Note: Should we honestly be calling it Famoux Saturdays now? I'm the actual worst.
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: I'm boring you to death chapter by chapter with unnecessary dialogue and a lack of solid plot line. More specifically, we're about to go to a party for Cartney's album release. It's not like we've been to a million parties in book 1 or anything.
emeray
If you were administer a poll to the masses of Delicatum asking whether or not Cartney Kirk believes all days should revolve around him, there is no doubt in my mind that these masses would respond in a big, resounding yes. Brutally-honest-yet-delightful guy is supposed to be conceited in that way––supposed to believe himself to be something of the sun. And so, when Cartney and I enter Ace arm and arm, Gerald and Lex following close on our coattails, we assume our fitting positions. He becomes the sun. I become, of all things to become, a ray of this sunlight. The people become planets.
And around and around us they go.
As faces I vaguely recognize from past occasions send us their smiles and extended palms for to shake, Cartney leans in close to my ear. "You don't think I'm gonna, you know, die tonight, do you?"
"Pardon?"
"You know. DEFED."
"Cartney, your morbidity is astounding."
"More like my realism. A whole party about myself seems like the perfect place to have me murdered." He stops his musing to greet a man with tall black hair, apparently an old acquaintance, before continuing our ascent into the party. As we go he gestures behind him with, expression wild. "Did you just see that?"
"You said hello to a friend."
"You know well enough that I don't have friends, Ray. That asshole hates my guts, and yet he just told me that I'm 'one of the best.'"
"And you told him you believed it."
"What else am I supposed to tell him?"
Gerald catches up to us, nudging Cartney with his shoulder with a grin. "You know, most people just say thank you instead of agreeing."
"Former maid to Emeray, this conversation doesn't concern you."
"I was her bodyguard, you know."
Cartney begins a rejoinder, but is cut off by a woman in a blinding silver jumpsuit. She practically lunges in front of us, spurting out something about how talented Cartney is and how proud I must be of him.
"You two are such a power couple," she insists.
"Oh, yeah we are," agrees Cartney, eyeing Gerald as he says it. "Arguably the most powerful couple there is."
"Definitely." The woman's smile is too large; it makes me uncomfortable the longer I look at her. Luckily, she doesn't stick around much longer. "You have a good night!"
"Take care."
She runs away as quick as she came. Cartney turns to me. "Did you see that? Everyone's loving the hell out of us tonight, Ray."
A conversation I had with Foster comes back to me. It was right around the party Abby threw as a photoshoot for my spread with The X, when I was nervous that nobody was going to like me:
They're going to smile when they see you, laugh at your jokes, and listen to everything you have to say with incomparable interest. But we can't know who genuinely likes us.
I consider the gaggle of chiffon-clad women to my left. When I nod in their direction, they bump each other excitedly, like children watching a parade. But do their smiles reach their eyes, or are they looking at me and mentally insulting, judging, stabbing me, even? Perhaps one of the voices I heard complaining about the way I look at Cartney belonged to one of them.
"I don't think you have to worry about people falling in love with you tonight," I tell him. "Half of the people in this room are faking it."
As we approach the bar in a corner of the room, Gerald and Lex disperse to meet other celebrities in their career fields. I scan the room quickly for Chapter, but I can't find him anywhere. I remind myself that he might not have left yet––I didn't see him while we were leaving the Hideaway, anyway.
"It'd be a shame if DEFED killed me before my album came out," Cartney says, continuing from before.
"It would definitely boost your sales."
He gives me a look. "Wow, okay. No, I'd miss you or anything."
"Just telling the truth."
We make our way around a few more crowds, en route to the big stage at the center of the room. Two employees I assume must be from Buchan look as if they could burst the moment they see him walking up.
"Good, you're here," one of them says. "Took you long enough."
The other nods. "We were beginning to wonder whether or not you were actually going to show up."
Cartney gives the man a wry look. "Oh, c'mon now. You know I'd never pass up a party about me."
"That's valid."
The other employee nods to me. "Unfortunately, your girlfriend's going to have to let you go for an hour or too."
"What?" I ask. "Why?"
"We're about to start the presentation part of the night, so we're gonna need Cartney up on stage, explaining the lyrics song by song."
"Oh, right," says Cartney. "Well, that won't be long at all. I mean, it's not that big an album. You'll manage Ray, right?"
The idea of standing around alone for an hour rubs me entirely the wrong way, but I agree regardless. "Uh, sure. I mean, I'll go around telling everyone about how much of a genius you are."
"It is a pretty good album," one of the employees says. "Of course, Buchan thinks it would be much better if we were releasing this album three months ago, when everything was much more relevant."
"The anticipation is worth it," Cartney insists.
