Shutter: The Complete Series (13 page)

I pad barefoot back to the courtyard where Paul is waiting, but before I round the corner, I hear Brock’s voice and stop dead in my tracks.

“You can’t just expect me to forget all of it. I mean seriously, Paul, I don’t know how you put up with her sometimes,” he practically growls.

“Put up with her?” Paul scoffs, “I don’t ‘put up with her.’ She’s my friend. It’s a mutual resignation to see past any faults and love each other no matter what. You know—the kind of thing you should have with her since you are her twin, after all.”

“I have too much respect for her, and myself, to constantly stand by and watch her make a fool of herself and everyone around her. One fuck up after another; it’s like she’s always trying to one up herself with the shock-and-awe factor, and I’m tired of being embarrassed by her actions.”

“You really are a bastard. I’ve always given you the benefit of the doubt, figuring it was because you were so fucking uptight, but I was wrong. You just don’t care about anyone but yourself, and you’re missing out on the best person I know—your own flesh and blood—because you’re too fucking worried about what some other jackass, who’s opinion doesn’t even matter, might think. It’s your loss; just remember that.”

“Paul,” I say, stepping around the corner letting my presence be known. “Don’t bother, it’s not worth it.”

My head hangs low, but I steal a glance at Brock’s sullen eyes trained on me.

“C’mon, we’re going to be late,” Paul says, hooking his arm with mine and turning me.

“Brook!” Brock calls after us.

I halt our escape and turn back to my brother.

“Brock, it doesn’t matter anymore; you’ve made yourself known, and I can’t blame you for your feelings. They’re genuine, and I could never fault you for that.” I inhale deeply, frightened at the intent of my own words, “Don’t worry, I’ll find another place to live as soon as I can. Who knows, I might be put up in my own six-by-eight cell, and I won’t even have to worry about paying rent money I don’t have.” The sides of my mouth turn up in a forced smirk.

“Brook…” he starts again, but I put my hand up, cutting him off.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll keep my distance, and you won’t have to see me again. My stuff will be gone in the next week.” I turn to leave, but stop one last time to turn and look at him. “I’m really sorry, Brock. I never meant to embarrass you. I know I have, but I truly never meant to, and I’m so very sorry.”

I quickly turn and walk as fast as my legs can carry me until I reach Paul’s car.

Chapter 5

The restaurant Paul picks is perfect. Small intimate tables, but with music and people moving around just enough to keep the atmosphere buzzing. A few people stop to stare at us, and I’m hoping it isn’t because they know my dirty little secret from all the tabloid attention I’ve gotten recently, but Paul convinces me I’m crazy.

“None of these people give a shit,” he whisper-shouts at me. “This is LA; there are way more famous people they could be scoping on right now than you. I mean seriously, Brook, you must think you’re hot shit.” He laughs and it loosens my mood just enough for me to lightly laugh, too.

“Martini, extra dirty, extra olives,” Paul says and points at me. “Times two, and pronto my good man.” He winks at the waiter who smiles in return then quickly disappears to the bar.

“Oh lord, don’t pick up our waiter tonight,” I whine. “I want free Paul time. I need Paul time without you putting on a show for a piece of meat.”

He glides his hand across the table and rests it on top of mine.

“You have my undivided attention, I just thought a little flirting might get our drinks here faster.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all your intentions were.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

The waiter appears in record time with a total of four extra dirty martinis and a glass full of olives. My eyes widen at Paul, and he wags his eyebrows at me.

“Thank you,” I tell the waiter, but he doesn’t even bother to look my direction.

“Will there anything else right this minute?” he asks Paul.

“Yes,” he says in his best bedroom voice. “We’ll have two of your specials, but no rush on those. We’d like to enjoy our delicious drinks first.”

“Of course, you just let me know when you need me for anything,” the waiter replies.

I stick my index finger down my throat making mock vomiting sounds as the waiter is swallowed by the crowded room.

“That’s just disgusting.” Paul crinkles his nose at my rude noise.

“I’m disgusting, really?” I mock him.

“Shut up and drink your alcohol.”

Several minutes pass and neither of us speaks. We silently sip on our drinks and people watch. Occasionally, one of us points out a particularly funny person and we laugh together, but no real words are exchanged.

