to walk with us, running ahead to snap photos from the front, side, back—whatever angle they could manage. We were squeezed between Hakeem and Garrett, but the two men couldn’t protect us completely. Several photographers were in our faces as we tried to get to our car as quickly as we could. Will’s arm around me was a vise, and he stared coldly at the ground as he walked fast enough that I had to trot beside him. As the questions and flashes continued, his body began to shake.

“Are the two of you living together?”

“Are you engaged?”

“Maggie, where are you from?”

“Hey!” Will shouted out as we were pushed roughly to one side, then the other, pinballing between them.

“Back off!” Hakeem shouted. He spread his big arms, attempting to make a sort of barrier with his broad body.

But there were too many. And the questions continued as we started to run toward the car.

“Did you have sex on the boat?”

“Oh, honey, don’t hide that pretty face.”

“Maggie, do you always take your shirt off in public?”

“Maggie, are you a stripper?”

“Did Fitz pay you?”

At the last one, I was jerked backward, out of Will’s embrace, hard enough that I fell to the pavement, where I was quickly surrounded by a horde of paparazzi. My sunglasses fell off, and I heard a crunch as they were trampled. Flashes blinded me, and I covered my eyes as I tried to stand.

“Will!” I shouted, though the avalanche of questions obscured my voice. I couldn’t see—couldn’t tell which direction to go. Where was Will? Where was the security?

“Maggie, are you trying to become an actress?”

“Are you with Fitz for his money?”

“Are you in adult films?”

“Maggie, are you a prostitute?”

One hand, then another grabbed my shoulder, then my shirt, trying to pick me up roughly, but only succeeding at pushing me down more.

“Don’t touch me!” I shrieked, my arms flailing outward, knuckles scraping on the pavement as I fell back to the ground.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!” Will’s voice, loud and feral, cut through the crowd as one photographer was yanked back and tossed aside. I heard another loud thwack that sounded like someone’s head hitting cement, and another chorus of shouts, among them Hakeem’s and Garrett’s: “Will, stop!”

And then hands—not ones trying to pull or yank on me, but big palms, one my body knew intimately, hands that could slide around my waist with ease, pick me up like I weighed nothing—slipped under my back and my legs and lifted me off the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut as I was enveloped in his scent—light, water, sun, soap. Will.

“Hakeem, open the fucking door!” His voice vibrated against my cheek, but I kept my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see the chaos still swirling around us. The shouts, the stares, the reflection of our terror in their long, black lenses.

I was placed roughly in the back of the SUV, and with a fight, Will was able to shut the door behind us, locking us in the back of the truck.

“Oh, fuck,” I cried softly to myself as the world slowly came back into focus. There were still stars in the periphery of my vision, but soon I could see straight ahead.

“Go,” Will ordered the second Hakeem clambered into the passenger seat. “I don’t care if you run every motherfucking one of those bloodsuckers over. Just get us the hell out of here.”

I turned away from the window, cowering into Will’s shoulder while I tried to ignore the slaps of hands on the glass, the continued flashes through the windows, the shouting and yelling as Garrett backed the car out of the spot, forcing the paparazzi to move with us until finally we were able to turn the car toward the exit and go.

“You’ve got about five on your tail,” Hakeem said as we were turning out of the lot. “And probably ten more getting in their cars.” He turned to Garrett. “Do we have shells?”

“Shells?” I asked.

Garrett nodded. “Three.”

Beside me, Will shuddered. “A shell game. Remember when we switched cars in New York?”

I nodded, blinking as my vision continued to focus.

He looked at me with dread. “We’re going to do that about three times right now, and we have to move fast, okay?”

I frowned. “Won’t they—won’t they leave us alone when we get to the house?”

“Lily, they don’t know where we live, and I’d like to keep it like that, all right?”

There was a grumble in the front of the car, and Will snapped his head forward. “What?”

Hakeem shook his head. “Nothing, man. You want to play a shell game, we can do that. But they’re going to figure out where you live one way or another. Move a thousand times if you want to, but they always do.”

“Just get us home,” Will bit out. When my head thumped against his shoulder, he didn’t pull me close. Instead, he bent forward and cradled his face in his hands, chanting some unintelligible mantra to himself as we raced up Catalina and then Ripley toward the 405, going much faster than the speed limit.

“Why don’t we go to the studio?” I asked. “Couldn’t we go there and…”

“Oh, honey, you don’t really think it’s gonna be that easy anymore, do you?” Hakeem turned back around and smiled at me like he would to a small child. “They know your face real well now, sweetheart. Well, to be fair, they know more than that.”

“Hakeem!” Will’s voice was a bark, though he didn’t move from his silent prayer.

Hakeem rolled his eyes, then turned back to me. “For the last two months, they’ve only been after him. We’ve done a pretty good job of shielding him. He only gets followed maybe once every other day, but that’s only because his life is boring. But that little stunt the two of you pulled on the boat? That was news. You fed the beast, and now it’s gonna want a whole lot more.”

“First stop’s in five,” Garrett called as he pulled onto the freeway. “At least we’re not jammed.”

