#lexiebook fiction YA newadult

[lexiebakerproject]

Season 19, Episode 23 (The One With The Pillow Fight)

***If you’re just starting Lexie or want to go to a different episode, head on over here.

My new apartment is perfect. 

I spin around in a circle in the empty living room while Ryan trains the camera on me. I try to imagine what it would be like being in here without that camera. I can’t.

That’s a problem. 

“Noe is going to love this place,” I say to myself, but out loud because it’s weird to be silent around the camera. In reality TV, the camera becomes another person in the room. Sometimes you forget it can’t talk back to you. 

The apartment’s in Santa Monica, a five-minute walk to the beach and just a few streets over from where Liam lives. Palm trees line the sidewalks and the air smells like salt and french fries. The apartment itself is a two-bedroom and super cute.There are glass doorknobs and each room is a different color. When I get back to our apartment, I’m practically bursting with the news. 

“The only bad thing is that there’s no garage—street parking only,” I’m saying. “But we both have small cars—it’ll be totally fine.”

Noe sits on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. I notice she hasn’t said a word. 

“So…” I say. “What do you think?”

“Erik and I are moving in together,” she blurts. 

“What? When were you going to tell me?”

Her eyes are big, apologetic. “We just decided last night.”

I plop down on the couch, my good mood gone. 

“You just turned me into, like, a popped balloon,” I say. 

Noe scootches over, then snuggles against me. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. It’s true love.”

“Well, far be it from me to fuck with true love.” I sigh. “I can’t blame you. I sort of know what it feels like to want to wake up to the same boy every morning.”

“Right?” She grins. “So you and Liam. Kinda serious, huh?”

A little shiver goes through me as I remember waking up this morning and seeing his face on the pillow next to mine, watching me sleep. 

“I guess so. Yeah.” Fred Astaire leaps onto my lap and I pat him absently. “So…I’m living alone?”

“I just assumed you and Benny would live together. Isn’t he out of rehab soon?” I nod, brightening. “Yeah, actually. That could be perfect.” I shoot her a glare. “And by perfect I mean totally perfect for a second choice.” 

“Cupcake, nothing’s gonna change.”

“Except that you’re moving to North Hollywood.”

“Well,” she concedes, “there is that.”

“I demand we make Rice Krispy Treats right now.”

She salutes me. “Yes, ma’am.” 

The next morning I head over to Crescent View during visiting hours. Benny’s in the Zen garden, looking out over the ocean.

“Dude, this is the life,” I say. 

The Pacific is almost green today and the sun hitting it looks like sheets of gold have been placed on its surface. I totally saw a pair of Jimmy Choos at the Beverly Center this exact color. 

Bens smiles up at me, his eyes clear. The color has returned to his cheeks, but he’s still pretty thin and there are dark circles under his eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s not so bad,” he says. “Ready to get outta here, though. I just finished group and this one guy keeps talking about his sex addiction. In graphic detail.”

“Scandalous.” I sit next to him on a bench beside a portion of the rock garden that’s all swirls made with blue and white rocks; stone clouds. “Heard from Matt?”

He shakes his head. “No. He was…pretty clear the last time we talked.” “How are you supposed to prove you’re sober?” 

“Getting these guys’ stamp of approval, I guess,” he says, gesturing to the facilities around him. 

“Hey, I have a proposition for you,” I say, “for when you get out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“What do you think about being roommates with me? Noe’s moving in with her boyfriend and I just found this great new place in Santa Monica.”

Benny frowns, looks down at his hands. “I’ve, uh, actually been thinking about moving to New York for a bit.”

Some words feel like a punch in the gut. 

“New York.” Of course. Of course Benny would run to Chloe in his time of need.

  “Yeah. I mean, Chlo needs someone to keep her company—you know, with Patrick in class and everything. And…” He sighs. “I just need to get away from this town. From Matt and the paparazzi.”

I stand and move further into the garden. I don’t want him to see me cry. “Lex?”

“I’m fine,” I say. But in this totally not-fine kind of voice. 

“I don’t get it,” he says. “I thought you’d agree that getting out of town was a good idea. I mean, this place is driving all of us crazy.”

“No, you’re right,” I say, turning. I can hear the pout in my voice, but I can’t make it go away. “You should go. You need Chloe now—”

“It’s not about needing Chloe—”

“Isn’t it? I’m your twin but she’s your, like, soul twin. Or something. I get it: I’m not enough. I never have been.” 

He sighs. “I love you both, Lex. It’s not a competition.”

I bite my lip, hard, but the tears slip out, anyway. 

“Lex…”

He puts his arms around me, giving me one of his bear hugs. This only makes me cry harder. 

“It just feels like she’s your twin, not me,” I sob. 

“Are you kidding me?” he says. “Lex. You’re such a part of me that when you told me about what happened—you know, with that fucker—it felt like…like it had happened to me too. That’s how close we are.”

Now I’m crying harder and he is, too.

“And I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said. “Where the hell was I?”

“Bens…”

“No, seriously,” he says. “I should have known something had happened. How were you able to keep it from me?”

“You were always with Chloe,” I say with a shrug. “I wanted to tell you, but…but it had felt like things had changed between us.”

If I really think about it, that was the year when I started to become the Lexie Baker you see on TV. I’d felt left out with Bens and Chloe, so I kept trying to get more attention from the cameras. They—the cameras—were the constant in my life. By the time I was in high school, they were all I cared about.

“You seemed so angry at me all the time,” Benny says. 

I wonder if a part of me was angry at him for not being there, or for not knowing something had happened to me. He was supposed to just know. 

“I was angry at everyone,” I say. 

“Yeah…that sounds about right.” Benny takes my hand. “But I think I have a better idea of why now.”

I am only just now realizing how angry I was. Maybe because I’m not really angry anymore. When I think back on who I was in high school, that’s what I remember the most: being angry. I would say the most awful stuff to Chloe, cut her down whenever I could. Benny too. Once, they called me to pick them up—both of them drunk—and instead of taking them somewhere to sober up before we went home, I purposely brought them back, knowing our parents and the cameras would catch them out. I wanted to see them crash and burn. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No, I am. You’re right,” he says, “I gave all my time, energy—everything to Chlo. She just…she never seemed as strong as you. And after…”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what he means. After Chloe tried to kill herself we all watched her more closely. I pretended that I was annoyed, like she was some kind of drama queen, but secretly I’d been terrified. I hid my fear for her in put-downs and bitchy commentary. 

