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Shooting at Urban Light.
Gemma entered the new location into her app, noting the garbled pain in her voice when she spoke. “I changed the destination to LACMA.”
Her driver nodded and poked his phone mounted on the dash. He didn’t ask any questions, and again, Gemma was grateful.
They wound their way out of the hills, thankfully driving in the direction opposite Jack’s house so she did not have to see confirmation that Angelica’s car was still parked outside. She could not sort out if her feeling of betrayal was reflex left over from Nick or if she really, truly cared about Jack enough to be hurting so much. Probably the latter, she assumed after the day they’d had, though she couldn’t discount the former since Nick had driven quite the spear into her heart. And apparently, he wasn’t above driving it in even deeper by lying to her father.
She huffed a dark laugh at the thought of the situation with Jack.Too good to be true.She should have trusted her preliminary conclusion back in the coffee shop that a good guy wouldn’t just fall into her lap. Of course there was a catch. There was always a catch. Unfortunately, the catch in this case was an unreasonably gorgeous and talented, albeit eccentric actress who she could never compete with, with or without cosmic forces working in her favor. Not to mention the fact that Jack had accepted a job on a different continent.
Another man to disappoint her.
They had been disappointing her all her life, as evidenced by her father’s resilient inability to see beyond his own nose. She wondered, as they came down out of the hills, if she was attracted to a certain kind of man, one prone to shortsighted self-indulgence, because of her upbringing. Perhaps she was trying to fill the void her father had created and subconsciously sought out men who were exactly like him, only to remain perpetually disappointed. At least the fact that Jack wasn’t a musician seemed to be a step in the right direction.
This train of thought was too heavy for the back seat ofher rideshare, she decided, and much better suited for her therapist’s couch.
When they arrived at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Gemma climbed out onto the sidewalk directly in front of the Urban Light sculpture. The two hundred and two antique streetlamps stood in a neat grid framed by palm trees and blue sky. Visitors wandered in and out of the cast-iron poles topped with ornate glass bulbs, craning their necks for a glimpse into the past.
Gemma did not know what Lila was livestreaming, but part of her brand was iconic L.A. landmarks. She had lugged her camera equipment everywhere from the Santa Monica Pier to the Griffith Observatory for the perfect shot. Whatever she was plugging likely had nothing to do with Prohibition-era urban architecture, but the famed streetlamps in the background would give her audience the extra flair they knew and loved.
Gemma spotted her positioning a tripod near the corner of the lamps. She held a second, smaller tripod in her hand, and each tripod held a phone. Lila kept poking the screens of each as she shifted her body back and forth, angling in and out of the shadows. A black duffel bag sat near the base of the big tripod. She held a wide, taupe-colored hat to her head as she looked up at the sky. When she looked back down to reposition, she saw Gemma approaching. With a loud gasp, her customary greeting, she trotted over on her wedges. She threw her arms around Gemma and wrapped her in a hug scented with traces of the smelly shampoo.
“I’m so sorry, Gem,” she said with a warm breath into Gemma’s hair. “I was hoping things would work out with your dad, but I guess...”
Gemma knew there was no good ending to that sentence, so she didn’t wait for Lila to provide one.
“Thanks,” she said, and savored the feel of comforting arms. She melted in the warmth of the embrace and the afternoon sun.
Lila gently rubbed her back before she pulled away. Gemma wished the hug had lasted longer, but she couldn’t blame Lila for getting back to her equipment. They were, after all, on a street in the middle of Los Angeles. Anyone could easily run off with it if they weren’t careful, and Gemma knew Lila had invested in high-quality goods.
Gemma let out a big sigh. “Can I help with anything?”
Lila flapped her hands with a casual shake of her head. “No. I’ve got it.”
Gemma knew she didn’t need help. She was a one-woman operation. “I’ll get out of your shot, then,” she said, and stepped aside. She was restless and had come all the way into the city to be near someone who cared about her, but now she only felt like she was in the way.
“Oh, please stay,” Lila said with a smile. “Walk around in the background like everyone else; it adds to the authenticity.”
Gemma felt her face lift with a smile for the first time in what felt like hours. “Thanks, but I’m not sure I want to be broadcasted to your two hundred thousand Lila in L.A. followers.”
“But you didn’t seem to mind when the airwaves of L.A. heard you talking to Nigel Black earlier,” she said as she angled her camera one last time.
Gemma’s heart lifted again. “A, that’s different because radio is invisible, and B, you listened?”
“Of course I did. You killed it. Now, if you’re going to be in the shot, you can’t be talking to me. That would be weird. Act natural or get out.” She waved a hand over her shoulder and positioned herself in front of her cameras. Gemma had seen the trick before: she recorded with the standing tripod and livestreamed with the handheld. That way, she had a record of her video even after it evaporated into the ether of the internet.
She softly smiled to herself at the thought of being anonymously present for countless viewers to see. A face in the crowd. She looped her hands behind her back and tried to look casual as she wandered into the lamps. Lila’s bubbly voice appeared and then faded as she stepped deeper into the grid.
“Hey! It’s Lila in L.A....”
Gemma pressed her hand into one of the poles as she walked by, searching for the story in its history. She wondered which street corner it had lit once upon a time and what old Hollywood stars might have strolled beneath it.
She saw a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. Other patrons wandered in and out of the lights, she wasn’t alone, but this movement was quick and deliberate, not someone casually strolling an outdoor exhibit. On second look, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
She kept walking deeper into the structure, passing a few more lamps, and noticed the same quick movement each time she passed another pole. A tingle spread over her scalp at the thought that someone was following her, but she convinced herself it was no more than a visitor who happened to be walking at a slightly faster pace and disappearingbehind each pole she passed before she could see them all the way. It was nothing.
Until she saw it again.
She was in wide-open public, and Lila was a shout away if she needed her—with a live video feed to thousands of potential witnesses at that—but she got the sense she was not in danger. Not physically at least.