The SUV took off like a shot, and it was then I looked over my shoulder to see several other cars weaving around the typical LA traffic behind us. Garrett cut in front of a large semi, earning a middle finger and a loud honk.

“Well, I’d rather be jammed than dead,” Hakeem said as he checked his seatbelt. “Let’s not get rolled on the freeway, all right?”

“Are you okay?” I asked Will as he remained in his trance. I set a light hand on his back, and he started, popping up with wild eyes.

“No,” he said clearly. “No, I’m fucking not.”

I watched in shock as he shook off my hand and proceeded to open the center compartment in the armrest and pull out three small bottles of vodka. He unscrewed the top of the first and threw it back like water, the only sign that it was something stronger was the way his eyes watered slightly.

“Will, what are you—” I started, but I was quickly cut off.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said before chasing the first shot down with a second. “Right now, I just need to calm the fuck down before my heart explodes like my old man’s.”

I wanted to take the bottles away from him, but I was too stunned to do or say anything. Will’s breath was wheezing, and his face was white. He shook his head when I reached out again, tossed back the third bottle, and then collapsed backward against the seat. Within minutes, his face took on a rosy glow, nose pink at the tip. It was a look I knew—my mother’s face was always unnaturally pink that way.

But before I could say anything else, Garrett was screeching across four lanes of traffic, causing a chorus of car horns to explode as he lost several other cars in pursuit of us.

“How many now?” he asked as he sped off the exit.

“Maybe two,” Hakeem replied. “Nice work, man.”

Garrett nodded. “Let’s see if we can shake the others with only one switcheroo. You two ready?”

“Ready for what?” I asked.

Will looked like he wanted to throw up as Garrett took a sudden turn into a hotel parking garage, wheeling around the spiraled corners with glee until we reached an empty floor containing two other cars.

As soon as we parked, the driver of one of the Town Cars hopped out, and Garrett and Hakeem opened the back doors of the SUV. Will spilled out, a little shaky after drinking all that vodka on an empty stomach.

“Car one, car two,” Garrett said, pointing at each of us separately.

“I’m not leaving her!” Will spat, his voice a little looser than normal, like his lips were made of rubber.

Garret frowned. “Fine. Be difficult then.” He tossed a set of keys to the other driver, who went to take the SUV. “Get in, asshole,” he said to Will, who sneered in return before guiding me into the back seat of a shaded Town Car. Hakeem got into the other identical one, and we started the chase again, waiting first for the other man to drive the SUV out of the garage, then Hakeem in the first Town Car, and then us.

Garrett didn’t see any other photographers following us directly, but according to both him and Will, that didn’t mean they weren’t, and so, we repeated the process twice more. Maybe it was a bit extreme, but I could see why it took so long.

I fingered the torn edges of my shirt, pressed my fingertips over the new bruises on my arm, and floated them over the strawberry on my knee. For the first time, I understood something of the deep-seated fear that Will carried of being found. If this was just the tip of what these people were capable of, I didn’t want to imagine the kind of terror he faced at the height of his fame.

Eventually, when it was fully dark outside and Will was finally convinced that no one would follow us back to the house in the Hills, he allowed Garrett to drive us home. But when I turned to make sure Will was following me inside, I was shocked to see the car pulling away again.

“Hey!” I shouted, banging on the trunk. “Stop!”

As if the metal heard me, the car jerked to a halt, and the back window opened.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

Will sighed wearily. The circles under his eyes had deepened, though the shine on his nose hadn’t disappeared. “I told you, Maggie. We leave for Palm Desert tonight. I have to be back on set at nine. That’s in fifteen minutes.”

My mouth hung open. “They can’t possibly think you have to go like this. After what just happened to us!”

But Will only stared ahead blankly. His green eyes were dull and dreary, without their usual fierce spark.

“Two weeks,” was all he said. “I’d work around the clock if I thought it would get us out of this fucking fishbowl any faster.” He reached through the window and took my hand, but didn’t pull me in for a kiss. I bit my lip. I could smell the alcohol wafting out of the car—I wondered if he’d taken another few shots when I got out.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he said, squeezed my hand, and then let go.

I watched the car drive away while I wrapped my arms around my waist and tried not to cry. Standing in the middle of all of this luxury—I suddenly hated all of it. If its cost was this kind of misery, I’d go back to stripping sheets and emptying the trash any day.

* * *

A few hours later,right as I was beginning to contemplate trying to sleep, there was a loud knock at the door. I started from where I sat in the living room, picking out another new song on the guitar. It had been my refuge for the evening.

“Maggie, it’s me.”

I made sure my robe was shut, then opened the door to find Garrett standing there, holding a large bouquet of lilies.

“Apparently my time is better spent delivering flowers than protecting his sorry ass,” Garrett said as he handed me the vase.

I accepted it, then set it down on the foyer table and opened the card sticking out of the top. There were only two words in a familiar scrawl: I’m sorry.

“Thanks, Garrett,” I said as I buried my face in their sweet, soft petals.

Garret tipped an imaginary hat. “Night, Maggie.”

I shut the door behind me and carried the flowers into the bedroom. They were the last things I saw as my eyes finally shut—the white and shadows mixed together, their scent lulling me to sleep.