A Beautiful Star (Beautiful Series, Book 5) (2 page)

The next day, I’m still reeling over the fact that Lisa is Leisil Marx, but at least I know she’s ok now. She called me briefly to promise she’d explain everything later and to ask for my help to look after her dog, Perry, because the paparazzi had caught wind of her story and were chasing her all over town.

When I arrived at her house, they were camped out front, asking me if I knew where she was as I rushed inside and locked myself in. I didn’t trust any of them not to break into her house for story fodder if I left, so I slept on the couch and kept Perry company. I was hoping that eventually they’d go away so I could call Lisa and let her know the coast was clear.

“Thank god she has high fences,” I muse to myself as I stand at the back door, throwing a ball to entertain the dog. But, it’s then that I hear a ruckus from out the front of yelling and clicking before I hear the front door slam and voices coming from inside the house.

“Ok. So I guess they were hiding,” a male voice says.

“Thank you…again. Seems like you’re my rescuer today,” I hear from Lisa. I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that it’s her and not someone else, because Perry is the worst guard dog in the world, and I don’t know what I’d do.

I make my way to the front of the house as the male speaks again. “If I’d been a better person in the beginning, I wouldn’t need to save you now. Consider it all a long overdue gesture. “

“Lisa, is that you?” I call out to let my presence be known.

“Sandra?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say as I step into view. “The press were everywhere when I got here, and I couldn’t get out with Perry so I just stayed. He’s in the backyard…” I pause as my eyes take in whom she’s with. Jonathan Masters. Great. My first impression of him was not good at all. He was snappy with me, and he was swearing at me. So I’m not very fond of him. But, knowing the attention span of male celebrities, I doubt he even remembers who I am. So I decide to behave as though I’ve never seen him before.

“You…you’re… oh wow,” I say, feeling proud of my own acting abilities. “It’s really nice to meet you in person.” I walk toward him and extend my hand, shaking his in greeting while completely ignoring his response and leaning toward Lisa to speak. “You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady.” 

She nods and then introduces me to Jonathan who is looking at me quizzically–perhaps he does have a memory longer than a goldfish…

“This is Sandra. She’s a reporter, so be careful what you say,” Lisa says with a wink for my benefit, which causes me to roll my eyes. We both know I’d never write up anything to do with gossip. It’s just not what I do.

Jonathan laughs. “Are you serious? You’re running from reporters and there’s one staying in your house. I hope the irony isn’t lost on you here.”

“No it’s not. But Sandra is my best friend. She’s not here to write a story.”

“Whories over stories,” I say, tapping my fist to my heart before giving the peace sign with my fingers as I nod, causing Lisa to relax and laugh a little.

“Since when is that a saying?”

“Since just now. Ho’s before Bro’s didn’t fit, so I made one up. I think it might catch on,” I tell her as a matter-of-fact.

“Ok,” Jonathan interrupts, obviously not feeling the joking. “So what’s the plan now that you’re home? Are you just hunkering down or are you moving on?”

“I’m moving on,” Lisa states, which makes me feel a little sad. I don’t want her to go. But I understand; I wouldn’t want to stick around and be followed by cameras all the time either.

“There’s a lot of press out there Leis. They’ll just follow you,” I point out.

“I know. We’re going to need a distraction, which is where you two come in.”

Jonathan and I trade glances. “We two?” he asks, gesturing between us.

“Yes,” Lisa says. “The plan is simple. I’ll trade clothes with Sandra, and then she can leave using the same blanket you covered me with when we came in. The press will assume she’s me, and you can take her somewhere and lead them away so I can pack a few things and leave.”

“What are you going to do when they realise it isn’t you?” he asks.

“Hopefully I’ll be long gone by then,” she says, peeking through a small gap between her blinds.

Letting out a sigh, Jonathan places his hands on his hips. “Fine. We’ll do what we can.”