We sit there and watch the sun set, waiting to go back inside until the speck of golden light dips below the horizon.

“So, New York?” I say.

He looks over at me. “I think you and I need each other more than I realized. Besides, it doesn’t make sense to go out there. I’d just have to come back in a few months for school.”

“Does this mean we’re going to be roomies?” I ask.

“Yes. But I draw the line at using pastries as terms of endearment.”

“What about vegetables?” I say. Noe was always quite fond of calling me pumpkin. 

“Nope. And you’re not allowed to have loud sex with Liam—at least, not in our apartment.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “The same goes for when you and Matt get back together.”

The smile on his face fades. “I don’t know if he’ll—”

“Yes he will,” I say. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m your twin. If he was gone for good, I’d know it.”

**************************************************************************************************

“What’s the hold-up?” I say from the back of the SUV.

I’m squished in with Ryan and his camera, Ellen, a sound guy, and a new PA named Stacy who says everything like it’s a question? 

“We’re just making sure the management knows we’re coming?” Stacy says. 

We’re outside Crate and Barrel, where I’m going to be doing some shopping for my new apartment. Benny isn’t here for obvious reasons and Noe just got a job with this burlesque troupe, so she’s busy learning how to take her clothes off in various sexy ways. Luckily, I have Kim Olson from House Cleaning to help me out. She’s the star interior decorator for MetaReel’s new home makeover show. I’m actually pretty psyched about it, even though I’m so over being on the show. There are some pretty great perks to being on reality TV and I’m not one to turn down a free interior decorator. 

“Lexie, we need a bit more from you today,” Ellen says, turning around from where she’s sitting in the front passenger seat.

“What do you mean?”

“We need to remind people how fun you are—the show can’t be a total downer, even if things are crazy in your life right now. Okay?”

I nod and she hands me a list of handwritten lines. 

“Work these in at some point—we’ll get some good laughs, more of the stuff we need.”

I scan the list. Here are two of the dumbest:

Oh my god. This is, like, a total phallic symbol. 

(Pick up something in kitchen section) Is this a sex toy?

“Doesn’t it seem kinda…inappropriate, what with everything going on?” I ask. 

“You’re ‘Sexy Lexie,’ remember?” she says. “We need to remind the viewers of how funny and confident you can be. Otherwise all they’ll see is the Lexie on the Kaye Gibbons show. We need both Lexies.”

I can imagine the goofy carnival music that will go on underneath these lines. They use it all the time in Keeping Up With The Kardashians whenever the girls do or say something ditzy.

“But—” 

“Lexie, you signed a contract. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you to say the goddamn lines.”

It’s not the first time MetaReel has put words in my mouth. I know I don’t have a choice. This is what I signed up for. Still, I’m not about to let MetaReel make me look like a sex-crazed bimbo. 

“I’ll meet you halfway,” I say. “The sex toy line could be funny, but the phallic one is dumb. That one goes. Deal?”

Ellen looks at me for a long moment, silently weighing her options. “Deal,” she finally says. 

I fold the paper and put it in my back pocket, then dutifully raise my arms as Stacey outfits me with a small mic. Kim will be wearing one, too. 

Ellen’s phone buzzes and she nods as she looks at the screen. “Okay,” she says, “let’s do this.”

I grab my purse and jump out of the car. I’m feeling this weird combination of excitement and disappointment: I used to love having the cameras follow me around in public, but I’m starting to see all the things I’ve been missing because of them. If I were a normal girl, my boyfriend could come with me and we’d shop and it’d be a fun day involving kissing on top of different beds in the Crate and Barrel bedroom displays. Instead, I have a handful of employees from a major corporation and a professional interior decorator. 

Kim’s waiting for me right inside the door. She’s one of those people that you can’t stop looking at, she’s so gorgeous. She’s got this whole Halle Berry thing going on and, even though she’s only wearing jeans and a T-shirt, she’s red carpet ready. I knew I should have spent more time in front of the mirror this morning. My Juicy Couture track suit is not cutting it. 

“Lexie!” Kim squeals.  

She opens her arms for a hug and I go in for it, even though I barely know her, then she links arms with me and steers me upstairs, where a cameraman is already waiting to get us coming up. 

“Okay, tell me your vision for the apartment,” she says. 

We talk about old Hollywood glamour and funky elegance and comfort. As we go through the displays I think:

This is the couch Benny and I will sit on when we binge watch Buffy for the millionth time.

This is the bed I’ll sleep in with Liam. 

It’s strange, building this new life. I feel like this apartment is more than just a place to live. I want it to reflect the Lexie who’s been growing through the cracks in the sidewalk. Like she’s sneaking through the old Lexie, pushing up through the broken places. I kinda like her. 

I find myself gravitating away from bling. I don’t want shiny silver or sequins, I want nice, smooth wood, stone, that sort of thing. Instead of the chic couches Kim suggests, I point out the ones that already looked lived-in and cosy. 

“So I’m guessing you don’t want the chandelier?” she says, pointing at a pink crystal light fixture above us. 

I’m about to say no, when I change my mind. A girl needs some sparkle in her life. 

Later, in the kitchen section, I grab a weird cucumber-shaped contraption and hold it up. “What is this, a sex toy?”

“Ouch,” Kim says and then we both laugh for real because, seriously, what is this thing for?

About halfway through, Ellen motions for the cameras to stop shooting and she hands each of us a script. I scan the lines—a heart to heart between Kim and I about Liam. 

I snort as I see one of my lines near the end. It’s like a love I’ve never known. I turn to Ellen and hold up the script. “This is the worst.”

She shrugs. “Listen, we need to get the focus off of you and Jax,” she says in a low voice. “By talking about how in love you are with Liam, you redirect the viewers.”

They give us about fifteen minutes to review the script. It’s more personal than I’m comfortable with, but now that everything about Liam and I is out, it’d probably be weird that I avoid talking about him ever. I mean, he’s already not on the show. 

