"Are you absolutely certain that there isn't anything more you can do?" I ask the security agency guy for the umpteenth time, but the man just shakes his head grimly.
"I'm sorry, miss. Like I said, he avoided the cameras in the backyard. The smartest thing would be to formally report the break-in, and get the local police involved. We don't have the authority to check the street cameras like they do, and they might have caught the moment of the culprit escaping—"
"No," I swallowed hard, "We can't involve the authorities. This will have to stay between us."
The man nods in understanding. Certainly, this must not be the first time he is asked to keep quiet about a possible crime just because his client is well-known. Even though cases like those are mostly kept hush-hush, celebrities deal with stalkers almost on a daily basis, and none of this is out of the ordinary. I'm sure he also knows that news like this breaking out would cause an uproar, but he wouldn't risk his good position in a high-end security company just to earn a few bucks by tipping off some shitty tabloid.
"I will also have to notify the legal owner of the house, Mr Peter Doherty," he reminds me, and I grit my teeth. As much as I don't want to have my father involved in this, I also know it is inevitable.
"I understand," I exhale, realising only then that I was holding my breath. Any mention of him and my anxiety levels are flying off the radar.
"Is there anything else I can help you with before I leave, Miss Doherty?" he asks politely, gathering his things. "Maybe given the circumstances, you would consider hiring a bodyguard for a couple of weeks? From my experience, it takes just a little show of strength to scare them off, and then things should go back to normal."
"No, it won't be necessary, but thank you," I answer as we make our way towards the front gate. "So you believe it is a typical stalker situation?"
He nods his head in affirmation, face drawn in a deep frown. "Sadly, yes. Someone must have been observing you for quite a while in order to learn the exact placement of each camera around the property. Either that, or he's someone who knows the house well, but I'm guessing it is out of the question?"
I shake my head, because there is no way that it could be someone who had been inside my house before. Ever since I moved to Malibu, my crazy partying ways have stopped almost entirely, and I have yet to host even a single house gathering. The only people allowed in are a small number of my close friends. And because I have enough time to do pretty much everything around the house by myself, I don't even hire a maid or gardener, which basically limits the amount of strangers I let into my house to none.
"I would recommend staying alert for some time. I installed some extra cameras in the front; maybe that would be enough to discourage him or her from coming back," the man shakes my hand in a farewell before disappearing behind the gate.
Fuck.
The amount of colourful words filling my head in the last hour was never-ending. I had yet to check the time since Asa had woken me up some time earlier, informing me of the security guy's arrival. Admittedly, I was filled with confusion at first, since the amount of alcohol I had consumed last night must have wiped some of my memories clean. I couldn't recall anything we did after Sally and I had finished the bottle of tequila, except for some flashes of the shattered glass and Sally's terrified sobbing as she finally understood that someone had broken into my house.
I feel tired and hungover, and yet sleep is the last thing on my mind. How can I allow myself to rest in my bed when someone might have been laying in it just hours earlier? An unpleasant shiver goes down my spine just at the mere thought of it.
"All good?" Asa asks as soon as I re-enter the house, and I give him a fitful shrug in return, not really knowing how to answer his question. Instead of saying anything else, he wraps his arms around me in a comforting embrace, allowing my head to rest in the crook of his neck. Bless him. After last night's events, he had decided to reschedule his flight, choosing to stay one more day in LA instead of taking an evening flight back to London like he had planned.
"He's gonna call my dad," I sigh, pulling back from him, "and he will raise hell. I'm already exhausted just thinking about it."
Asa nods his head grimly, "You know I can't stand the man as much as you do, but this time, he could help you."
"I don't need his help," I mutter stubbornly, glancing briefly in the direction of the living room. A sound of something heavy clattering to the ground catches my attention, and I suddenly remember that Sally's still at my place too. "She's up?"
"Yeah, she's just woken up," Asa confirms with a sigh. "She's pretty shaken 'bout the whole thing though. I reckon she must have done coke last night, cause she's coming down pretty hard."
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion as this definitely does not make sense. Unlike me, Sally is not the kind of girl who dabbles in heavy drugs. Her younger brother used to struggle with a heroin addiction, even nearly succumbing to it at some point in time, and she has strayed away from anything except booze and weed ever since. This only assures me that whatever's going on with her, it must be serious.
"I'll talk to her," I say, my voice hoarse.
