“Hey, Ruben found my tooth!” Jaymeson shouted.
Demetri sagged against the wall. “I was hoping it would turn up. Sorry, man.”
Jaymeson waved him off lazily, and retrieved his tooth. “So Ruben, what’s up? Have you come to make us answer more questions from the Fishbowls of Hell?”
I stepped away from Ruben. My presence felt like it took up the entire room as I stood in the middle of it and sighed. “I’m doing my confessional.”
“Confessionals already?” Jaymeson asked, air whistling through his teeth. Geez, Demetri really did do a number on that guy.
“Alec’s doing his early,” Ruben answered.
“Nat.” I held out my shaking hand, but she refused to take it. Instead, she stared blankly at my fingers as if they weren’t just all over her body this morning. “I need you in on this one.” I hoped to God she wouldn’t reject me. Instead, she stood, wiped her hands on her jean shorts and followed me into the confessional room.
I don’t know what it was about reality shows. They always did confessionals, but our show had been different… up until now. The producers would go in with each individual and try to play the cast against each other. At least that’s what it always seemed like.
They wouldn’t have to try tonight.
I sat in the chair in the middle of the room while Nat stood behind the camera crew.
“So, Alec, it’s been a rough night.” Ruben still sounded way too excited to be walking me toward the plank. “Why don’t you tell us about it?” Wanting to wipe the smile off his smug face, I clenched my teeth and looked directly at the camera.
“I screwed up.”
“How so?” Ruben asked.
“I trusted the wrong people. Messed up trying to help those who couldn’t help themselves. I said yes when I should have said no. Really, take your pick.” I smirked at Ruben. “You should know what that’s like, right, Ruben?”
“Pardon?”
“Trusting the wrong people. Saying yes when you should have said no.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shifted on his feet and glanced at the crew, all of whom were looking at him with confusion evident in their eyes.
“Sure you do, Ruben.” I folded my arms across my chest. “After all, I’m guessing the only reason you know about what happened at that film premiere is because Angelica told you. At least her truth. Let me set the record straight.”
“I don’t think—”
“Let him talk. It’s good TV,” the assistant producer urged.
“Yeah, Ruben, let me talk.” I gave him a shit-eating grin and continued. “How do the stories start? Oh right, Once Upon A Time…”
I glanced at Nat. “I was an idiot. We had just come to Seaside to live, and I was somewhat nursing a broken heart… unrequited love and all that.” Tears streamed down Nat’s face as I continued. “I was angry. Angry that I couldn’t forget her, angry that I wanted her, and angry that I was selfish enough to do anything to possess her.”
Nat wiped the tears with the back of her long sleeve shirt and sighed.
“I loved her. I still love her.” I looked at the camera. “But that’s not good TV. That’s not what you want. What you want to hear is that I went on some crazy drug binge in L.A. while still dating her, which just for the record, never happened. I went to the premiere of Heart Ache. I’d always supported Jaymeson. This time was no different. He knew I was having a rough go at it and invited me down. My publicist heard that Angelica Greene needed to clean up her image a bit, and since mine was getting better, they paired us together for the premiere.”
Ruben eyes narrowed into slits. “Is that when you started doing drugs again?”
I laughed. “Man, are you listening to yourself?” I shook my head. “No, but Angelica sure was. She was so loaded by the time I took her back to her hotel. I was afraid she would either die by choking on her own vomit or get raped. Yes. We kissed that night. To be fair, I’d had my fair share to drink as well. I put her into bed and left.”
“You left the hotel?” Ruben asked.
And this is the part where I needed Nat to listen, because I knew she would hate me forever, but she needed the truth. Had to have the truth. And it wasn’t just about what I had done. It was what I was still doing, to her. “No. I bumped into another woman.”
“Her name?”
“April Cartwright.”
“Would that be the ex-wife of producer David Cartwright?”
“Yes.” I clenched my teeth. “She invited me into her room and I followed.”
“What happened?”
With a bitter laugh I shook my head. “What didn’t happen? We drank champagne we talked, we joked, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in bed with her.”
“Did you do drugs?”
“Not that I know of, though pictures make it look like there was ecstasy involved. Her ex had sent her champagne that night. The bottle could have already been opened. I don’t know. All I know is that I woke up disoriented and left as soon as I could.”
“What about Mrs. Cartwright?”
“She apologized profusely, said it would never happen again, and if the media ever found out they’d take away her children. This was, of course, after I saw her hiding enough prescription meds and cocaine to kill a person.”
“Was she on drugs?”