We head over to the bathroom section and as Kim and look at towels and shower curtains we say our lines. I hate bringing Liam into this world, but ever since we’ve been officially together, he’s in it whether he likes it or not. 

“So you should definitely get some extra towels,” Kim is saying. “You know, in case a certain someone sleeps over.”

I try to laugh a little. I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say, so I just wing it. “Oh, you mean my brother’s boyfriend?”

I don’t remember until after I say that that they broke up. 

“Look at you being coy,” she says. 

I can see the script in my head as she asks me question after question about Liam. We move onto the next aisle, where there’s a bedroom display. 

“If you want to go a little feng shui, I recommend red tones for the bedroom,” Kim is saying. “Red symbolizes passion. But don’t put it anywhere else in the house because it can also invite anger. It can be really bad for relationships—whether that’s Liam or your brother.”

We go on like that for a while. When we finish the script, Stacy, the new PA, comes up to Kim and I with some pillows. 

“Ellen thinks you guys should have a pillow fight in one of the bedroom displays?” she says, pointing to one of the perfectly made Crate and Barrel beds. 

I can already see this playing out in the episode. The cameras will cut from us to the employees, who will have no idea what to do. There might be serious or goofy music, depending on what tone Ellen’s going for. 

“I’m game if you are,” Kim says, grabbing a pillow. 

I suddenly feel super old, even though she’s the one who’s older than me. Kim’s new to reality TV—she’s got stars in her eyes. I’ve been doing this my whole life and, as of right now, I’m over it. If I could, I’d quit this minute and walk out that door. It’s the sad, creeping up on me. My old friend.

I grab the pillow and grin. “You’re on.”

She gets the first hit in and then we’re off, shrieking as we knock into crap, breaking things. It feels good to let loose and, for a second, I forget we’re being filmed. We collapse onto the bed, laughing and Ellen calls, “Cut!”

I see her turn to a pissed-off looking manager-type. “We’ll pay for anything that’s broken,” she says. 

For a minute, I stop breathing. I know she’s talking about the clock and the vase on the ground, but—for just a second—it’s as though she’s talking about me. We’ll pay for anything that’s broken. 

But you can’t pay off the past. No amount is high enough. 

My phone rings and I head toward one of the kitchen displays to take it—it’s Cathy, my lawyer. 

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” she says. “Which do you want first?” “Bad,” I say. I like to get things over with. 

“They’ve moved your court date with Jeremy to Friday,” she says. 

“Wait—this Friday? As in, two days from now?”

“Correct.”

“What’s the good news?” I ask.

“That we’re going to kick that molester’s ass.”

[lexiebakerproject]

Season 19, Episode 20 (The One With The Lawyers)

***If you’re just starting Lexie, or wish to go to a different episode, head on over here. 

So my brother is no longer in a coma. He also no longer has a boyfriend.

“I mean, I get it,” he says. “I obviously have a serious problem. I almost fucking died—biggest wake-up call ever. I told him I was going back to rehab. What else can I do?”

I have to admit, it seemed like Benny nearly dying and being in a coma would have changed Matt’s mind, but he’s adamant: he won’t be with Benny until Benny’s been sober a good long time.

I squeeze his hand. “All you can do is focus on getting better, Bens.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

We’re on the Santa Monica Pier, looking out over the ocean, and the happy, fun atmosphere doesn’t really go with our vibe: it’s like wearing navy blue and black. Just, no. The famous Ferris wheel is going round and round, bright lights against the sunset sky. I feel like that inside: everything’s spinning and I don’t know when it will stop.

Benny sighs and leans heavily against the railing. It’s only been a week since he woke up and he’s still pale and exhausted. I slide my hand around his waist and his head falls to my shoulder. He shudders, but there are no more tears: he’s cried out.

After a few minutes, he straightens up. “Okay, enough about me. What are you gonna do about that fucker I could kill with my bare hands?” Meaning Him—Jeremy.

Benny’s only known for a couple of days. When everything was going down with Jeremy in the driveway, he was taking the cold shower my mom had forced him into, fully clothed. Then he was sneaking out of the house and stealing her car. I’ll never forget the look on Benny’s face when I told him what had happened to me. I didn’t know you could see someone shatter right in front of you.  

“Well,” I say, “I have a meeting with MetaReel corporate tomorrow—all the lawyers present, et cetera. Who knew I’d be following in your and Chloe’s footsteps?”

Just like my brother and sister, I now have my very own lawyer. I’d feel fancy if it were for any other reason. Her name’s Cathy and she says I need to sue MetaReel and push for criminal charges against Jeremy. The problem about suing MetaReel is that they’re producing my show. And they have really good lawyers.

Benny takes my hand as we start walking back to the car. “What are you gonna do?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I mean, I have to press charges against…him.” I frown. I promised myself that I would say his name out loud whenever I could because saying his name gives him less power. You know, like the whole Voldemort thing. “Against Jeremy,” I say firmly. “But MetaReel…”

I don’t want to lose my show. I think. I’m actually a little confused on that front. It feels less and less important these days. Before, it was all that mattered. But almost losing Benny woke me up. There is so much more to life than being in front of a camera. I never really believed that before.

“Girl, you have to sue them,” Benny says. “At least to make sure they thoroughly check the people they hire. MetaReel produces at least five shows with kids on them. Statistically, it’s totally possible there are other creepers on their shows.”

“I know,” I say. “I do. I just…fuck. You know? Doing this show was supposed to change my life in a good way and now everything’s all messed up and I just have no idea what to do. I don’t think I’m, like, emotionally equipped to deal with this.”

I can’t believe I have to deal with Jax being fired and our affair being public on top of it all. The tabloids have been having a freaking field day with all of that.   “But you are emotionally equipped to deal with a certain director we both know,” he says. “What is it with my sisters falling in love with my best friends?”

“You have good taste,” I say.

“That I do,” he agrees.  

Liam is pretty much the best thing that’s come out of me living in LA. He even handled that horrible article in Stargazer really well.

“That explains a lot,” he says. “Like…that day at the beach.”

I nod, ashamed. “It’s just…he’s Jax Wilson, you know? And my producer, and I’d had a crush on him for forever. It was…flattering. And so cliché.”

