Текст книги "Hollywood Dirt"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER 110
The aftermath of the magazine article was big. Bigger than I ever expected, bigger than even Casey and Cole had expected. Bigger… but different. The public, the big scary monster that I had been told to expect… loved me. Embraced my act of rebellion with a protective fury that scared the news outlets into submission. I avoided interviews, declined requests for comment, and with each retreat from the spotlight, my lore grew. Fan pages popped up in my name. A jilted ex in Chicago pulled a Summer Jenkins of her own at a bachelorette party. The hype also helped The Fortune Bottle, award nominations rumored before the premiere, the foreign distribution deals pouring in. I was happy for the movie but didn’t want the fame, the attention claustrophobic in its unending continuity. The fame I may not have wanted but I loved the support. I didn’t realize how much I needed it, didn’t realize how the positive feedback, the love of strangers, would be inhaled by my greedy soul. The circus of support washed away the three years of scorn, the hundreds of dirty looks, upturned noses, and whispers. It made me feel, for the first time since that night, that I wasn’t in the wrong. They were. That I wasn’t the one broken but that they were.
I hadn’t gone back to Quincy since the movie wrapped. I packed up my things that last week of filming, Mama and I staying up late, my belongings scant when put into cardboard boxes and weeded through. I threw out a lot. The purge was good for me.
And when I boarded Cole’s jet for California, I felt like a new woman. One with a future. One whose past had made me stronger, better.
CHAPTER 111
The last time Cole saw Nadia, he was in his old attorney’s office. He sat in the conference room’s crocodile chairs, feet stretched out on the slate floor, and stared at a Harvard diploma with the prick’s name in gold ink. DeLuca hadn’t wanted him here. He’d wanted this to be done on neutral ground, but Cole wanted this last visit. Plus, with the bloodbath that they were wading through, it was a little victory that Cole felt they needed.
DeLuca’s giant ultimatum turned out to be bullshit, a test of sorts. He was telling the truth about Nadia contesting the mediation agreements. He wasn’t telling the truth about rolling over to them. Cole should have known better. This man had probably tied down his wife and forced the wedding ring on her hand. He certainly ripped the neck out of Nadia’s response, and the paperwork got put in line and filed per their original mediation agreement.
But Cole was still only getting half of The Fortune Bottle. No one knew that except for Justin, DeLuca, and Cole. He was going to give the other half to Summer. Without her, the movie would have been flat. Without her, he’d have flayed around Quincy mourning the end of his life and probably drinking himself into rehab. Without her… he just couldn’t imagine life without her anymore.
He wasn’t gonna tell Summer about the movie just yet. He knew her, and the conversation wasn’t going to go well. She wouldn’t be a normal girl and go misty-eyed and cheer at the thought of eternal wealth. Her brow would tighten, her hands would clench, and Cole had full confidence that there would be a fight over the gift. But he looked forward to that fight, loved when they fought. And when the fight ended, his hands in her hair, her eyes wild, her body crawling up his, her lips… God. He’d never get his fill of kissing her.
He’d tell her after Sundance. When she was high on all of the critics’ praise and was in a good mood. Maybe the carnage would be less then. The movie was wrapped, sealed in tins with the code name Hey Harry printed on them. It was the best work Cole had ever done. It was the best work Don had ever done. And, according to Summer, it was the only work she would ever do. With another woman, Cole would doubt that statement. But not her. She didn’t want the attention, was convinced she didn’t need the money, and had turned her full focus on nesting. Today, they were going to see an estate in Brentwood. It had eight and a half acres so she wasn’t allowed to bitch about being crowded. The realtor promised Summer that, despite its twelve thousand square foot size, that it was ‘cozy,’ so it would be his head on the chopping block if it weren’t.
Something bumped against Cole’s elbow, and he looked up, past the death glare from Nadia and to the source of the tap: Brad DeLuca. “Sign where it’s flagged.” He pushed a stack of papers toward Cole, who signed as quickly as possible without appearing rushed, each turned page one less tie between he and Nadia. And at the end, his last signature slow and purposeful, Cole Masten was officially divorced.
