The Love Script, page 4
“If we can’t press charges, then what? Could Ms. Rosie validate our stories?” She studied Bryan, waiting for his response.
“Yeah, because everyone believes someone’s mom coming to the rescue.”
There went Bryan, raining joy on everyone.
Nevaeh gave his agent the side-eye. “Maybe you should leave so Lamont Booker and I can talk in private.”
“You two do that.” Bryan stood, pointing a finger at Nevaeh. “Make sure to tell him to follow my plan and pay you handsomely for your troubles, then teach yourself to call him by his first name. The way you use his full name is a dead giveaway that you two aren’t in a real relationship.” He hooked his thumb behind him. “I’ll be out back.”
Bryan headed for the sliding doors, and the room plunged into silence.
Lamont swallowed as his thoughts churned through the day’s events. Unfortunately, Bryan had a point. The public would believe whatever yarn the media spun. If he and Nevaeh could somehow turn the story to their favor, they’d both be saved.
But a lie, Lord? I just . . .
“What do you think of his idea?” Nevaeh asked softly.
“I can’t wrap my head around lying to save my own skin.”
“What if we went out on a date before Bryan leaks his spin of the story? Then we could accurately say we’re dating. A loophole, but technically not lying . . . right?” Her face scrunched up in thought.
“Except he doesn’t want us to just date. We’re supposed to be madly in love.” Lamont hadn’t been in a relationship since the Lord pulled him from the last one—a toxic mess of epic proportions. He didn’t relish jumping into one, even if it was fake.
“Then let’s omit that part. We don’t really know each other that well, even though I’ve been working here once a week for the past year.”
He winced. Was that a barb at him? Was she implying that he was standoffish or merely stating facts? “I’m sorry. I’m usually pretty busy. It’s hard for me to develop a relationship with everyone who comes through the front door.” He bit back a groan. Yep, that was a privileged answer.
Nevaeh waved a hand in the air. “Not my point. I just meant we don’t really know each other. If we do this, we have to make sure we can both live with ourselves at the end of the day and that we don’t think God would find us out of line.”
“I’m not sure one date is the definition of dating. It still feels like a lie.” He ran a hand over his head.
She tilted her head to the side. “Rahab lied.”
He chuckled. “So now we’re saving God’s chosen people with our deception?”
“I’m not saying that at all. Just . . .” She threw her hands up in the air. “Okay, I was totally grasping for straws. I say we pray on it. If we think Bryan’s plan of fake dating could legitimately save both of our reputations and jobs without causing harm to our witness, then we commit to playing those parts. Take me out to some low-key places and then maybe a few more visible outings once Bryan releases a statement or whatever you celebrities do.”
“What’s in it for you? Why would you go along with this?” Lamont tried to keep the skepticism from showing in his expression, but he didn’t think he was too successful.
“If people think I’ve sullied Hollywood’s golden child, I’ll never get another position as a film hair stylist, much less the key stylist position I desperately want. Furthermore, I need my regular clients to continue paying me so I don’t get kicked out by my roommate.”
Lamont studied her. Really studied her. Her black hair hung straight past her shoulders, stopping at the top of her chest. Her curves were modestly covered by a dress that fell to the floor and gave peeks at her painted toenails through her open-toe sandals. Could he play along? He could only imagine the questions from the public since she didn’t have Hollywood’s ideal physique. Would they truly believe he’d fallen in love with her, or would more vitriol follow because she didn’t match their standards?
Lamont didn’t want to go down the drama-filled road again. Once burned, twice shy was an apt expression for a reason. His ex had ensured chaos followed them, and Lamont had no idea if the public would be kind toward Nevaeh. Still, if she was willing to help keep him from becoming a stumbling block to the world or being canceled for something that wasn’t true, shouldn’t he give the proposal the consideration and prayer it deserved?
“I’ll pray about it.” Though he was half-ready to agree. But was that just fear and the need to cover his own rear making yes seem easier to say?