Liam smiles, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. “Lex, you’re anything but a cliché.”

“It’s over, isn’t it?” I say softly. It’s amazing how many times your heart can break.

“What? No. You weren’t with him once we got together, were you?”

“No! I’ve never cheated on anyone in my life,” I say. But maybe that’s not true—I helped Jax cheat on his fiancé, didn’t I?

Liam slides his fingers through the loops on the waist of my jeans and pulls me closer. “Then why are we still talking about this?”

And that’s the last we say about any of it.

We drive back to my place and pretend Benny’s not going to rehab tomorrow and I’m not going to hang out with a bunch of suits who want to sweep the worst thing that’s ever happened to me under the rug. The best way to do this? We help Noelle with her next video.

Today she’s looking fabulous in a vintage red gown, her matching auburn hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She’s rigged up a transparent white curtain that’s backlit so it looks like she’s on a real Oscar stage. It’s pretty impressive.  

Benny whistles. “If I weren’t gay, I’d be all over that,” he says, gesturing to Noe. “Best compliment ever.” She turns to me. “So, Miss Producer Lady, what do you say about filming for me?”

“Yes, please.” I kinda like being called Miss Producer Lady.  

We make sure the lighting and camera are good to go and I help with some last-minute make-up.

“What’s this one about?” I ask.

“It’s dedicated to you, actually,” she says. “It’s all about Hollywood’s fucked-up body image issues.”

“Nice!” I say.

I get behind the camera and she gets in front of it. I turn around and give Benny my serious face.

“Don’t make a sound or she’ll have to start over—keep the laughs inside.” He places a hand over his heart. “I promise to be as quiet as our mother when confronted about her terrible child-rearing practices.”

“Good enough.” I place one hand on the record button, one on the tripod. “And…action.”

Noelle’s face breaks into a huge smile and she holds up her Oscar. “Yay. As. Fuck.” She raises her hand and pretends to quiet a wildly applauding audience. “I’ll be honest, I knew I was gonna get this.” She points to the right of the camera. “No thanks to you bitches, though. Seriously—those were some amazing performances.”

She sets down the Oscar and lifts up her skirt, taking out a huge roll of paper secured to her leg with a garter. I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing as it practically rolls to the floor.

“There are several people I need to mention tonight that have helped to bring me to this stage, to this moment.” She pauses and gazes at her Oscar with longing. “To this little man who’s big in all the right places.” She turns back to her paper, frowns. “No thanks to the costume designers for this movie. For some reason, you seemed to think you were dressing a stick. I AM NOT A STICK. No thanks to Craft Services for making such delicious fucking food and then putting it in front of actresses who aren’t allowed to eat. No thanks to the camera, for throwing ten extra pounds on me every time I’m in front of you. No thanks to all the agents and casting directors who refused to represent or cast me because I was above a size zero.” She looks up, grins. “Some of you are here tonight. I bet if you start casting girls who look like real human beings, you might actually end up doing yourself a favor.”

She holds up the Oscar. “I rest my case. No thanks to the skinny bitches who continue to flaunt their heroin chic, which drives down the sizes of every pair of jeans that is made anywhere in the world. What was that? Size zero is too big for you? SHUT THE FUCK UP. No thanks to the clothing designers who make clothing that doesn’t cover a real woman’s body. Convenient, isn’t it, that most of you are men who don’t have to wear skinny jeans, bikinis, and form fitting tank tops. No thanks to all my gay guy friends who look better in my clothes than I do. No thanks to Ben and Jerry. You know why.” She pauses and I realize it’s for the Oscar get-the-hell-off-the-stage-music that’s going to start playing over her speech once she edits this together. “I’m not getting off this stage until I’m done!” She’s shouting now. “No thanks to every guy or girl who dumped me or dissed me because I don’t look like Kate Fucking Moss.” She holds up the Oscar. “This is the only lover I’ll ever need. No thank you. I hate you all!”

I stop recording and Benny and I cackle as Noe takes a bow.

“Oh my god, if only a real Oscar winner would say all that,” I gasp.

“Right? I just got a call from my agent this morning telling me I lost another job because I’m too fat.”

“That is bullshit, like, in the first degree,” Benny says.

“You’re not fat,” I say. “You’re voluptuous. And that is way hot.”

There’s a knock at the door and when I open it, Liam’s standing on my porch. Before he can get a word out, I throw my arms around him and kiss him like I haven’t just seen him this morning.  

“I missed you, too,” he says, when I finally pull away. Dark circles are under his eyes—he was up until three editing his thesis.

Benny pokes his head in the doorway. “You.” He points at Liam. “I’m in a coma for a measly four weeks and you start sleeping with my sister,” he says with mock disappointment.

“But totally respectfully,” Liam says.

I laugh. “How do you respectfully sleep with someone?”

Benny holds up his hands. “How about you two have this conversation when I’m not around?”

I let go of Liam and he and Benny share a pretty adorable man hug. This kind of thing happens more often now. I don’t think any of us will get over what happened to Bens.  

“What’s on the schedule for today?” Bens asks.

“I wanted some one-on-ones for the documentary,” he says. “You want in?”

“Do I get to talk shit about MetaReel?” Benny asks.

Liam glances at me and I nod.

Benny grins “Then I’m in.”

***

My lawyer is kind of hot.

Cathy Denison is supposed to be one of the best, and from her amazing suit and super cute pixie cut, it’s clear she at least plays the part really well. Thank God, because I so don’t know how to be a hardass when I’m at a table with ten lawyers and two producers, one of whom is Gerri Thatcher, Jax’s former fiancé and heir to the MetaReel fortune.

“My client wants justice first and foremost,” Cathy is saying. She leans over the table and fixes each person around it with a don’t-fuck-with-me look. I need to add that one to my repertoire.

“And we have no desire to stand in her way,” Gerri says, with a flip of her light brown hair. I have to admit, she’s pretty gorgeous. Definite Jax Wilson material. “But you have to acknowledge that we’d have to cancel The Lexie Project if Ms. Baker plans to sue the company.” She leans forward, directing the rest of what she has to say to me. “And we’re already considering that, anyway, in light of the inappropriate behavior with her producer.”