CHAPTER 112
I have officially become a homeowner. Well… not just me. A big lug of man meat named Cole Masten… oh, you’ve heard of him? Yeah, I think he did a Doublemint gum ad or something. Anyway, Cole Masten and I now own a four-bedroom home over in Newberry. It’s on twenty acres with a barn, paddocks and enough room for Cocky to hunt peas on till his legs fall off. It’s also two hours from LA, which Cole likes to gripe about but I’m getting him a helicopter for his birthday, so shhh he can find something else to complain about. I’m also getting us lessons, so hopefully, one of us will be able to use the thing. I have no doubt that I will master it first, despite Cole being intimidatingly talented at everything he attempts. Okay, I’ll confess. I already know how to fly it. Justin’s been sneaking me over to Van Nuys when Cole’s been working. But he’s sworn to keep the secret, and I’m sure as sugar not going to say anything so there. Instead, I will look like a natural and will finally beat my future husband at something.
Oh, right. We’re getting married. That’s another secret. Not the engagement—that was plastered on every news channel in town before Cole even got off his knee. But the wedding date and location is still a secret. It’s in six weeks, at the ranch in Montana. I swear, Heaven is hidden at that ranch. I understand why Cole bought it. It’s perfection, wrapped in dewy sunrises and the huff of horses and the smell of wildflowers. Heaven. Until winter strikes, then it’s brutal. Miserable, freezing… I kissed goodbye to any thoughts of living there full-time that first December visit. Turns out that I become a bit of a tenderfoot when temperatures drop below freezing. But it doesn’t seem to bother Mama. She claimed one of the cabins and settled in, happy as could be. She wanted a job so Cole put her in charge of the grounds. She rides a four-wheeler around and makes sure that the plantings are as they should be, and spends the warmer months on her knees, in the dirt, planting. I think—now I may be wrong—but I think that she and Robert, one of the workers there, have a flirtation kicking. Mama and flirtation. Two things I never thought I’d see in the same sentence. Cole and I are laying bets on their behavior at the wedding. I’ll win of course. Nobody knows that woman better than me.
So Mama’s happy in Montana and we’ve settled in the Newberry house full-time. The property was a teensy bit out of my original price range but since the rest of my Departure From Quincy plan went to hell, so did my budget. And apparently I’m going to be rich the rest of my life on The Fortune Bottle money so I can afford to splurge a little. Did you know that Cole was surprised when he gave me half the movie and I accepted? Surprised. Shocked is actually a better descriptor. He kind of cringed a little when he delivered the news, his posture stiff, leaning away from me, as if he expected me to hit him. I accepted the gift, of course. Very graciously, I might add. Who wouldn’t? Granted… I didn’t realize exactly how much half of a movie was worth. Now that I know, it was a little greedy, me just accepting the gift without at least a half-hearted attempt to refuse the kindness. But the man was right; our chemistry is what made the movie a success. And it has been successful. A hundred million dollar opening weekend. Five hundred million so far worldwide. I don’t know exactly what that means to the bottom line but it made Cole whoop and holler and spin me around until I got dizzy and forced him to take me to bed.
Before Cole, I had never been half of a whole, a pair of two joined so closely that it was hard to see where one personality ended and the other began. With Scott, I was always just there, occasionally stuck to his side, trying to chime into his conversations, waiting for the wedding that would put everything in its proper place. Now, I am half of us, Cole and I so in tune, so connected, that I don’t know how I ever functioned alone.
America has also merged us, our two names too cumbersome so we are simply Sole. They call us Solemates, and I roll my eyes whenever it is said but secretly, I love it.
They say that love is finding your soul’s match in another. I found my match. I found him, let him wrestle me to the ground, and then turned around and made him mine. I’m so glad that I didn’t scare him off, I’m so glad that he didn’t stop chasing. I’m so glad that Bobbie Jo screwed Scott and I found out about it. I’m so glad that Hollywood and dirt roads met in the uniqueness of Quincy. And I’m so glad that I was there, in that faded one-piece, when that damaged, beautiful man landed in our town.