“Thank you,” Lisa smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

He slides his arms around her waist and holds her tight, breathing in deeply before he lets out a sigh. “If I don’t see you again, Leis, I’m really sorry. For everything, I was a…”

She pushes away, wiping at her eye as she waves her hands to dismiss what he’s about to say. “We were just kids, Jonathan. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

It’s at that point that I move away, feeling as though I’m intruding on a private moment. I may work for a magazine called Voyeur, but it doesn’t mean I am one.

“Come on,” Lisa says after a moment, tapping me on the shoulder and leading me to her room where we switch clothes.

“Am I ever going to see you again?” I ask when we’re done.

She shrugs, pressing her lips together in a sad smile. Not needing words, I nod my understanding and just hug my best friend. “Well, at least keep in touch by phone.”

“I’ll try,” she says, heading out to Jonathan. Before we leave, I cover myself in the blanket and take one last look at my friend, feeling as though this could very well be our final goodbye.

“Why did you do that?” Jonathan asks as I sit in the backseat, with the blanket acting as a hood so my face can’t be seen if anyone gets too close to the tinted glass. It sounds ridiculous, but paparazzi on bikes will press their face up against your tinted windows and look through to check you’re there. This whole experience is making me so glad I’m not a celebrity, as well as slightly guilty for being a reporter. Although, I continue to remind myself I’m not a gossip columnist, and I don’t harass people and spread rumours for a living.

“She’s my friend. Why did you do that?” I respond.

“No. I know why you helped her. Why did you act as though you’ve never met me before?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, folding my arms across my chest.

“Yes you do. I met you last night at The Basement,” he states, glancing at me in the rear vision mirror, his blue eyes piercing in their reflection as they meet my own.

Something about the way he looks at me makes me shift in my seat, but I continue to feign ignorance. “Oh, we did, did we?”

“Why are you acting like you haven’t seen me before now?” he laughs.

“Maybe I just don’t remember.” We pause at a set of lights and he meets my eyes again, giving me a quizzical look before glancing around us and shaking his head.

“It doesn’t look like they’re going to leave us alone any time soon. Do you have somewhere you want me to take you?”

“Just take me home.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“What are they going to do? They’ll hang around outside and then when they realise I’m not her, they’ll leave and go back to her house. The trick is just keeping them at my place for long enough to let her get away.”

“Alright. What’s your address?”

Giving it to him, I settle into the backseat and keep my head low, ready to make a run for my door when he lets me out. But when he pulls into my driveway and exits the car, I’m a little taken aback.

“What are you doing? You’re not coming inside.”

“Yes I am,” he responds, opening the back door and holding his hand out to me as he glances out to the street where I can hear cars pulling up. “I’m not leaving you alone with that lot. Hurry.”

Huffing out my breath, I take his hand and he covers my head, guiding me to the door as the paparazzi begin to yell their questions and take their photos. He holds his hand out and demands my house keys as we get to the door. Once safely inside, I breathe a sigh of relief and remove the blanket from my head, running my hand through my long blonde hair to smooth out the mess.

“Well, thank you. You can go now,” I say, holding out the blanket for him to take, although he doesn’t respond.

Instead, he places his hands on his hips and looks around my three-bedroom home. “So, this is what a reporter’s house looks like,” he states, like it’s a surprise that reporters live in normal houses.

“Well, it’s what my house looks like,” I state, heading into my bedroom to get changed out of Lisa’s clothes and into my own. I go for a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt because I don’t want to give Romeo out there the wrong impression.

When I return, I find him sitting on my couch flipping through magazines. “You have a lot of these ‘Voyeur’ Magazines. Is this who you work for?” he asks as I move to the window and peek outside, seeing all the paparazzi milling about and talking to each other like it’s a freaking BBQ gathering in my front yard. I watch one throw a cigarette butt on my grass and stomp it out, and that’s when I stop looking so I don’t go out there and yell at them for being pigs.

“Sandra Haegan,” he states, and I turn around to see him holding up an article he’s found that I wrote. He taps the little picture of me next to the by-line and smiles. “See, there you are.”