Cathy shakes her head. “That would be a huge mistake. Not just from a legal standpoint, but from a PR perspective. How do you think that’s going to look for MetaReel—taking away the livelihood of a woman who was molested at nine years old by one of your cameramen? And, I might add, seduced by an older producer?”

Damn. When she puts it that way…

The group shifts and coughs, uncomfortable. Score one for my badass lady lawyer who, I’ve now decided, is worth every penny I’m paying her out of my savings account (which is getting smaller by the day).

Ellen, the only person from Lexie Project here other than me, catches my eye. She’d warned me about Jax and I’d been too stupid to listen. I just shake my head.  

“What is it, exactly, that you want?” a lawyer with wavy gray hair and a mustache says. He’s looking at me, not Cathy. I know Cathy’s supposed to be the only one of us talking in here, but I can’t resist.

“I want to make sure this doesn’t happen to other kids,” I say.

The man folds his hands, nods. “So does MetaReel. It’s our top priority right now. We’ve already begun drawing up a comprehensive screening process and are currently running background checks on all of our crew, as well as providing all of our cast members with therapy sessions aimed at making sure nothing like this is happening.”

That is good, but Cathy already told me they’d say that.

“My client is still pursuing a suit—we’re very firm on that point,” Cathy says.

Even though most crimes can’t be prosecuted if they happened a long time ago, legal exceptions can be made in the case of childhood abuse. So I’m allowed to sue Jeremy even though it’s been ten years. Then, of course, there’s the on-tape confession. Cathy says Jeremy should be behind bars for a good amount of time and MetaReel will have to pay some serious damages. I don’t want their money—I want this to have never have happened.

“But why?” Gerri says. “We’re willing to settle out of court—” She turns to me. “Name your price, Lexie. I practically have a blank check.”

I shake my head. “It’s not about the money, Gerri.”

“You see,” Cathy says, “we know that companies only really change their practices when everything is out in the open with the public. Chloe and Benton Baker’s lawsuit is proof that these sorts of suits are most effective when settled within the confines of a court of law.”

It goes on like this, back and forth and back and forth. Afterwards, I’m halfway to my car when someone calls my name: Jax. I’m surprised he’s on MetaReel property—maybe he snuck in.

He looks terrible. His hair is greasy and needs a cut, his normally impeccable clothes wrinkled. I’m pretty sure there’s a faint whiff of gin on him, too. It feels good not to have butterflies in my stomach anymore when I see him. I can’t believe I’d fallen for someone so shallow, so a part of the Hollywood soul killing machine. It makes me think of that quote in my Marilyn book: Hollywood is a place where they’ll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss  and fifty cents for your soul. So, so true.

“Jax, you know we can’t talk about it,” I say, turning back to the car.

We’re alone in the parking structure, but someone could come at any second and being seen together wouldn’t be good for either of us.

“I know,” he says. “But I don’t care. Lex, I’ve lost everything—my job, Gerri. You have to help me.”

I sigh and turn around. “How can I possibly help you? Everything they’re saying is true.”

“But there’s no proof,” he says. “Just deny it.”

I shake my head. “I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not. We did have an affair. It was wrong and now we’re both paying for it.”

I turn to go, but Jax grabs my hand. I shake him off and he laughs, harsh. “Gerri knew the whole time,” he says. “In fact, it was her idea—me and you.”

I go still. “What?”

But that doesn’t make any sense. She broke up with him as soon as that story came out in Stargazer.

“We can’t tell anyone that, of course,” he says. “But she’s smart. She knew that I could control you better if you thought I cared about you. Why do you think I got away with tipping the press off about your abortion?” He smiles. “You were so easy. So quick to believe me when I said I had to get ahead of the story.” He runs a finger down my arm and I jerk away. “That night in my office—you didn’t even make me work for it. Such a lovely little slut.”

For one second his words hurt like hell. Like hitting your funny bone or stubbing your toe. Then the pain’s gone. I think a part of me always knew he didn’t really care, that he was only producing me—getting me to do what he wanted and then spinning it to make it look real.

“Well this lovely little slut still has her job,” I say. I give him a smug smile as I unlock my car. “Sucks not to hold all the cards, doesn’t it?”

He stares after me as I get inside and drive away. He’s still there when I turn onto Sunset. I don’t cry on the way home. I blast my Get Happy mix instead, starting with Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off. By the time I park in front of my apartment, Jax Wilson is no longer one of the most important people in my life: he’s just a bad taste in my mouth.

Liam’s waiting for me on the steps outside, sitting beside two black canvas bags of equipment.

“How’d it go?” he asks, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

“Oh, you know…there were some serious fashion emergencies in that room.”

He laughs. “I love that you noticed that.”

My phone rings and I answer it as we make our way inside. It’s Cass, PR lady extraordinaire. She’s been spending the past month dealing with all the craziness in my life, fielding phone calls from the press, setting up interviews, that sort of thing. I hardly see her anymore.  

“A big opportunity just came up, Lexie. I mean B-I-G. Big.”

“Okay…”

“Kaye Gibbons’ people just called—she wants to do a live interview with you and Jeremy during prime time.”

“What?” I stop and Liam looks over at me, concerned.  

“I know, right? I guess his lawyers are totally against it, but he really wants to apologize to you in person.”

“No,” I say right away. Panic claws its way up my throat. I can’t see him again, I can’t. “First, Kaye Gibbons outed my brother on national television. There is no way in hell I’m giving her show publicity like this.”

“Kaye Gibbons wants you on the show?” Liam asks.

I cover my cell’s mouthpiece. “Yeah, with Jeremy.”

Liam goes pale. “No. Don’t do it.”

“Hello?” Cass says. “Lexie?”

“Sorry, Cass. Look, I can’t do it. I don’t want to help her or him. If he’s trying to make people feel fucking sorry for him or…I don’t even know why he’d do this.”

“Lexie,” Cass says, slowing down. “I really think you should do this. It could be good for you to talk this out. You’d have some closure and it will be great publicity for your show.”

She doesn’t get it. None of these Hollywood people do. They think all that matters is the three seconds the world will care about me. Next year? No one will even remember this happened. I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life. And closure? What the hell does she know about what I’m going through? I’m tired of MetaReel people pretending they know me, know what’s best for me. Pretending they give a damn.