Walking into my living room, I am met with a sight of Sally wrapped in my bright yellow blanket, and she looks almost like she's drowning in it. Her eyes turn in the direction of the noise, and I take notice of how bloodshot they are. Her expression is unreadable and so unlike the girl I'm used to that I briefly consider grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her. Either that, or begging her to finally tell me what the hell is going on with her.
She is silent for a moment, finally muttering, "This is a fucking shit show."
"I know," I chuckle, trying to lighten the tension. "Don't worry though, it's probably just some overzealous fan."
She doesn't laugh along as I hoped. "Don't try to downplay it. It's serious, and we both know it. Everything's just… Fucked up."
"And by 'everything' you mean the break-in, or is there something else on your mind?" I ask, groaning inwardly when I see her face fall.
"Last night, obviously…" she sighs, her face impassive.
Her reaction makes me falter for a moment, my mind racing to find a better way to approach the situation. "You know, I never told you this, but back in New York I was going through so much stuff. I didn't realise, at least not until it was too late, just how much I needed you guys. Pushing you away when you tried to get through to me is something I will forever regret."
Sally's already shaking her head, muttering, "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."
"Yes, I'm trying to make you talk to me," I affirmed. The cat is pretty much out of the bag by now anyway. "Will you?"
"I can't," she whispers, and I notice that her shoulders begin to shake slightly. "You won't see it the way I do—"
I press a finger to her lips, silencing her. "No, Sally! You always treat me like some sheltered judgmental bitch, but I've always been there for you whenever you needed me. When your parents left you without as much as a penny—I was there. When your brother hit rock bottom—I was there. What else do I have to do to prove that you can count on me? Tell me what's wrong, or else I can't help you!"
"No… I know exactly what you will tell me: that it wasn't worth it; that whatever happened to me was nothing but my own fault; that I sold myself like a piece of meat—" she cuts off, sobs wrecking her frail body.
Suddenly, I'm brought back to the argument we had a few weeks back, about Ryan—the rude and sleazy photographer who had taken pictures for my modelling portfolio. Sally had become defensive then, accusing me of being too high and mighty to agree to get photographed in a bikini. Now I'm starting to realise that her behaviour back then may have been caused by more than just our disagreement over Ryan's methods.
"Is it Ryan?" I finally ask. "Did he do something to you?"
"What?" she scoffs through her tears. "No! He's an ass, sure, but he's also way more talk than action. He didn't do anything to me. Not him…"
"If not him, then who?" I stay silent after voicing my question. I know she is still wary; still conscious of the possibility that I might judge her. And as much as I want her to talk to me, I also want her to open up to me willingly, not because she feels forced to do so.
Finally, after what seems like hours, she mumbles, "Matthew Baker."
Turning her face to mine, I look at her intently, "The owner of the modelling agency you're signed to?"
I can recall the man from my own meeting with him weeks prior, back when we were discussing the technicalities of my possible future contract. Aside from his stuck-up attitude—which isn't anything special in LA—I failed to pick up any threatening vibes from him.
"Yes." I can tell that her response comes out strained, as if the mere mention of this man's name was making her nauseous.
There is only one last thing left to ask. "Did he hurt you?"
She remains quiet for a long time, and I feel anger ripping through me. My eyes flicker over her head to where Asa stands in the doorway, still as stone and listening in. Clearly, he seems to be just as confused and upset as I am.
"Technically… He didn't," she mutters at last.
"What does 'technically' mean?" I ask carefully, trying hard to control my anger.
"I… I agreed to what he wanted… Not because I wanted to but because I felt like I had no other choice," she explains, her voice cracking slightly. "But now I know it was stupid. Nothing is worth doing this to myself."
"You slept with him?" I ask, finally gathering my wits to ask the important question.
"Yes, but… I didn't want to," she admits, and I can see regret written all over her face. She turns to me, her face red and dirty from the black streaks of her mascara, and I can feel my own eyes brimming with tears. "He seemed so nice at first. After we struck the deal, he invited me out, and I should have known better then. It was so shady—him wanting to meet up alone—but he insisted, saying that he always takes out his new employees to a celebratory dinner. I know what you're thinking now—red flags everywhere…"
"No, Sally, this wasn't your fault," I try to reassure her, but she just shakes her head in response.