“Brook Beckham, I thought that was you,” a high-pitched voice says behind me. I turn to see Kiki—Niko’s Kiki—approaching. I pinch my eyes shut hoping that when I open them again, she’ll be a figment of my imagination. No such luck.

“Well hello, Kiki,” I say meekly as she leans in to kiss one cheek and then the other.

“I wasn’t sure that was you, you really should wear your hair up more often; you have such a long gorgeous neck,” she slyly compliments me, but I’ve been in the LA scene long enough not to be bought off by such things.

“Thank you,” I reply with a tight smile.

“It was what first caught my eye, and the longer my eyes swept over you the more I knew you looked familiar.” She pauses and swipes her hand along my jaw sending creepy tingles down my spine. “How are you holding up, love?” she asks, mock pity on her face.

“I’m holding up just fine, Kiki.” My eyes pierce her, hoping I magically gain the ability to shoot lasers from them and cut through her.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” she adds, and I squint a little harder, thinking I’m just not properly igniting my laser eyes.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Paul says and widens his eyes at me; he obviously can tell something is off. “Hello, Kiki, I’m Brook’s friend Paul.”

“Yes, yes, Paul. You used to manage Club Blasé,” she offers her hand to him at the same time my heart drops.

“Used to?” I ask hastily.

“Yes, dear, used to. We’ll talk about it later.” Paul gives me a hard smile and turns back to Kiki. “It’s so nice to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage. You see, I don’t know anything about you,” the ever smooth-under-pressure Paul says.

“I’m the fashion editor for InTune magazine; I’ve been a fan of Brook’s for many years.” Kiki beams with this news.

“So you’ve had the pleasure of working with Brook before?” Paul asks, and the smile on his face is so proud I almost hate to break the news to him.

I wait to see if Kiki will correct him, but she simply looks at me.

“Actually, no. We just met a few weeks ago through Niko. She was doing a story on Niko and was with him…” I pause, thinking back to when I’d met Kiki. I’d been eating at a restaurant not far from where we are now. “Actually, it was when we last had lunch together. Niko and Kiki showed up just as you were leaving.”

“Oh, yes,” Paul nods, “I think I remember that.”

“So how is it we keep bumping into each other?” I ask Kiki, who laughs nervously at my question.

“Well, to be perfectly honest, that first time was simply a coincidence.”

“Uhh huh.” I groan not really one to believe in coincidences in this town. “And what about this time?”

She gives me a smile too large for her face. “Well, actually, a paparazzi friend of mine called and told me you were here.”

“And why would someone do that?” I ask as the steam builds in my head.

“Because I asked him to let me know if he bumped into you.”

“Seriously?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Apparently, you’re kind of old news, so he didn’t bother taking your picture, but he gave me a call like he said he would.”

“Old news?” I ask. “Well, there’s one bit of good news.”

“Sure is,” Paul says as he raises his glass to toast me, but I ignore his gesture and squint my eyes at him. He lowers his glass in defeat.

“I’m not happy with you right now, either.” I lean forward and pin Paul to his seat with my words. “But first,” I turn back to Kiki, “exactly why were you hunting me down?”

“I still want to do a story on you,” She meekly says.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I already told you no, and that was before all this shit blew up. Why would I do it now?”

“Word is Niko is going to drop the charges against you, and no criminal charges will stick because there isn’t enough proof that it was, in fact, you.”

“They have pictures,” Paul says quietly.

“They have some grainy pictures, they can’t even figure out where they came from, of someone sitting in a tree. They can’t even prove it’s Niko’s tree. They don’t have shit in the way of hard evidence.” She pauses and a look of confusion comes over her. “Wait, are you saying it’s true? You did those things they’re accusing you of?”

“No,” Paul almost shouts. “Fuck no, that’s not what anyone is saying, but you seem to have more information than we do.”

“Looks like you do really need the lawyer you got today. I hear great things about Mr. Peck, you’ll have no problems with him representing you.” Kiki says.

I nod in a stunned silence.

“At the very least, you two should watch the news, I think they know more about what’s going on than you,” she adds.