“You tell Kaye no,” I say.

I hang up, but five minutes later she calls back.

“Okay,” Cass says, “this one’ll be hard for you to turn down. Kaye says it’ll be a live interview with you, no Jeremy, and nothing is off-limits for you to say.” “Does that mean I can confront her about what she did to Benny?” I say.

“No-limits means no-limits, right?” Cass says.

I don’t need to do this—of course I don’t. But the producer in me knows that it’s an important part of telling my story. Not because it will get me attention, but because all the girls (and boys) that have been emailing me need to see me be strong. For me. For them.

I hold my hand over the mouthpiece again and tell Liam what Kaye’s new offer is.

“But Kaye’s the worst,” he says.

I sigh. He’s right. But she’s also the biggest thing on TV since Oprah Winfrey. “Okay,” I say to Cass. “I’ll do it—on one condition.”

“Yes…”

“Instead of MetaReel cameras in there, I want my…producing partner…to be cleared to film backstage.”

Liam grins and gives me a thumbs up.

“I don’t know, Lexie,” Cass says. “MetaReel is going to want access for your show…”

“They can film me until I walk into the building, but that’s it. Or I don’t do the interview.”

“You are such a badass,” Liam says after I hang up. “Are you sure you’re up for an interview with her?”

I nod. “She won’t know what hit her.”

[lexiebakerproject]

Season 19, Episode 3 (The One With Noelle Non Merci)

**To read the beginning of Lexie or go to a different episode, head over to this page.

I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. 

The papers are right: bitch, slut, tease.

Was this why Jax wanted to do the show? He knew I was easy, he knew how quick I was to give it up to Seth. He knows I like to wear short skirts. 

I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. 

He has a fiancé. You don’t do this to other women, you don’t sleep with their guys. Except I do. I just violated one of the most important rules of the female sisterhood. And the worst part is that I know if Jax pulls me into another office on another night, I won’t have the strength to say no. I won’t want to say no.

As soon as the Escalade stops in front of my apartment building, I jump out, mumble goodnight, slam the door. The paparazzi are already waiting, and I keep my head down, ignore them. I never do that, but I’m too rattled. I’m afraid they’ll see it. Just like Ryan did. I know my cameraman noticed my messy hair, my smeared lipstick—I could tell he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything, but of course he wouldn’t. That would have been totally unprofessional.

I push through the gated door that leads into my apartment building. It’s one of those apartments you only really see in LA. All the doors open onto a shabby central courtyard that’s usually taken over by smokers and the few kids forced to live here. It has some dead plants, a fountain that doesn’t work, and a cluster of limp palm trees that push up to the sky. It’s loud, but just LA loud: sirens, the occasional helicopter, the thumping music of cars driving by. Sometimes I can hear the couple across the courtyard from my apartment shouting at each other. Sometimes the stoners downstairs have parties that seem to last for days. A couple of Scientologists live next to me and they keep inviting me to workshops led by casting directors, but my roommate always convinces me not to go. Apparently, that’s how they recruit. Look, if becoming a Scientologist will let me hang out with huge movie stars and maybe become one some day, I’m not ruling it out. 

I live in the area of town known as Culver City, but in the not-so-great part. The great part has a nice hotel and cute boutiques and cafes. Sony Studios is there, too, and I like to drive by and imagine that someday I’ll be on one of their sound stages, filming opposite Leonardo DiCaprio. My area of Culver City is close to the freeway: I can hear it all night, like ocean waves with fumes. I’m pretty sure the end of my street is a hot-spot for drug dealers. I once found a needle under a bush when I was walking Fred Astaire. As soon as I get my first Lexie paycheck, I’m gonna move to Santa Monica. I’ll pay the extra rent so Noelle, my roommate, can come too. After growing up with twelve other kids, there is nothing more terrifying to me than an empty, quiet house. 

I slip off my shoes before I head up the stairs and along the second-floor balcony. I can hear Chloe’s voice: So, what, you paid eight-hundred dollars for some French dude to give you blisters? She so doesn’t get it. These shoes, I’ll pass them down to my daughter someday. Unless I can only think of them as the shoes I wore when I helped Jax Wilson cheat on his fiancé. I am a horrible person. Before I reach my door, an email pops up on my phone.

Elephants! Your Twin! Food Poisoning! Chloe Baker to me 1 min ago

Hey, Lex-

Oh my god, I love India. It’s amazing! You would totally hate it, but Patrick and I are having a blast—except for the part where we both got food poisoning. That wasn’t so sexy (you try miming “diarrhea” to an Indian pharmacist in Calcutta). I attached a picture of us riding an elephant. And yes, Patrick is absolutely wearing a pink fedora. Don’t ask. 

So…what’s the deal with Benny? He hasn’t been returning my emails. Is he okay? I’m worried about him. I’m sorry that I keep bugging you about it, but I just have no idea what’s going on and I’m so far away. Are he and Matt fighting? I know football season was hard. He’s not drinking too much, is he? You know how he gets when he’s stressed. 

Anyway, coming home by mid-July so Patrick can pack up for our apt. in NYC. We just put down our first and last month’s rent. It’s in this area called Morningside Heights, really close to Columbia. Okay, but: I need your advice. (Seriously, I do. I can see the look on your face right now from all the way over here in Rajasthan, but I really do want to know what you think). When Patrick starts school, I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do. I was wondering if I should enroll somewhere in NYC or not bother with school for a while but then what do I do with myself all day? Plus, at night Patrick will be studying. Architecture is an intense program and he’ll be super busy. I mean, I’m filthy rich now (re: MetaReel suit—too bad you and the other sibs didn’t get in on that sweet controversial action), but I can’t just sit around coffeehouses all day while Patrick’s busting his ass in school. Also, that would be totally lame. He’d probably fall out of love with me and then I really will become a cat lady and the only way anyone will know I’m dead is that a neighbor will call the landlord about the smell. Oh oracle, oh goddess, oh sister of mine: WTF DO I DO??? I wish I could be like you and Benny—it seems like it was so easy for you guys to move on with adult life. You have, you know, those little things called DREAMS. All I want to do is make out with my boyfriend and drink mochas and travel until I die.