"Lately you haven't been too good on the image front––"
"Any publicity is good publicity, right?" He glances at me. "I mean, we're only selling albums here. You don't have to love me to love what I'm making."
"And yet, having them love you is always a plus."
Cartney shrugs. "I'm not worried about it. These songs were written when everyone was calling me their golden boy."
"That's right. You just need to go up there and put them back into that mindset," the man says. His voice grows more hopeful. "Make them remember how vulnerable you were, and how much happier you are now that you have Emeray."
"It's a redemption story, really."
"Exactly."
They carry on about redemption for a while more before the Buchan employees whisk Cartney away behind the stage, leaving me to wander around as I please. As I walk the perimeter of the club, greeting other celebrities and their gritted smiles, something rotten seems to settle in the pit of my stomach. There's an oddness to this party––a facet in the air that rubs me the wrong way with every breath I take.
Back when I first started going to parties at Ace, I used to fear these moments alone because I thought everyone secretly hated me. Tonight, I know they do. Whether or not this strikes fear in my is up for debate. For now, I just feel off.
Ace is an odd place to me by default. Ever since I got the gin shipment from that cryptic note in Bree's room––ACE – BE BECCA, it said––I've never felt too comfortable when we go here on our outings. There's too much association with a darker time. The way the lights flicker, the way the people crowd together in packs, the way the bass thumps so deep in my chest––it all makes me feel exposed, like somebody's watching me.
I make it all the way back to the stage without so much as seeing Chapter. There's a chance he might be on the upper level, sitting in the VIP section, but the chatter happening around me is enough warning to stay put: Cartney will be on stage any minute, and his girlfriend shouldn't be wandering around the club looking for someone else.
Shifting my balance from heel to heel, I glance around me. My gaze is just aimless enough not to be directed to anybody. By the time someone notices I've been looking at them, I'm already looking elsewhere. Isolating myself like this isn't a good idea by any means––I can picture Norax's disappointment like a slideshow in my head. But a part of me lays dormant to interaction; consciously knowing that these people judge me makes speaking with them a thousand times more difficult than it used to be.
When I shift my gaze to the left, something catches my eye. I double take, settling in on the blonde-haired girl standing alone near the opposite side of the stage.
Lacey Dean, one of the Fanatix.
She's looking around the club in the same way that I've been––no motive, no inclination. I watch as she fidgets with her nails, her discomfort nearly radiating off of her like a hint of perfume. Others around her take notice to her presence, but few actually show signs of approaching and striking up a conversation. I can only imagine what celebrities outside the Famoux think of the Fanatix––of these fans plucked from obscurity and earning a spot in the most coveted group in Delicatum. There must be plenty who are quite bitter about the whole thing, as if they'd have a chance at joining the Famoux at all.
Taking a deep breath, I step forward. If there's anyone who's going to talk to Lacey, it's a fellow Famoux member.
I'm at first confused by how wary Lacey as I approach her, but it occurs to me that she's Kaytee's member, and I'm the girl people believe ruined the grand Kaytee-Cartney relationship.
The words from the Analytix come back to mind. Mean girl. That is what Lacey must think me to be. I look down at myself––at tight curves of my aline, at the deep, dark color accentuating my complexion. A mean girl in a violet dress.
If kindness is allotted to us in meters, I dial mine up to the highest level. I greet Lacey jovially––all smiles and compliments and open arms. She appears to have calmed significantly by the time we've pulled back from our embrace.
"I'll be honest, I didn't expect to see you here," I start. It makes her laugh. "If you don't mind me asking, what brings you to Cartney's party?"
"I'm actually starting a bit of a singing career," says Lacey. "I thought Cartney would've mentioned to you by now that he's mentoring me."
I give her a look. "Shouldn't Kaytee be mentoring you?"
"Oh, she's mentoring me as well, of course. But Cartney––he reached out to me and asked if I need any help. It was strangely kind of him."
Lacey looks off at the stage where Cartney is. For lack of words, I follow, and for a moment we're silent as he explains the meaning behind one of his songs.
"This one's a little slower," he tells the crowd. "We're taking a bit of a dark turn, if you don't mind."
When a quartet of strings kicks in through the speakers, I turn back to Lacey. "Does Kaytee know he's going to mentor you?"
"She's joining in on some of our meetings."
"Really?"
"I was surprised as well. Considering the way their relationship played out in the tabloids, I didn't expect Kaytee to be as mature about this as she's being. We met up together one or two times while you were on your movie set."
I look back at Cartney as he nods to the beat. How has he been mentoring Lacey since I was on the Onward Train set, and this is the first time I'm hearing about it? "Oh, wow. I guess he forgot to mention it."
"Like I said, it's only been once or twice. Nothing scheduled."