Ignoring him, I head into my kitchen and get a glass of water, wondering if I should offer him something to drink but once again, I don’t want him getting the wrong idea.

“You’re quite good,” he calls out, and I figure he’s begun to read my articles. “I actually haven’t been interviewed by Voyeur before. Can I request you if I accept one?” he asks, appearing on the other side of my benchtop and smiling at me. I pause drinking and put my half full glass down to answer him. Then, glancing at it, he reaches out and finishes it, placing it down empty between us. “Thanks,” he smiles.

Taking the glass while I shake my head, I wash it out and place it in the strainer. “I don’t work in movies and TV. I work in music.”

“I see. So is that a yes or a no? If I request you, that is.”

“It’s a no.”

He folds his arms and narrows his eyes at me. “I find that hard to believe,” he states, before turning his head as we both hear yelling out the front of my house. He frowns and meets my eyes.  “Someone’s here.” 

“Shit! What’s going on out there?” I ask, looking through the curtains where I see the press clamouring about, taking pictures and yelling questions as someone tries to push their way through. “Oh no. Marcus is here.”

“What?” Jonathan demands, nudging me to the side so he can look as well. “God no. This thing just got a whole lot more screwed up.”

He glances at me, the piercing blue of his eyes set with concern as he moves swiftly towards the door. I glance out of the window again to see Marcus standing on my front porch.

“You know what? Just FUCK OFF!” he yells to the press, and I close my eyes, a wave of doom flowing through me. You don’t tell a bunch of paparazzi to ‘fuck off’.
They just come at you harder if you do.

Reefing the door open, Jonathan grabs Marcus and drags him into the house, slamming and locking the door behind him.

“What are you doing? You’re going make this even more of a circus than it already is,” Jonathan hisses, as he rakes his fingers through his already messy golden blond hair in agitation.

“Marcus,” I call to him, my brow set with worry as I see the frantic look on his face as his eyes dart about in search. He’s looking for Lisa. But he won’t find her here. She’s gone.

But Marcus doesn’t respond. He just turns toward Jonathan, his face twisting as he charges toward him, grabbing him by the throat and pushing against him until he’s stumbling backward, finally stopping when Marcus slams him against the wall, his hand wrapping around his throat as he leans menacingly toward his face.

“You’re a fucking liar! Where the hell is she?” Marcus growls. I panic, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling at his shirt, trying to get him to release Jonathan.

“What are you doing!?!” I shriek. “Get off him, Marcus! Stop!”

“Where. The fuck. Is she?” he demands, completely ignoring me as he hisses and spits like a rabid dog.

Jonathan’s mouth moves like he’s a goldfish out of water, gaping and gasping for breath, his face bright red, his eye’s bugging out, watering from the strain.

“You’re killing him!” I shriek, desperate to get him to stop as I thump my fists against his back, feebly trying to hit him hard enough to make him stop. “STOP!” I scream, long and drawn out, filled with every desperate emotion I’m feeling in this panicked moment. “Stop.” The last time is a whimper as I step back, my hands shaking, tears streaming down my face as I watch Marcus release him and step away, a look of pure shock and madness on his usually beautiful face.

Jonathan’s hand instantly rises to his throat and he rubs at his neck, sucking in air as he leans against the wall.

“Oh god. Are you ok?”  I ask in a gasp as I run to him, my hand going to his face as I lift his chin and check that his eyes are focusing and his colour is returning. I place my arm around his waist, trying to help support him so he can stand.

Letting out a rough cough, he nods. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s ok,” he gasps, his voice sounding a hell of a lot raspier than it was earlier. 

Still breathing heavily, Marcus stands in front of us, looking like a man possessed. “Where is she?” he demands again, his voice cool and calculated, and scarier than it was when he was yelling.

“She’s gone,” I answer in a yell. “Neither of us knows where. And I promise you, she didn’t tell either of us.”

Marcus lets out a growl, his hands rising to his head and gripping at the sides as if he’s about to have an aneurism. He shakes his head, and both Jonathan and I stare at him, our eyes wide as we wonder what the hell is going to come next.