When you see all the kiddos can you give them a kiss and tell them I saw a real snake charmer and a camel fair where they had a mustache contest? I’ll come bearing gifts. I got the girls a million bangles and some daggers for the boys (Mom’s gonna hate me for that, but she already hates me, so whatever). Even found something for a certain sister of mine… Ack! I have to get off the computer—there are a million people waiting in this Internet cafe which, by the way, smells like old man shoes. Don’t have sex with any sleazy Hollywood boys. Patrick says hi, btw. 

--C

Don’t have sex with any sleazy Hollywood boys. Well. I sort of miss my sister, which is still strange. I hated her for so long and now it’s like we finally kinda get each other. Need each other. So weird. I lean against the wall and email her back.

Re: Elephants! Your Twin! Food Poisoning! Lexie Baker to Chloe Baker

Dear Chloe / Bonnie™ / Patrick’s Sex Slave,

Better you than me in India. You were kinda right about the Louboutins. They hurt like a bitch. Oh well. By the way, you won some awards. Aren’t you SO EXCITED?? (Can you hear my sarcasm all the way from LA?). So, apparently you’re the Queen of Reality (ha! LMFAO) and you and Bens won for Shocking Moment (bet you can guess what that was—they showed the part where you guys walked in to the panel at the convention—classic). Guess who I saw in Starbucks yesterday? JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE. LA is so crazy, I swear, there are famous people oozing out of the sidewalk. Trying to get an audition for the new Scorsese movie, but my manager hasn’t made it happen yet. I’m going to my first acting class tomorrow. My roomie’s in it and she says the teacher rocks. Gotta get ready for my future Oscar role, right? 

Benny’s fine, stop freaking out. He and Matt are good, too. Remember, they’re getting that apt. together for the summer? They’re practically married. I think Bens is just feeling kind of left out a bit—you know, the whole USC football world is intense. Hot guys, though. 

Patrick looks ridiculous in that picture, btw. I don’t know what you see in him. And, for the record: making out with your boyfriend and drinking mochas and traveling until you die are totally dreams. I would say you should host a travel show but you’re you and that will never happen. Open a travel agency! Oh, wait, do people even use those? We’ll brainstorm when you get back. It’s only six weeks away, yeah? Are you guys flying into LA? I’d pick you up, but the cameras will come. Benny and Matt will be your chauffeurs, though. I bet Bens would even wear a chauffeur’s hat. Ha! P.S. I hope you’re not serious about the food poisoning thing because if you are, Patrick will never have sex with you again. Were you trading off using the bathroom in your hotel room? Omg, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.

P.P.S. You ARE having sex, right? Because if you’re still a virgin after traveling alone for a whole year, I would question your sexuality. Or his. Which is fine but a girl’s gotta get laid.

P.P.P.S. Don’t get pregnant.

—xxL

I look at the picture again. Chloe has this crazy-happy smile on her face and Patrick’s sitting behind her, his arms around her waist, his lips against her hair. They are so disgustingly in love. 

God. Am I crying? I don’t know what’s going on with me. I’m probably gonna start my  period, I’m sure that’s all it is. I mean, it’s just a picture, right? I want you…Tell me you want me too…

I need to take a shower. I wish I could give my soul a shower. Why the hell do I always pull this shit?

I look at the picture of Chloe and Patrick again and—ugghh—the tears come faster and harder now. Patrick looks at Chloe like she’s the sun. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s so not my type (he’s got this whole greasy thrift store thing going on—ewww), but he would do just about anything for her and that counts for more than guys with perfect suits and hair cuts that cost six-hundred dollars. I’ll never forget the way he had Chloe’s back that day when MetaReel surprised us with the cruise. I half wondered if he was going to kick Chuck’s ass. 

Now that would have been TV gold.

I wipe my eyes, shake out my hair, try to smile. It’s not that I have to fake things with Noelle, it’s just I can’t talk about Jax or Seth or any of it. Not right now.   The front door’s unlocked and I push it open, then set down my shoes and clutch. I hear jangling and then Fred Astaire is jumping all over me. I scoop him up and nuzzle him and talk baby talk. His little collar has a heart on it that says KILLER. I found it at this pet store on Melrose and had to buy it. Cracks me up all the time.

“Hey, honeybuns!” Noelle calls.

“Hello, sweetface!” I call back. 

  Explanation: we have this inside joke that is so inside I don’t even remember how it started, but basically we call each other every goofy term of endearment we can think of whenever we answer our phones or come home or write each other emails. Her boyfriend doesn’t even try to match us. He just calls her Noe or Baby and that suits Noelle just fine. 

I go into the living room with Fred. Noelle is positioning her camera so that she can better film tonight’s video. Yes, this is the Noelle Non Merci of No Thanks To YouTube fame. If you haven’t seen her videos, you’re seriously missing out. She’s hilarious. Right now, she’s wearing a gorgeous floor-length green sequin gown and fake bling dangling from her ears. Her red hair is curled and gorgeous—she seriously looks like an old-school movie star, or maybe Lucille Ball. But then Noe opens her mouth and says her signature phrase “yay as fuck” and the whole classic movie star image goes right out the window. 

“Hot,” I say, taking her in. Girl looks like she robbed a Saks Fifth Avenue.

“You like?” She puts on her mother’s thick Russian accent. She poses and I laugh. 

“That dress would have killed on the carpet tonight.”

“Dude, I’m sweating like a motherfucker. Can you tuck in these tags so they don’t show?”

“Which store did you ‘borrow’ your costume from this time?” I ask as I help her hide the tags.

“Nordstrom, baby. The prom dresses are still out.”

I look at the tag. “Girls pay five-hundred bucks for prom dresses now?”

“It’s LA.” 

And that’s actually explanation enough.

“Gotta love that return policy,” I say. 

Noelle never keeps the dresses she buys. She does a ton of videos and she has to look totally different for her bit to work. I met her at the Young People In Media event in San Diego last year. We were at the same table and right away we had this connection that was like whoosh—she made me laugh until I cried, cursed like a sailor, and just did not give a shit about what anyone thought of her. The first thing she said to me was: “Dude, Spanx are the greatest invention ever. Am I right?” We’ve been best friends ever since. 

