Under the Lights (32 page)

“Thanks, Pam.” She's blushing, but the truth is, she was fucking awesome today. When a reporter asked what we were doing there, she took the mic and handed it right off to the director of the center to let him talk about the city's displaced LGBT youth. Then she took the mic back, declared “Oh, and I'm gay” like a fucking boss, handed it back, and scooped up some green beans.

It makes me a little glad I'm leaving, because somehow, seeing her own herself today kinda made
me want her again, just a little. Apparently my dick and my brain are slow to get on the same page.

“And it's great to have you, too, Brianna.” Ally's mom smiles at her warmly and gives her a hug before releasing her to let her clasp hands with Van. “All of you.” She gives me a hug, too, and I try not to squirm; for all that I like touching the ladies, hugging someone else's mom when I've never hugged my own off-camera is just too weird.

“Hi, Josh,” Ally's little sister, Lucy, says shyly. She's got a monster little-kid crush on me, and I love it. Though when she's legal in six or seven years, she's gonna be trouble. “Is it true you're traveling around the world? That's so cool.”

“It is! Do you wanna come with me? I'm sure your mom will be down with you hiding in my backpack.”

She giggles. “I'll ask her.”

“No, honey,” Pam calls back. “I'd say when you're eighteen, but even then, not a chance.”

I grin. “Wise choice, Pam.”

She scowls at me, but it's playful. I think.

“So, how are you feeling?” Ally asks Van, holding her by the shoulders.

“I…don't even know.” She shakes her head. “God, this is crazy, isn't it? I'm sorry about all the paparazzi out front.”

“Eh, that's what blinds and curtains are for,” says Ally's dad with a dismissive wave. “As long as they don't think they're getting any turkey.”

“I didn't even ask, Bri,” Pam says apologetically. “Are you a vegetarian?”

“Not even a little bit. I—” She's cut off by the sound of the doorbell, and we all freeze. The front lawn is packed with vultures, but ringing the bell, especially on Thanksgiving, seems like a whole other level.
Even I've only had that happen to me once, and I'm pretty sure that photographer's still weeping over his priceless shattered lens.

Ally walks up and looks through the glass. “Ha. Well, if it isn't.” She opens the door and steps back, letting in…Jade.

“Fucking creeps,” Jade mutters as soon as she's inside, patting her spiky platinum hair like the crowd's been running their fingers through it. Then she stalks over to Vanessa. “I could kill you, Park.” Her creepy green devil's eyes are filled with irritation as she glances at her daughter. “If you weren't making my only child very, very happy, I probably would.”

Lucy gasps, and I hear Ally whisper, “She's being hyperbolic, Luce. She wouldn't actually kill Van, I promise.”

“No, I would,” Jade says coolly without so much as a glance at the Duncan sisters. “I'm up to my ears in shit thanks to this impromptu announcement, and Zander's not remotely ready to deal with this.”

“I warned Zander in advance,” Vanessa says firmly. “Considering his response was to tell me that I was a sinner and he's glad he avoided making the terrible mistake of committing to me and burning in hellfire, you'll understand that I don't really care what happens to him.”

“Mom—” Bri starts, but Jade winces at the name. Bri sighs. “
Jade
. It's done. If you're going to blame anyone, blame me. Or better yet, don't blame anyone—just sit down and eat with us. If that's okay with the Duncans,” she adds quickly.

“Of course it is,” says Pam. “Ally, honey, go grab another setting.”

“I shouldn't.”

“Well, your daughter will be eating with us, and it's Thanksgiving,” says Ally's dad, “so, we'd love if you would, too.”

“We have enough Hollywood orphans at the table,” Liam adds wryly. “Given that you're the only parent of one here who actually supports your child's identity, maybe you should stick around.”

Surprisingly bold words coming from Liam, but they work. We all take seats around the table, and I even see Jade give Brianna a quick hug. Very, very quick.

But even with the tension between Jade and K-drama, and the paparazzi roaming around outside, it's impossible not to feel like everyone around me has their shit together. Which I'll take as a good sign, because it means I have to be next. I don't know what the fuck I really wanna do or what I think I'm gonna find, but there's a way better shot it's in actual China than the Chinese Theater.