“I think you’re right,” Paul agrees.

“So what do you think, do you want to get your story out there?” She asks me.

“No!” I blurt sharply.

“Brook, I really think it would do your public image some good. Especially since my magazine is already a friend to you; you wouldn’t want to take your story somewhere else where they might taint it.”

“I don’t want a public image, Kiki. I can promise you I don’t care if it’s good or bad. I just want to be left alone; that’s all I’ve wanted for a long time—to take pictures of beautiful things, and for the rest of the world to leave me the fuck alone.” I’m breathing hard from the emotional excitement, and I know I must look psycho.

“Okay, Brook. Okay,” she says calmly, probably afraid I’ll strike at any second, then slides a small card across the table. “Just in case you change your mind.”

I nod but don’t bother to pick up her card, and she finally turns to walk away.

“Well, that was interesting,” Paul says dryly.

I pierce him with my non-functioning laser eyes as our food arrives.

“So what happened with Blasé?” I finally get up the nerve to ask after I’ve almost cleaned my plate of food and drank two and a half dirty martinis.

“Nothing, it was just time to for a change,” he answers with a flip of his wrist trying to show me how little this life transition means.

“You love Blasé; you built that place from a tiny nothing hole-in-the-wall club. I don’t believe you just felt like it was time for a change.”

“Brook…”

“No, Paul. I’m not fucking stupid, okay? So either tell me, or I’ll march my ass outside, find a blood sucking paparazzo, and have them tell me everything they know.”

He rolls his eyes at my speech but finally spills. “Apparently, one of the bodyguards is greedy and spilled on our little arrangement. Which was a dumbass move because he got fired, and I quit before they could fire me.”

“You quit?” I ask, stunned. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Paul; I never meant for this to happen.”

“Brook, I’m a big boy. I make my own decisions, and when I decided to let you take pictures inside my club, that was on me, not you. So stop whining and eat those last two bites before I steal them from you.”

“How can you be so carefree about this? Fuck, you even bitched out my brother and this whole time you’d lost your job because of me.”

He reaches out and cups my hand in his.

“Sweetie, listen to me. No matter what happens, you will always be more important than any job, or any other small part of my life. I love you, and you will always come first…always.”

Tears roll down my cheeks, but this time they compete with the smile permanently planted on my face. “I love you, too, but you are such a dumbass.”

We both laugh and clang our martini glasses together in a show of solidarity.

“I know where we’re going next,” I tell him.

“Where?” he asks, his eyes wide in anticipation.

“Stephen’s club. We’re gonna get you a new job.”

“Which one is Stephen’s club?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“I have no idea what the name of it is; I didn’t pay attention last time, but it just opened a few weeks ago.”

“Sweetie, do you know how many new clubs opened within the past few weeks?” he asks, and I shrug, clueless, as half-drunken tingles shoot through my body. “Oh shit, I bet it’s Surf. Yeah, it’s got to be Surf.”

I roll my eyes. “You know Stephen Ami opened a new club, and you know there’s a new club called Surf, and you just
now
put two and two together?” I slur, each word melding into the next.

“Hey, bitch, I just found out Stephen was back in town tonight, and you are so fucking drunk.” He laughs at me.

“No, I’m not,” I slur again.

“Only a drunk person would say that.”

“Shu da fu up,” I say, and my tongue suddenly feels too large for my mouth.

“Okay, no more martinis for you,” he says as he steals my glass and downs it quickly. “Coffee over here please, we have a long night ahead,” he says to the cute waiter.

Chapter 6

The town car Paul called for us pulls up in front of Surf. I instantly know it’s Stephen’s club. I recognize everything about it from when I was here with Niko.

“You were right,” I say, minus the slurring, thanks to a few cups of coffee, a little more food, and a couple hours of debating with Paul whether it was safe to take bring me here.

“I figured I was. So you think you can get us in?”

I roll my eyes at him, “Of course I can get us in.”

“You sure?” He asks again and points behind me. My eyes turn to see a line that wraps around the corner of the block.

“Holy shit, he’s doing good, right?”

“Yeah, I’d say Stephen is doing pretty damn well for himself,” Paul snorts when he laughs at my obvious observation.