"No but it is! It is my fucking fault! When we met up that evening, the dinner was nice enough. He complimented me, made me feel special and important. But then we left the restaurant and the lewd remarks started. The accidental touch here and there… And yet I did nothing to stop him. I thought: maybe if I try to play it off as a joke, he'll leave me alone. After all, he is a married man, and had also just become my boss. What the fuck was I supposed to think?" she pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Afterwards, he told me we should go to my place. He was so blunt, acted like it was his right to take whatever he wanted from me. And when I refused… That's when it all started."
My mind is still reeling over everything she's revealed to me, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to hear the next part. "What started, Sal?"
"He let me go that night, but not without hinting that it wasn't over. And he wasn't kidding. Over the next two weeks, he kept popping up at my apartment, seemingly to go over some possible modelling gigs, but in reality it was just to try to drag me into his bed. Which I refused, each time, and it drove him crazy."
"That's so messed up," I mutter for the lack of a better thing to say.
"It was about three weeks after our first meeting that he cornered me in his office. He told me that if I kept being so 'cold' to him, he would have to look for another girl. Someone more… Welcoming. I had enough of his shit and asked to be released from the contract, but it still wasn't enough to scare him off. He threatened that I'm free to leave, but if I do, he will make sure that my rep is ruined and no other agency will ever hire me."
"Oh Sal…" I shake my head sadly.
"I know what you're thinking right now," she interrupts before I can say anything else. "I should have fought him harder. We could have asked your father for help in case we ran out of options. There were so many different ways of handling it… But I just… God, I just really didn't want to be begging for your help, again."
"You can always come to me," I tell her, although I do understand where she's coming from. The need to be independent can sometimes overshadow the fact that in some instances, we simply need help.
Sally lets out a choked sob, "I made a mistake… I gave in, thinking it would end once he got what he wanted. I was so daft to assume he would stop after I slept with him once."
"It happened more times?" I asked, horrified.
"Three in total," she admitted, her eyes lowering in shame. "You have to believe me, I didn't- I didn't know what to do…"
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Sal. It's not your fault. It's never the victim's fault!" I exclaim, my anger levels rising rapidly.
"I'm hardly a victim, I gave him my consent. It's not like he raped me. I let him take my bloody clothes off—"
"Sally, stop! This is just as bad as rape, he literally blackmailed you into sleeping with him. He took advantage of you. Stop trying to make it seem like it's different than what it really is!" I try to reason with her.
"No one will believe me!" she explodes, her chest heaving. "I am literally a nobody, and he is an owner of one of the most esteemed agencies in LA! They're going to say I'm doing this for attention, fame… I can already feel the backlash it's gonna cause. I have no proof that anything he did to me was not consensual. "
I jump to my feet, this time filled with a newfound resolve. "No, Sal, this isn't over."
"Stop…"
"No, I won't! He hurt you, humiliated you, and I'll be damned if I let him get away with this! He'll fucking pay. I don't even care if I have to ask my father for help."
"She's right. He needs to answer for what he's done." We both turn around to look at Asa, his stance defiant with his arms crossed around his chest.
"You both still don't get it," Sally mutters. "It's my word against his. No one will believe that I didn't want this."
"Do you have any proof of your encounters? Texts, emails, pics, anything?" Asa prompts.
Her forehead creases in thought as she takes in his question. "I might have texts, yeah… But they won't prove that he forced me."
"But it's a start," Asa says gently, "because at the very least it's evidence of his extramarital affair. I bet he wouldn't like that coming out, ruining his pristine clean rep, right?"
"See? We already have some leverage," I tell Sally, placing a reassuring arm around her shoulder. "Just wait until Asa and I start digging deeper into his past. I bet you're not the only one he's abused. And you are not going anywhere near him until this is resolved, you hear me?"
She gives me a short nod, sniffing loudly. "Thank you. And I'm sorry… For not telling you sooner."
"It's okay… I get why you didn't." After all, I had done the same in the past.
I stay there for several moments, just holding her, until she calms down enough to go back to the guest room and get some much needed rest. There is still much left to discuss—her apparent drug problem amongst other things—but I know it has to be temporarily put aside. In her current state, it's best not to agitate her any further.
Once we're left alone, Asa comes up to me, his expression guarded. "I feel like the worst kind of a friend," he mutters. "How did we not notice it sooner?"