Some space will be good. A little scarier than I'll ever admit, even to these people, but good. And worst comes to worst, I'll bang a lot of foreign chicks, smoke and drink some good shit you can't get in the States, and…I don't know what. I don't wanna plan. I just wanna go.

Ally's parents are both good cooks, which I already knew from occasional dinners here while Ally was my assistant. It occurs to me as I shovel turkey and stuffing into my mouth that this is probably the last place I had home-cooked food. It's no In-N-Out Burger, but it's pretty damn tasty.

On my right, Ally's grilling Bri on every single detail of her life while K-drama laughs; on my left, Lucy's staring at me adoringly while Pam watches with disapproval. It's everything the way it should be,
but it isn't my life. I'm just a guest here, which is all I've really ever been anywhere—in my house, on the set of
Daylight Falls
, and now at A Duncan Family Thanksgiving.

If I'm gonna be a guest, it might as well be somewhere fucking awesome.

I get a whole lot of questions about my trip that I have no answers to, but mostly, this is a Welcome Home Ally party meshed with a Happy Coming Out for K-drama, so I don't feel too bad when I tell everyone I have to leave early, and I don't think anyone cares all that much when I go. Then I hear K-drama excuse herself, too, and I wait for her to join me and walk me to the door; going outside together at this point is basically suicide by paparazzi flash.

“Thank you,” she says once we're out of earshot of everyone else. “For staying. I couldn't have done it without you today.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on, K-drama. You're the new rebellious rock star of the Teen Hollywood set. You don't need shit from me.”

“Trust me,” she says dryly. “You're the last person on earth whose ass I'd kiss if you didn't actually deserve it.” Her expression grows unsettlingly sincere. “Thank you for being the friend I've needed the past few months, Josh. I'm guessing I won't be hearing from you much while you're gone, but I don't even know where or who the hell I'd be right now if it weren't for you, so…thank you. Really.”

I open my mouth to give another sarcastic response, but she narrows her eyes. “Just say ‘you're welcome,' Josh. Instead of whatever asshole thing you're about to say, just say ‘you're welcome.'”

I nod. “You're welcome. And you might even hear from me once or twice.”

She leans over and pecks me on the cheek, tells me to call her before I go and to travel safe. Then she heads back to her girlfriend, her best friend, her life.

And I head out to mine.

I don't go straight back to Malibu, though. Instead I have Ronen steer me to the house I usually avoid like the plague. But when we pull up in front of my parents' Bel-Air monstrosity and I roll down my tinted window, it's obvious nobody's home. The entire place is dark, and both cars are gone. Fuck Thanksgiving, I guess; they're certainly not thankful for me. Or each other.

“Are you going to ring the bell?” Ronen asks.

“Nah. Let's just go back to Malibu.” I roll my window up and drop my head back as we pull away. If I ever had any doubts that leaving was the right move, they're gone now.

And in a matter of hours, I will be, too.

Dear Vanessa, I love you on
Daylight Falls
—you are the perfect Bailey! But I don't understand why'—that's the letter Y, by the way,” Bri clarifies, shifting onto her other elbow amid the piles of letters surrounding her prone body on my bed, “‘you have to be gay. You obviously like boys on the show.'” She looks up. “Do you want to know all the horrible spelling mistakes, or should we just go ahead and drink?”

I turn in my desk chair and curl my legs up underneath my butt. “Hmm, I'd say drink, but does that one get a full shot for ‘Why do gay people have to tell us they're gay when I don't have to tell people I'm straight'? Or just a sip for ‘Obviously you're not gay if you kiss boys all the time'?”

“Hmm, tough call. Maybe two sips.”

I pick up the Thermos we've been sharing—a combo of raspberry Bacardi and Fresca—take two sips, and pass it over before turning back to my e-mail. “There are a whole lot of wonderfully sweet teen girls praying for my eternally damned soul. Aren't concerned fans the best?”