Nevaeh nodded. “I will too.” She bit her lip. “Was Ms. Rosie upset?”
His heart softened. “Not at all. She said I couldn’t do any better. But she was irate that paparazzi were snooping around our house. Even mentioned looking for her own place so she could leave that nonsense behind.”
Fear had gripped him then. How could he watch over her, make sure his mom was healthy and okay, if she moved away? He was still thankful the doctor had confirmed she had a simple bug and cancer wasn’t something to worry about again. Fortunately, she had perked back up today.
“I can just imagine her sitting them down and telling them why they had no business pointing their lens at that doorway.”
Lamont nodded as he pushed his thoughts back to focus on the current conversation. “She’s a fighter.”
“Is she feeling better?”
“Yeah, just a stomach bug.”
“Thank goodness,” Nevaeh breathed.
He studied Nevaeh. “Thank you. You’ve been good for her.”
She smiled, and once more his gaze transfixed on her dimples. Why did those grooves draw him in?
He blinked. “So I’ll give you a call tomorrow. See what our next steps are, if we’re on the same page.” Sleeping on the breaking-news story wouldn’t cause more harm, would it?
She stood. “Okay.” For a moment, she looked unsure, staring at her interlaced fingers. “What if the media figures out my identity before we come up with a better plan or put this one in place?”
“They won’t.” He slid his hands into his pockets as he rose.
“All right.” She squared her shoulders. “Until tomorrow.”
Lamont sent a text to Kyle. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Oh no.” Nevaeh held up a hand. “I promise to watch where I’m going.”
His lips twitched, but he just dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Bye, Nevaeh.”
“Bye, Lamont Booker.”
This time, his smile came out. Bryan was right. If—and that was a big if—they decided to become a couple for the media’s viewing pleasure, she’d have to call him Lamont. Though part of him liked the full name.
Was she a fan of his work?
Does it really matter, man? Pull it together. What. Are. You. Going. To. Do?
Pray. That was the only thing he could do right now. Because if he committed to Bryan’s scheme, he had a feeling life was about to take a turn he wasn’t ready for. Maybe the guys could offer some advice? Then again, no better expert than God for wisdom. Didn’t the Bible say somewhere that He’d fight our battles? Did that include fixing reputations?
Lamont sighed and opened the text thread with his friends. His brows rose at the texts awaiting him.
Chris
My man, *what* is going on?
Tuck
Yeah, that news even hit Kentucky.
Lamont
It’s all just a huge misunderstanding.
Chris
In what way? Who’s the woman, btw?
Lamont
She’s my mom’s hair stylist.
Tuck
When did y’all start dating?
Lamont
We’re not.
Chris
🤨
Tuck
Um, you might want to look at the photo one more time. There are some serious vibes going on.
Lamont
Are you two honestly saying you don’t believe me?
Chris
Of course I believe you! I just had to give you a hard time.
Tuck
We know you’re practically a monk.
Lamont
I’m not. I simply made a promise to God.
Chris
Hey, I can’t even remember the last time I dated, so take my messages as a sign that men don’t grow up after forty.
Tuck
Obviously, I can’t talk either. Though I think my last date was in this century, unlike Chris.
Chris
Ha!
“Did she leave?” Bryan asked, strolling into the living room with an individual-size Perrier in his hands. He must have plucked it from the outdoor refrigerator.
Lamont
Agent’s here. I’ll text later.
Chris
Praying
Tuck
Same
“She did.” Lamont set the phone on the coffee table. “We’re going to pray about it and regroup tomorrow.”
“Hope that’s early tomorrow.” Bryan took a swig of water. “I’m telling you, this will work. Plenty of relationships have been manufactured in Hollywood. Let’s do this for good instead of just bolstering your brand and getting your name out there.”
“By pretending to be in love?” Lamont shook his head. “Nevaeh suggested we pretend to date and drop the love act.”