EPILOGUE
Cole looked over at her, her long legs stretched into the floorboard of his Maserati, her short red shorts ones that he couldn’t wait to rip off. Before them, in all of its grandeur, Walmart, the parking lot full, busy Californians rushing forward with personalized shopping bags, cell phones to their ears, importance thick in the smog of the city.
“You ready for this?” Cole asked, a grin on his face.
She reached up, pulling with both hands on the edges of her brown paper bag, her hands adjusting until her eyes were on his, gleaming out from a face with a teardrop tattoo, a blood-red pout, and a nose ring. “Do you even have to ask?”
Cole laughed, tugging down on his own bag, Summer working on it all morning, his dramatic mustache one that twisted and curled, bushy eyebrows on top that would cause his stylist to fall over dead.
“Can someone please, for the love of God, remind me again why we are doing this?” they turned at the muffled voice, twin faces staring at them from the backseat. There had been long deliberation last night, their brains fueled by Summer’s fruit pizza and margaritas, over Ben and Justin’s bag people identities. Cole turned to the shorter head of the two, Justin’s Elvis face slumping back in his seat while Ben, who had wanted, for once in his flamboyant life, to be a girl, clapped his hands excitedly. He was supposed to be Marilyn Monroe, had spent over four hours on a brown paper masterpiece that would have a life of less than twenty minutes.
“We’re doing this,” Summer said patiently, “because Cocky needs a tether ball and we need the supplies to build it.”
“They are going to think we are robbing the place and will shoot us,” Ben said, his hands excitedly clapping. Cole stared at him and wondered why, of all things, that would be said in a gleeful tone. But Marilyn Monroe did have a point. Which is why, unbeknownst to Ben and Summer, Justin had already called the store. Spoken to a manager. Used Cole’s name and black AMEX and celebrity status to convince the man to let them shop in ridiculous disguise. Inside the Walmart were already ten of his security, in plainclothes, ready to keep any crazies at bay. Still, there was no doubt that this field trip would probably end within five minutes of beginning.
“This is California,” Summer said, in a tone that put Cole’s fine state somewhere on the level of a kiddie park. “No guns, remember? You all love running around unprotected. Plus, no one’s going to shoot a pregnant woman, so push me in front if you feel scared. Everyone in the backseat, stop being babies and get out of the car.”
They opened the doors and stepped out of the car, and if he thought he loved her before, that was nothing compared to this.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Quincy is a real town and its seventy-six Coca-Cola millionaires exist. It is located in north Florida (not Georgia), but besides that small detail, I tried to stay true to its roots. A local banker by the name of Pat Munroe convinced over seventy Quincy residents to invest in original Coca-Cola shares, even writing loans for their purchase. Those original shares were as low as nineteen dollars and are each now valued at over ten million dollars. What I said about Coke loyalty is true. Order a Pepsi in Quincy and you may get shown the door.
My chicken’s name was Knobby. Knobby Knees but that was a bit of a mouthful so we called him Knobby. He was a horrible crower, never mastered that art, but he was fluffy and white and came inside our home on frequent occasions, despite what my mother believes to the contrary. My hometown was very similar to Quincy, only we didn’t have millionaires, we only had good people who looked out for each other and would give you the shirt off of their back. I walked down memory lane a lot when writing this book, and it was one of my favorite things about writing it. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever had as much fun writing a book as I did with this one. I fell in love with the town, and the story and with Summer and Cole. I hope you did too.
If you did enjoy this book, there are a number of ways that you can support it:
First, please call or email a friend and tell them about this book. If you really want them to read it, gift it to them. If you prefer digital friends, please use the ‘Recommend’ feature of Goodreads here to spread the word, or click here for pre-made, non-dirty Facebook posts.
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If you’d like to read more of my books, below is a list of my other titles. I’d also suggest signing up for my Newsletter or my New Release eBlast to be notified when my next book releases. You can sign up for either or both of those lists here.
Thank you so much for your support! And come visit me online, where you can find out more about my writing process and personal life. Warning, my Twitter feed is extremely X-rated.
Sincerely yours,
Alessandra
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