Plan B

Chapter Twenty-three

Fran managed a half-hearted shrug, but she couldn’t make herself meet his gaze.

“Look,” said Rico, “you can’t let them push you around.  Brookie only handles the stress by ignoring them when he can afford to, and he actually has to spend some time paying fan service because he’s a film star.  You don’t, because you’re only a celebrity by association.  You’ll probably only get bad press while it’s known you know Brookie, and it’s unlikely to jeopardise your career, so you can actually afford to be rude and forceful when the fans piss you off.  The stress will break you if you don’t.  I don’t want to see that happen.  None of us do.  Brookie’s terrified you’re not going to be able to cope with this.  He feels really guilty for inadvertently dragging you into it—”

Fran took a deep breath and interrupted him.  “Rico, I think I might have done something horrible.”

Rico frowned.  “How so?”

Biting her swollen lip, Fran kept her gaze firmly fixed on the floor.

“I might’ve helped somewhat in the process of breaking Brookie and Selena up.”

She didn’t dare look up for his response.

“Hey, it’s not necessarily that bad,” Rico reasoned after a moment or two.  “They’ve been arguing for a couple of months.  It was going to happen at some point anyway.  She was making Brookie miserable; I say it’s a good thing they’re no longer together.”

“But he still really likes her.  And I feel awful.”  And I’d feel worse if she wasn’t a complete cow.

Rico patted her shoulder.  “Well, there’s not really much you can do except tell Brookie—”

Oh, God no, Fran thought.

“—But it’s not like that’ll solve things.  In any case, I think the issue is more that you’re going to be mobbed by Brookie’s fans who see you as a means of access to him.  We’ll help as best we can – we’ve had a little experience with Brookie already – but there’s only so much we can do, and you want to be really wary of the media.  They have underhand ways of getting scandalous stories, even if the stories aren’t true.”

Rico’s prediction turned out to be just as true as Aaron’s: Fran had barely alighted from the bus into town on Saturday afternoon before she was spotted by a journalist.

“Francis Grey!” the woman exclaimed delightedly, making Fran jump and whirl around in shock.  The woman beamed at her.

Perturbed, Fran backed away.  “Uh… do I know you?”

“Probably not, dear.  I’m searching for a scoop for Gossip magazine.  Do you know it?”

Fran almost replied that she’d had an addiction to that very rag just a couple of years previously, but then realised that no guy, gay or straight, would ever admit to that.

“Um… maybe?”

“Well, dear, this seems to be an opportune meeting, so why don’t we—?”

A hand fell on Fran’s shoulder.  From the size of the shadow of the new arrival, Fran suspected that the person was at least Arthur’s height.

“I’m afraid Frankie doesn’t have time,” said a familiar male voice.  “He’s coming out to tea with us, and our school has a strictly no-media-contact policy.”

Fran glanced up.  Her shadow instincts had been right, and Arthur looked royally pissed.

The journalist pouted in a way that Fran had always used to get her way at the height of her Queen Bee years.