"We grew apart," I tell him simply. "You were in London. Sally and I were here—together, but not really. We hardly talked about anything meaningful… It's the aftermath of everything that went down a year ago."
In my mind, I can still see flashes of my fight with Asa. My downward spiral in New York that could have ended disastrously if it hadn't been for my father forcing me to move to Malibu. Sadly, I am aware that I am, for the most part, responsible for the three of us growing apart.
"Don't blame yourself. What's important is that we know what's going on with her now." At my slow nod, he points in the direction of the guest room. "You should sleep too. We'll have a lot to discuss later, and I really want to figure out a game plan before I need to leave."
"Okay," I give him a small, forced smile. "Stay with Sally in the guest room, alright? It's best if someone's there in case she wakes up shaken."
Once he's gone, I plop down on the couch, my head rolling back against a pillow.
Never in a million years would I have imagined that this could be the reason behind Sally's odd behaviour. Out of all the possible options that had gone through my mind—a messy break-up, financial problems, family drama—none were nearly as bad as the truth.
The modelling industry can be a really cutthroat environment, but this is something that you hear about in stories, not real life. Granted, I have experienced the dark side of Hollywood on my own skin multiple times, but never in this shape or form. I am also aware that dealing with this situation may also require more assistance; namely from my father. While my contact list is long when it comes to directors, producers, or fellow actors, I know I don't have enough backbone to fight this man. This time, it will require more planning than just a simple, threatening phone call…
My musings are cut short when I hear a short ping of my phone.
H: You awake? Come see me once you're back in the land of the living
I exhale loudly, closing my eyes as I rub my hands over my face in frustration. Maybe I should indeed go for a run. It usually works well to take my mind off things, and if I do end up visiting H again, he is in fact the best kind of distraction I could get.
H: I have something for you
H: Pains me deeply to return this souvenir but you might want it back
My hands still over my face as I read his ambiguous text. Did I talk to him last night? I can't say that I did, but my memories are so fuzzy that I wouldn't be surprised if it slipped my mind.
Me: See you in 30
Without waiting for his response, I quickly change into my jogging outfit and run outside.
___________
It turns out that choosing to meet up with H was a splendid idea, judging by the smile that brightens my face once I notice two red flowers stuck to the fence—a poppy and a marigold—and as usual, the accompanying note.
Multiple questions plague my mind all at once, the most imminent and dire being whether I'd argued with him last night. Judging by his note, it would appear that we had some sort of an argument and he felt like he needed to make it up to me somehow. However, my initial concerns are soon proven false when I hear a cheerful voice coming from the other side.
"Hey there, Crystal!"
"Huh?" I ask dumbly, snatching my note and flowers from the fence. They will make a nice addition to the ones I had already dried on my kitchen windowsill. "What's with the name?"
"Well, I mean… I got used to Cherry, but it's hardly fitting for a stripper," H explains innocently. "And Google says Crystal is the most common stripper name, so here we go."
"W-what?" I stammer, my blood running cold.
"Oh bloody hell," he sighs dramatically. "Don't tell me we're going to be that couple? The one that acts like nothing happened the morning after?"
I try to act normal, to pretend as if his rambling makes any sense to me, even though on the inside I feel nothing but horror and embarrassment. "Um… What? What are you talking about? And what does it mean 'to make up for last night'?" I fire question after question at him, my mind a complete mess of conflicting emotions.
"You surprised me with your visit last night, which means I had no time to leave a flower for you," he says simply, like it's an obvious fact. "Hence why you got an extra one today."
"Oh."
"Though I must say, your visit last night was a very… Pleasant surprise. On multiple levels."
"Oh."
"By the way, I chose red flowers this time. I hope you like them? I mean, I learned firsthand just how much you fancy the colour…" he trails off, the highly suggestive tone of his voice throwing me off the loop.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before asking, "Um, I wish I could say I know what you're on about, but I seem to have trouble recalling some parts of last night."
"No! Are you trying to tell me you don't remember my first-class performance?" he gasps. "Such a shame…"
"What?!" I simply stand here, absolutely terrified. He can't possibly mean…
No. No, no, no.
"The way you stripped for me to the sounds of 'Black Velvet' in the background…" he teases in a low rasp, and my heart begins to pound once I realise that I can vaguely recall listening to this song last night. Which means his story, even if fabricated, is at last partially true. "It's gonna be on my mind for a long time. The way your body slowly moved to the beat… Damn. And, especially, everything that followed once our clothes were off…"
"I don't believe you."