"So basically, you managed to get Kaytee McKarrington and Cartney Kirk in the same room while I was gone, and––"
"Oh, no!" Lacey cuts me off, waving her hands with alarm. "It's not like you might think it is! I'm not trying to get them back together!"
I shake my head, letting out a smile. "That wasn't my perception, Lacey, don't worry about it."
"Because if it is, I didn't mean for it to seem that way!"
"Believe me, it wasn't for a second. But I'm curious as to why you didn't make it seem that way to anyone else. I mean, you got Kaytee and Cartney in the same room, after everything that's gone down between them." I put my hand to my chest. "That seems to me like the kind of thing a lot of people would be very interested to hear about. So why didn't you tell them?"
"Well, that's simple," she says. "I wasn't bringing them together like that just to make up some story. They were both coming together to help me with my career, and I didn't think that was something gripping enough to share with the rest of the world. Besides, what would people start saying about you when making their assumptions? I don't want to start any trouble out of nothing."
Her explanation awes me. Lacey Dean is a girl who has been given the full authority to report anything on us that she desires, yet there are some things she deems unnecessary to share. And even more, she'd look out for me too, even though I'm not her member.
"So you don't just go and say anything you want to the tabloids, even though you're allowed to?" I ask.
"Of course," she says. "When things aren't clearly defined, I don't want to jump to a conclusion and make it worse. Some of the other Fanatix members go with the first thing they hear––Elle, for example, shares anything she can about Chapter. But I––I'll hold off until I know for sure."
"Why do you do that?"
"Her music has helped me a lot. After everything she's been through, I don't want to just ruin her over words heard in passing."
One of the album's songs conclude, provoking a roar of applause from everybody around us. We join in, turning our attention back to the stage as Cartney bows smugly. It's now that I finally see Chapter standing near the opposite end, speaking to Lex and Gerald with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Well, I ought to find more singers to connect with," Lacey says. The look on her face tells me the she'd rather do anything but that. "It was really nice talking with you, Emeray."
"Likewise," I say. "Have a good night."
As she disappears into a crowd, I evaluate the Fanatix members I know. Gerald, Lex, and Lacey, I know to be our actual fans. Elle, I know dislikes us. I make a note in my head to ask Till and Race how their members Sarah and Sam are.
"Hey," says a voice from behind me. "I think you dropped this."
I turn on my heel, but apparently I'm not quick enough. The world gets slow for a second as I whip my head around, seeing no face of anyone in particular as a hand puts an object in mine.
And just like that, it's over.
Any sign of the voice's source seems to have come and gone.
Cupping my hands, I glance down at the object. My heart drops at once.
Once again, the engagement ring.
It's still warm from someone else's hands. Who had this? I look wildly around the vicinity for an option. People standing look away from me as I glance at them, like they weren't watching my every move. Bringing my hand to a fist so nobody can see the ring, I move out of the crowd.
Glancing around, my attention is piqued by a tall man moving toward the exit with purpose. My pulse jolts at the lead, and I follow, pushing past groups that get sparser and sparser the closer I get to the door.
Once again the lights prove to be a conflict for me––the way they flicker on and off makes it hard for me to make out any characteristic of him. All I know is that we've let DEFED approach us at parties and slip away without a trace in the past, and if there's any way in hell I can catch this man, I'll take it.
A bouncer stops the man at the door, his expression riddled with confusion. Perhaps he's asking him what the rush is all about. I exhale, quickening my pace to catch up.
But then the man looks over his shoulder, locking eyes with me.
And I stop dead in my tracks.
He tears away from my gaze, pushing the bouncer's chest. The doors swing open violently as he rushes out like a lightning bolt.
I'm too stunned to move. It's like my legs, my arms, my entire body has gone numb after getting a good look at him. The only thing I can really feel is the pinch of the diamond ring against the skin on my palm.
I thought that I was just seeing things back at the modeling industry. But the bounder is still a little struck by the stranger, and the ring is in my hands.
The height, the golden blonde hair, the blue eyes like electricity.
He looked a lot like Foster Farrand to me.
xxx
OHHHH. Tell me your thoughts on this. I'm trying my best to situate how everything leads to book 3 (I told you book 2 was the least developed), so this is all a little messy right now. I hope you're liking it regardless, because I love you.
In the meantime while we wait for me to update on time for once, tell me how your weekend's been going. I'm having a grand old time not at NYCWattcon. The FOMO is real with this one.
I love you so much for reading week by week. Honestly, I never want to give you a reason to leave me. Let me know what you're liking and what you're not liking so I can make my plot twists accordingly.
That reminds me––I fully planned the most exciting thing EVER for the middle of book 2. You're not going to know how to deal. I sure didn't know how to deal when I came up with it.
TRUST. NO. ONE.
All right, that's all for today. Have a wonderful weekend, Wattpad. Remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.