Jonathan takes a brave step forward, his hand reaching out cautiously to the obviously ruined man in front of us. “She’s disappeared again, mate. I’m sorry. She’s gone.” 

Marcus grips his head tighter then tips his head back and yells to the heavens. “Fuck!”

Then I stand, watching in horror as he snaps to action, picking up one of my dining room chairs and hurling his body around, catapulting the wooden chair through my large front window. The glass shatters loudly and tinkles to the ground as the chair hits the railing on my porch and splinters apart, landing with a hollow sound on the concrete as the paparazzi lets out a collective gasp.

I must let out a cry because Jonathan’s arms go around my shoulders. He holds me to him as the paparazzi quickly recover from their shock and begin to take photos of Marcus standing in my living room, surveying his destruction as they capture it all on film. He drops his head and walks out of my house, through the space where my window should be, the broken glass, crunching beneath his shoes as he walks calmly away, the cameras going off the entire time, capturing the entirety of his heartbreak for all the world to see.

“Oh god,” I moan, dropping my head against Jonathan’s shoulder, my own shaking as I let out a sob. This isn’t how I pictured my day going when I woke up this morning.

This morning, I had simply been helping out a friend by feeding her dog, and now I have a rock star smashing my window because he can’t find her and I’m crying into the shoulder of her movie star ex-fiancé. Who knew that meek and mild Lisa’s life was actually this chaotic? 

Besides her having a rock star as her current love interest, a few years ago, Lisa was all set to marry Jonathan Masters. At the time, he wasn’t Hollywood’s current Aussie golden boy; he was a local heartthrob and soap star from Sydney’s own weekly drama,
Sunshine Cove
. And Lisa had been by his side the entire time.

Then, she somehow found out that he’d been sleeping around behind her back. And not just once, there has been a whole string of women who were more than happy to spread their legs for a night with the hottest guy in town. And when Lisa found out, she went ballistic, driving her car through the front of his newly purchased home in one of Sydney’s most affluent suburbs.

The resulting chaos caused Lisa to be subjected to a public witch-hunt where she was labelled as the psycho ex-fiancée who didn’t know when it was time to let go. They treated her like a pariah, and instead of being supportive, her father publicly called her a fool, saying that she obviously wasn’t cut out for ‘this industry’ and that she shouldn’t have been so surprised. He said he was embarrassed she was so naïve.

In retaliation, Lisa went into her father’s personal files and made up a shame video of all of his own sexual exploits that she could find, trying to show the world that their beloved rocker was nothing but a philandering scumbag.

But things didn’t work out in her favour. The public turned on her more so. She vanished from the public eye, reinventing herself as Lisa Russell.

After that, things were working out for her. She had a great job in the advertising department for the magazine I work for, and she had a great friend in me… a great friend who was the actually catalyst of her current predicament…

“This is all my fault!” I wail into Jonathan’s shoulder, and he turns his body, wrapping his arms tighter around me as he runs his hand gently over the length of my hair. “I made her go and interview Marcus for me. I was worried he’d recognise me so I begged her to go in my place. Then he pursued her. Then…then… then this!” I cry.

“This isn’t your fault, Sandra. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I’m the source all this. I’m the one who treated Leisil the wrong way.”

“Lisa. Her name is Lisa now.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He places his hands on my shoulders and pulls away from me slightly, looking down at me from his six feet of lean, sun kissed, typical Aussie male body.  Then he cups my face and uses his thumbs to wipe away my tears. “I’m so sorry you were caught up in this. I’m going to help you, OK? It looks like the press has taken off after Marcus. But they’ll most likely be back for me. So I’ll help you with this mess and call someone to watch over the place and repair the window. But I think we should get out of here for tonight, OK? Just until this story hits the papers and the noise dies down.”

Looking up at him, I nod, feeling numb after such a crazy twenty-four hours. Maybe I’ve been too hard on Jonathan. Perhaps he isn’t as bad as all the other stars I’ve met. Maybe he really does just want to help…