Bryan rolled his eyes. “If that gets you to agree. Fine. Pretending is no different than standing on set and doing the same thing. This time, your set is the public stage. All you need to do is pick a tabloid or entertainment news reporter to break the story to. Then go out and show the world you’re in love—dating—and are no longer keeping the relationship private. Snap some pictures for social media. Heck, go to church and talk about it. I don’t care as long as your career remains intact.”
“What if the truth comes out?” Lamont swallowed.
Bryan snorted. “People always speculate over celebrity relationships. Your adoring fans will ship you, and if a hint of a rumor comes out that it’s false, we’ll defend you until their own relationships fall apart.”
“When did you get so cynical?”
“Eh.” Bryan shrugged. “I’m like Nevaeh, a realist. This is what happens in this town. You just gotta make sure the script says what you want it to say.” Bryan raised his bottle in a toast, then chugged the rest. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll type up a statement tonight in case you agree. And another one in case you decide to fall on your sword.”
His agent walked away and left Lamont reeling with indecision. Now what, Lord?
Five
I’d worked on dozens of sets in my short Hollywood career. Being behind the scenes brought me comfort, and I thrived on making over an actor into the role they played. But I had never appeared in front of the camera, which was exactly what Lamont Booker’s agent was asking me to do.
How did I even comprehend the full magnitude of the many ways this could disrupt my life? Sure, I could turn on a rom-com like The Proposal or Just Go with It to see how the actors fared in their fake romance, but this was real life. My life. There was no how-to-fake-a-relationship book.
Honestly, I’m pretty sure half the words that had flown out of my mouth earlier due to shock weren’t sitting right with the Lord. My flesh kept bringing up instances when someone in the Bible had lied to save another. But no matter what, it was a lie. Lying lips were an abomination and all that. No matter what I’d said to Lamont about dating beforehand, it was all just to make myself more comfortable with the charade, right?
I’m so sorry, Lord. How could I have inserted my foot and left You shaking Your head at my shenanigans once more? I’m sorry for speaking before thinking. For insinuating a lie would sit right with You. I just don’t know what to do in this situation.
A knock sounded on the door, so I left the couch and looked through the peephole. Mrs. Hazelton stood on my front stoop, her horribly dyed red hair captivating my attention. Had she used Kool-Aid to get that look?
I opened the door. “Hey, Mrs. Hazelton.”
“Nevaeh, dear, please tell me you have some sugar before I have to contend with sugarless cookies.” She held up a measuring cup.
I laughed. “Nora is not a fan of sugar.” I ran a hand down my hip. “But never fear, I didn’t get these curves messing with Stevia.”
Mrs. Hazelton chuckled as she shuffled into my apartment.
I headed for the kitchen. “How much do you need?”
“Just two cups. Is that okay?” Her red, painted-on eyebrows rose. “Do you have enough?”
“Mrs. Hazelton, I never run out of sugar.”
“Good. Makes life a little sweeter to deal with.”
That’s a motto I could get behind. “What kind of cookies are you making?” I reached for the bag and tipped it over, the crystals slowly falling into her measuring cup.
“Sugar cookies. I add almond and orange extracts, and voilà.” She smacked her fingers, then spread them out. “Guaranteed to elevate your blood sugar and make you feel alive.”
I laughed.
“You’re welcome to come over and have a few. I’ve got some sun tea going on my stoop.”
Tea and cookies instead of thinking about the conundrum I’d ended up in? Sounded great to me.
“Maybe you can also tell me about you and Mr. Sexiest Man Alive.”
I groaned. “I thought for sure you didn’t watch TV.”
She snorted. “I’m old. What else do old people do but pop up before God’s awake and watch the news? I knew it was hot stuff when it interrupted CNN’s normal drab talk. The newscasters were in a tizzy. I whooped and hollered and told them I knew you.” She shuffled forward and squished my cheeks. “I knew you’d snag a good one.”
“We’re not together,” I started out slowly. “In fact, that picture’s story doesn’t match what was shown on TV.”