"There was really no stopping you when you demanded to come meet me in my backyard. So bossy."
"Liar."
"I wish I could say that I didn't see it coming, but I've always felt that you, Cherry, are a real piece of work," he pauses for a moment, "Whoops, I mean Crystal, of course."
"Shut up! You're making it up. There's just no way…"
I'm pretty confident I wouldn't jump his bones even in my most intoxicated state… Or would I?
Shit.
"You left me a little souvenir, darling," he adds smugly. "Want it back?"
Meeting him was supposed to make me calm. Right now, I should be sitting in my happy place, possibly listening to his mostly unfunny jokes, and maybe having our usual round of witty banter.
But, I am far from relaxed, especially when H's tattooed hand pops out from the shrubs, the familiar red lacy bra hanging on his pointer finger. I swear my heart literally drops to the darkest depths of my stomach once I take a better look at it.
"I-I don't understand," I snatch the offending fabric from his hand, hoping that my mind is playing tricks on me; that I'm not currently looking at my favourite VS bra that had coincidentally gone missing last night. "Did we- I, um, I don't remember anything?"
There is a momentary silence, and just when I think that I offended him with my apparent lack of recollection of this so-called 'first-class performance' of his, he bursts out laughing. And it's not even the low manly chuckles he usually gives me, but rather full-blown, loud cackling.
"You jackass!" I screech, completely mortified.
"I'm sorry," he wheezes, "but you're just too fucking easy."
"'Fooking easy, you are'," I mock him, my anxiety subsiding in a blink of an eye once I realise it was all a joke on his part. "How the heck did you get my bra anyway?!"
"You threw it over the fence," he deadpans, "and it landed straight on top of my head. Thank you for fulfilling the one fantasy I didn't even know I had."
"Jesus, I can't with you," I mutter through my laughter. "You really had to do this, didn't you? Couldn't stop yourself? You insufferable twat."
"I'm sorry, but you were literally asking for it. Besides, you love this insufferable twat. You love his daft jokes, or the way he pesters you to no end just so you come meet him. You bloody love me."
I shake my head, knowing he's being purposefully melodramatic to make me smile. "Thanks… I actually needed a good laugh. I've had an awful morning."
"Hungover?" he guesses once our laughter subsides.
"That too, but…" I hesitate briefly, wondering whether I should actually tell him the truth. Despite the fact that our relationship has evolved from being just two strangers talking over the fence to a tentative—dare I call it that—friendship, I'm still unsure if sharing personal information with him is a smart idea. Finally deciding to stick to honesty, I tell him, "Someone broke into my house last night."
"Shit… You were robbed?" he asks, sounding way too concerned for someone who's never met me eye to eye.
"Nothing was stolen. Someone broke my window, went inside… Well, it's hard to say why. The cameras didn't catch him."
"So you're saying that this person somehow avoided the cameras around the house?"
"Yes."
I go quiet, giving him a moment to take it all in. I can easily read his thoughts from far away—he's wondering why someone would break into my house with no purpose whatsoever. He must be considering the idea that I am, just like him, a well-known face. After all, I reside in the area that's mostly lived-in by celebrities and other successful people. I'm sure he can put the two and two together.
However, I am surprised when he simply comments, "That's no good, Cherry. You need to look after yourself. At least consider asking someone to stay with you for a while, 'right?"
I realise then, that just like me, he is dead set on avoiding the topic of who we really are. This should probably make me that much more interested in finding out his real identity, which, according to Asa, is apparently very easy to check online. H must have a valid reason for wanting his real name to stay secret, but instead of succumbing to my curiosity, it only assures me of the fact that we are two people who found each other at a perfect time. We both need someone to interact with without the ever-present element of judgement, and this situation provides us with a perfect opportunity to do just that.
Besides, it seems like we both feel it's still way too early to burst this little bubble we have created for ourselves.
__________
Oh no, so we have learned Sally's secret... What do we think about her now?
Any thoughts on the rest of the chapter? Do you think Harry and Cherry will be able to keep their real identities hidden for much longer?
Thank you for so much support I've been getting on this book. It may not seem much, but to me, it's a lot for a new story. If you can, please click the little star at the bottom and show your support through voting as it lets me know you're enjoying the book.
Xx Cathy