“So basically you have the shirt on your back, your winter clothing in a few garbage bags, and five hundred bucks.”
Marie’s face crinkled and big, fat tears pooled in her eyes.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders.
I’d never seen her this defeated—ever. “Don’t worry. We will figure this out. I’ll see if the bank can reverse the last deposit. And you’re staying here. No ifs, ands, or buts about that.
We’ll get the spare room cleaned out and there’s storage in the basement.”
Marie leaned her head on my shoulder.
Thankfully, she had an appointment to see her lawyer.
No matter what, I’d make sure she’d get her smile back.
It took exactly one week for the first indiscretion to hit the front cover of the gossip magazines. To say Marie was livid was putting it mildly. Her initial reaction of “What the fuck?” near the cash register in our local Whole Foods market had a few heads turning. When she continued with “that son of a” and a slew of other breathy expletives strung together into one long, creatively formed curse word, people started to gawk.
Marie glared at me. “You know about this?”
Fuck.
She slapped the paper down on the rubber conveyor belt. “Tar?”
I gave her my most innocent, compassionate look, knowing I had broken the best friend code.
“You want to explain this to me? Why I’m looking at this?”
No, not really. I continued to empty the cart, stalling for an answer. “I don’t know. All I know is they went out to eat together after Ryan wrapped for the day.”
She stared at me, incredulously. “And you didn’t think it was important to tell me?” I knew she was mad at me or at the very least, disappointed. Hell, if the situation were reversed, I’d be angry, too. And hurt.
“And tell you what, sweetie? That he had dinner with another person?” She glared at the cover. Big, bold letters announced that Ryan’s newfound tryst had been stolen out from under him by none other than his bodyguard. Supposedly this is why I left Vancouver. “I can’t believe I fell for this. Again! Unbelievable. Son of a . . . Who is she?”
“Ryan’s set assistant.”
“Whore.”
I winced at her anger, hating that I knew he was dating someone else. But I hated lying to her even more. “It was dinner. A bunch of people went out.” Acid burned in my stomach. All that time I trusted Mike. I trusted him to be one of the good guys. I couldn’t break her heart all over again, telling her the truth. I wanted to punch the front cover and tear it to shreds. “Apparently Ryan’s cheating, too.” I handed it back to her.
Marie smashed the magazine back on the end cap, much to the obvious displeasure of the cashier. “Talked to him last night,” she said ruefully.
“And?”
She shrugged. “He failed to mention he was a lying scumbag who’s dating Ryan’s assistant.” Marie opened up her purse. “I cannot believe I fell for his sweet bullshit. God, I’m so damn gullible.”
I set the bags of apples and grapes on the belt next. “Who are you calling?”
“Cheating bastard bodyguard. Going to tell him he can go fuck himself.” I snatched her phone right out of her hand. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Why? Give me that back.”
“No. It was dinner. Mike’s been with Ryan every night since. They are attached at the hip. And you just filed for a divorce an hour ago so you’re not in a good place right now to make that call.”
Marie grabbed another magazine. “Look at this. According to this one you’re pumping Ryan full of drugs.”
“What?” I snatched it from her hand, feeling the blood rush from my head from seeing another outlandish headline.
Another celebrity tragedy in the making? Seaside’s Ryan Christensen fighting addiction to prescription drugs Seems Ryan Christensen is set to follow in the footsteps of numerous celebrities who have fallen prey to the lures of prescription drugs. CV has learned that Ryan has been taking several different medications to combat depression. “The pressure is getting to him,” says one insider. Sources also say that Ryan’s new fiancée, barkeep Taryn Mitchell, isn’t helping. “She openly en-ables him, often encouraging him to drug up before public appearances.
Everyone can see it. If he doesn’t get help soon, this could turn tragic.”
“What the hell?” I felt my fury roll in like a tsunami.
Marie grabbed the pages, reading the small article.
I grabbed my cell and started a text to Ry-an. “Oh my God. This is bad. Bad, bad, bad.”
“Call me asap”
My cell chimed. I opened Ryan’s text.
“working what up?”
I texted back.
“CV mag says I’m pushing drugs on you and Marie is not happy about cover of Starr”
“Drugs? cover? wtf”
“Mike and Paula”
“call me now”
This was not a conversation to have while paying for groceries.
“2 minutes?”
“ok-love you”
“Love you more”
I shoved my phone back in my pocket.
“Ryan
freaking
Christensen,”
Marie
groaned. “He’s a megastar. You’d think he’d have better friends.”
The fact that she was lamenting over Mike and not about filing for a divorce from Gary was, I thought, a good thing.
“All I know is that they went to dinner. I’d talk to him before you get further bent out of shape. You of all people should know that those mags are nothing but poison.” She grabbed the magazine again and opened it up to the pictures inside. “His hand is on her back, Tar. He told me he was bored.
That lying sack of shit. All the same; every one of them. Cheaters, liars, scum-fucking assholes.”
When we got to the car, Marie flopped her little body into the passenger seat. “Are you ever going to give me my phone back?” I snapped my seat belt on. “You going to refrain from jumping to conclusions and making a call you might regret?”
She held out her hand. “I promise I won’t call him.”
I dug it out of my purse just as Ryan called on mine.
“What’s this message about drugs?” I could tell he was keeping his tone low.
“CV magazine has a write-up that you’re taking antidepressants, hon. How would they find that out?”
“Whatever. Just about every person I know takes them.”