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They laugh, and then their voices recede as they go pay for their things and saunter out. I see them through the window: young and tanned, careless in cutoffs and tanks, they pile into a Jeep and take off, music blasting.
Meanwhile, my pulse is racing like crazy, and I feel like I’m about to pass out.
Fight or flight, my therapist calls it. My primal escape instincts kicking in. I call it freaking humiliating, to be crouching by the packaged pepperoni sticks, waiting for my heart rate to return to normal.
I sink back against the shelves, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I never used to flinch at gossip, even if it was right to my face. Hell, a couple of months ago, I would have sashayed up to those girls and asked if they had any face masks they recommended, since clearly my pores needed some help. I would have looked them in the eye, stared them down, and then called up Jackson Kane right in front of them to invite him for a lunch date, just to rub it in.
But the brave Avery, the don’t-give-a-fuck starlet on the rise, seems to be taking a vacation right now, because I can’t help wondering if they’re right.
Not pretty enough. Not talented enough.
She should have married him when she had the chance.
Music breaks through my daze, and I realize, a couple more cars have pulled into the gas station, full of college-age kids fresh from the beach. They head for the entrance, jostling and joking around, and something inside me snaps.
I abandon my basket and duck past them, bolting across the parking lot and hurling myself back into the safety of my car. I throw it into drive and take off so fast, my tires screech on the cracked asphalt.
Pull it together, Avery.
I hit the highway again,rolling down all the windows to take big gulps of the salty sea air. There’s only one main highway running up Cape Cod, a sandy two-lane road fringed with pine trees in places, and glimpses of the ocean glinting through the trees. I’m sure it’s all quaint and picturesque on a sunny day, but right now, it’s sticky and overcast, and looks like rain. I take in the scenery as the miles slip by, and feel my trepidation grow.
Empty beaches… windswept dunes… A lone crab shack by the side of the road offering 2-for-1 on chowder… This place is a million miles away from Hollywood.
Which is exactly what you need right now.
I try to be brave. After all, I’ve been wracking my brains for the perfect place to disappear. Somewhere quiet, and unassuming, to wait out this tabloid storm. Then I remembered:
Blackberry Cove.
It’s a small, beachy town nestled in the curl of the Cape. I shot a movie there last year, and “boring” doesn’t even begin to cover it. There’s no nightlife, no designer shopping, and definitely nobody who cares about theHollywood Reporter"Most Bankable Stars" rankings. In other words, the perfect place to hide until some other scandal replaces me in the headlines, and I can get back to the red carpet again.
If I don’t go crazy from Starbucks withdrawal first, that is.
My phone lights up with a call, as if on cue. My agent in LA.
My heart leaps. Maybe he’s calling to say the female lead ofAnnihilation 3broke both her legs and they want me for the role, after all!
“Hello?” I click to connect the call. “Dax, what’s up?”
“Nothing much,” he replies, sounding busy. There are voices in the background, and I can hear him talk to them, muffled, before his voice turns clear again. “Was there something you needed? You left me a bunch of messages.”
My heart sinks. “Well, you haven’t been answering my calls.”
“Yeah, sorry, things are crazy right now. you know how it is, we’ve got Cannes, and Venice…”
His voice fades out from bad cell reception, and I grip the steering wheel tighter, waiting for him to find a precious moment to, you know, speak to me.
“Dax? Dax!”
“Yeah, I’m here,” he replies, sounding anywhere but.
“Is there any work I should know about?” I ask hopefully. “I heard Madeline Marrone is putting together her next movie,” I add, mentioning an amazing female director who just broke out with her debut indie movie. “Even if I only tried for a small role, it could be the right move for me. Get me in more prestigious films.”
Dax snorts with laughter – and then tries to hide it with a cough. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s looking for your type,” he says dismissively. “Look, we’re all still rooting for you, things are just quiet right now. We did get that offer forMotel Nightmare 6?—”
“No.” I cut him off immediately. “I told you, no gruesome horror movies where I get dismembered by an axe murderer. Real acting gigs only.”
“But Avery?—”