“I see.” Her rheumy eyes regarded me. “Yes, come, let’s have some cookies and tea and sort out your life’s problems, Nevaeh.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I reverted back to the manners I’d learned in grade school.
While Mrs. Hazelton started her shuffle across the manicured courtyard, I locked up. The green grass shined brightly in the midday sun. Fortunately, the heat wasn’t oppressive, and a light breeze swept through the yard between the four cottages that had long since been turned into apartments. I liked to imagine the stories the walls could tell of former residents. Or I could simply ask Mrs. Hazelton. She’d been here forever and was always up for a conversation.
She motioned toward a stool in the corner of her kitchen as I walked in. “Grab that and come chat with me in the kitchen.”
I did as told, discreetly taking in the plastic-covered living room set from my position. “How long have you owned the sofa?”
“Since I married Mr. Hazelton. Who would have thought it would outlast him?” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, you can’t go wrapping people in plastic. Oh, there are those who will quickly become so in hopes of stopping the marks of time, but let me tell you, nothing can do that but death.” She placed a hand on her hip, liver spots showing on her aged hands. “My Harold died at seventy. Twenty-two years have gone by without him around. And still, I age.” She held up her hands. “These are not the hands that he first placed my wedding ring on. Yet they are.” She sighed.
“How long were you two married?” I had never met her husband, but she talked of him often. Sometimes she’d show a picture of him, young and wearing a military uniform. Mrs. Hazelton had been a Vietnam War bride and proclaimed it the best decision she’d ever made.
“Forty years. What a way to start a new millennium and century—alone. But I tell you one thing, Nevaeh, the solitude has taught me what really matters.”
“And what’s that?” I leaned forward, eager to hear what she had to say.
“Time. Not in the way you may be thinking. But in how you use it. We often act like we have an abundance of it. Like it can’t be wasted.” She placed a cookie sheet into the oven. “But we don’t. We just have no idea when we’ve used ours up. Not being able to see something often makes us take life for granted.”
She had a point. Who knew how much time I’d wasted doing things that didn’t matter? Wasn’t that the problem with hindsight? You didn’t know until the moment passed.
“Enough talk of living a widowed life. Tell me about Mr. Booker.” She tilted her head. “You know I cried when I saw Troubled. The depth he brought to that role left me breathless.” She laid her hands on her chest. “I adore his movies.”
“He’s done some great ones.” Who was I kidding? He was my favorite actor. It seemed there wasn’t a role he couldn’t perform.
Does that include as your fake boyfriend? I gulped.
“So what’s the real deal behind the photo?”
I told her of taking care of Ms. Rosie’s hair—leaving out the cancer bit—and my almost face-plant yesterday.
She pursed her lips. “Guess the news really did make it more interesting.”
I laughed. “Sorry to shatter your dreams.”
“Now what? There’s been lots of talk about his faith and how sincere he is about being celibate. Do you think the media will brand him a hypocrite?”
Wasn’t that why I was in this conundrum in the first place? “His agent thinks we should fake a relationship. Spin a tale of being so in love, but keeping boundaries, hence the longing looks in the photo.” I rolled my eyes.
“He’s good. Been in Hollywood a long time, huh?”
I shrugged. I knew nothing about agents. Key stylists didn’t need them.
“What do you think of his idea?” Mrs. Hazelton held out a cookie.
“I’m torn. I don’t want to lie or suggest a falsehood.” I bit into the sugary confection and almost groaned as flavor danced across my taste buds. Mrs. Hazelton was the best cook and baker in Studio City.
“But isn’t that what you young folk do nowadays? With your social media filters and always posing in perfect fashion for the world to see. How much of what you show people is genuine?”
Hmm. Did she have a point? “But enhancing a photo isn’t a lie.” Was it?
“Then how can you object to enhancing a relationship? I’m sure he’ll take you out, wine and dine you for the paparazzi watching. Isn’t that dating? Would that be a lie?”