She puts the Thermos down on the floor instead of drinking from it and rolls up into a sitting position. “Don't forget about all the letters and tweets thanking you,” she says softly, gesturing for me to join her on
the bed. I do, letting her wrap me up in her arms from behind. “The people hating on you don't matter, Park. The ones who need to see a queer girl actually making it in Hollywood—a queer girl of color, no less? They really, really do. And you matter to them, so much. And to me, by the way.”

“Oh, whatever,” I tease, but a little shudder goes through my body as she presses her lips to the back of my neck.

“Not ‘whatever,'” she grumbles into my ear, resting her chin on my shoulder. “You wanted to be a good role model with that stupid purity ring crap, and now you are, with something you actually believe in.” She keeps one arm wrapped around my waist and reaches out for an open letter with her free hand.

“Look at this one. ‘Dear Ms. Park, I've been trying to figure out how to come out to my best friend for two years. When I saw you rip off the Band-Aid on TV, I realized I should, too. Thank you for making me feel like it's okay to be who I am.'” She holds it up in front of my face so I can see the purple scrawl. “How can you even for a second give a damn about people quoting the Bible at you when you get something like that?”

I can't help smiling at that, and at the knowledge that her best friend was every bit as cool about it as mine was. I just hoped her parents were cooler. I'd only spoken to mine once since my coming out hit the airwaves, and it was to listen to them declare it all “yet more Hollywood nonsense.” I haven't spoken to them since. They've never even seen my apartment, and I've been here almost a month, filling it piece by piece.

And Bri's stayed here almost every night.

“It's hard not to care about people who seem to think I'm a different person somehow,” I admit, feeling
my throat grow thick with tears I'm tired of shedding. “Even—”

My cell phone rings, cutting me off, and I instantly grow cold. I just spoke to Ally an hour ago, and obviously Bri's right here, which means the odds are high it's yet another reporter who somehow got my phone number. I reach behind Bri—I know it's somewhere in these sheets—and snatch it to shut it up.

It's my mother.

Bri looks at me questioningly, and I mouth “my mom” to her.

“Pick it up!” she urges, so I do.

“Hi, Mom,” I say cautiously, eyeing Bri to make sure she doesn't go too far, just in case I'm in for another evisceration.

“Vanessa.” Her voice is stiff, but not icy. “Your father's here as well. I'm putting you on speakerphone.”

Oh, good, a double whammy. No way this can possibly be horrible.

I wait until the static settles on the other end, and then my father says, “Hello, Vanessa. How are you?”

How am I? Seriously?
Now
they wanna know? Weeks after they kicked me out of their house, turned me away when I came out to them—came out to the world? I look helplessly at Bri, but she just gives me an encouraging smile, then slips out of the room to give me privacy I don't even want.

“I'm fine,” I reply. “I have an audition tomorrow for a summer movie, and the apartment's coming together, too. Bri's been helping me decorate.” I say this last bit a little more deliberately, just in case they've managed to convince themselves it—or she—is a passing phase.

“That's…I'm glad to hear it, Vanessa.” It's hard to say whether I believe her or not by her voice alone,
but she's trying, and that's more than she's done in a long time. I grip the phone tighter.

“And how are things over there?”

“Also fine,” she says.

I'm just wondering the purpose for this call, since it doesn't seem to be to have a real conversation with me, when my father says, “Uncle Robert and Aunt Jeanine are hosting Christmas dinner this year, and they would like to know if you will be joining us.”

“I…”
Didn't know I was invited
, I almost say, but I know that won't go over well and they'll just play dumb. “I didn't realize they were hosting it.”

“Yes, they are, and they asked about you,” says my mother. “I told them I assumed you would be, but that I would check.”

I assumed you would be.
So, I'm still part of this family, then. Even though my parents know. And Uncle Robert and Aunt Jeanine—they must know, too. Not that they watch much TV, but considering pretty much everyone in America knew within ten minutes, even on Thanksgiving Day…

“You can tell them I'll be there. Please,” I add quickly. “And what about…can I bring a guest?”

There's a long silence, then a sigh on the other end, though I'm not sure which parent it comes from. Then my father says stiffly, “We would like to meet this guest first, for dinner at our home.”