We’re kinda like Taylor Swift and Karlie Kloss except not as rich and famous. Also: she’s literally the first real friend I’ve ever had. I didn’t know how awesome it was to have friends. I thought I didn’t need them. 

Our apartment is nothing to write home about, but I love it—mostly because Noelle and Fred Astaire are here. We have a poster of Marilyn in her flying white dress on one wall and one of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast At Tiffany’s. There’s a Clueless poster—our favorite movie, another thing we bonded on—and a vintage Gone With The Wind poster. And a Mean Girls one because, duh. Clearly, two actresses live here. Most of our furniture is from Ikea. We have a whole wall that we’ve pinned with dried bouquets of flowers that we’ve both saved from all the plays we did in high school.

Noelle looks at me for a long moment. “Okay, what happened?”

My eyes instantly well up and I shake my head. “I seriously can’t even right now. I just want a distraction.”

She frowns, then sighs, then says “okay” in a way that kind of sounds like we’re in Fargo because she’s from Minnesota. Oh-key-ae. 

“You want to help me out with this one?” she asks, pointing to the camera.

“Yes. Make me laugh my ass off, please.” I put Fred on the red ottoman he loves and make my way over to her camera, which is sitting on a tripod.   I turn the camera on and it’s kind of cool, being behind it for once. “Alright,” I say, “ready when you are.”

“Zoom in tight on my face for the reaction shot,” she says as she picks up the fake Oscar she had engraved with the words 

NOELLE NON MERCI BEST ACTRESS

I place my finger on the zoom button, and get close, but not too close because pores etc. She’s just standing in front of a white wall, nothing fancy—that’s kind of the point. She wants it to look homemade. We don’t have any furniture around it so that she can do her videos whenever, so the camera is pretty much always set up. Benny says it looks like we film pornos in here. 

“Three,” I say, “two—” Then I hold up my index finger for one just like Chuck and the other producers do for Baker’s Dozen. I feel sort of like a badass, like I’m playing the part of Director or something. 

Noelle looks up and, suddenly, she’s not Noelle anymore. Or she’s Noelle times ten. She’s just realized she’s won the Oscar for Best Actress. I zoom in and she immediately starts sobbing. I mean real tears, mascara running, the works. When she edits this, she’ll put orchestral Oscar-sounding music on over this part. She covers her mouth, shaking, looks around her, dazed, then slowly stands up and I pull back as she walks forward. Now we see the Oscar in her hand.

“Oh my gosh,” she says in a perfect imitation of a breathless, overwhelmed star. “This is so unexpected. I mean, such an incredible honor. I’ve been dreaming about this ever since I was a little girl.” She pulls a piece of notebook paper out of her elbow-length black glove and holds it up. “First, I’d like to not thank…my parents, who never failed to remind me that I would never make it in Hollywood. You instilled in me the strong, rebellious spirit that epitomizes my role as a drunken prostitute on the lam. Without your lack of support, I never would have known what it’s like to go to bed hungry or to wake up every morning feeling like a worthless piece of shit. So thank you, Mom and Dad, for always telling me that I’d become nothing more than a titty dancer. Because I really think it was the scene where Leona has no choice but to be a professional stripper that brought me here tonight.”

She goes on in this vein for a bit and when she’s at fifty seconds, I do the wrap-up sign. She’ll put Oscar shut-the-hell-up music in here at the end of her video. She raises her voice above the music that her three million viewers will hear as they watch the video.

“I’m not finished!” she says, getting in the camera’s face. “I’d also like to not thank that acting teacher in the Valley—you know who you are, you super psycho jerk. Thank you for telling me that I should stick to waitressing, that being an actor was not in my cards. If it weren’t for you, if I hadn’t given up on my dream because you made me believe I was talentless, I never would have been working the lunch shift that brought my amazing director, Steven Spielberg, into my life. It was there, wearing nothing but a dirty apron and an ugly form-fitting uniform that he saw the broken prostitute he’d been searching for.”

“So yay! Yay as fuck!” She holds up the Oscar like it’s a gold medal. “No thank you! I hate you all!”

When Noe steps away from the camera, I burst out laughing. “I was trying not to pee my pants!”

She grins her take that, haters grin. “Dude, that was so much fun.”

This is her thing, dressing up and getting on her soapbox via Oscar speeches. Last week, she didn’t thank the people at Target because they make her broke. I mean, what the fuck, can’t you make less shit that’s cool? You, Target, are a menace to society and it’s because of you that sometimes all I can afford to eat is Top Ramen because I have to freaking pay off my Target card which you totally convinced me to apply for, knowing I was desperate for that ten percent discount. So. Not. Cool. 

Yes, all her videos are like that.

“I am so jealous of how freaking awesome you are at crying on cue,” I say. I really need to up my acting chops. For reals. I can’t wait to start taking classes. “I just think about how my father molested me when I was a kid,” she says, shrugging. 

My heart stops. Like, stops. “Are you serious?”

She throws her head back, cackling. “No, but it kills in all my method classes.” I slap her arm. “That’s dark. And messed up. I totally believed you.”

She nods, satisfied. “I know, right?” 

My phone buzzes—Benny again. This time, he sends me a bleary-eyed selfie. I hold it up for Noe to see. “My twin is in serious danger of becoming a douchebag,” I say. “I have to go save him from himself.”

“It’s totally unfair to all womenkind that he’s gay.” Noe pulls out the silicone fake boobs she wears for her videos. She throws them on the armchair, where they lay there like breast-shaped jellyfish.  

“Like you really care,” I say, then point to the photo of her kissing her boyfriend that’s stuck to the fridge with a Betty Boop magnet. “May I present Exhibit A?” Seriously, why is everyone in my life in a loving relationship? Not that I care, it’s just, you know, obnoxious. Chloe, Benny, Noelle—they’re all like old married people already.  

“Well obviously Erik and I are totally going to help repopulate the world after the zombie apocalypse,” Noe says. “Unless I go back to Lyssa. Then we’d maybe need your brother to donate some of his baby makers.”

Oh, right, you should know that Noelle’s bi. She and Lyssa broke up six months ago and, seriously, good riddance. Lyssa was a circus performer and she cheated on Noe about ten times.

Not like I can judge.

I am a horrible person.

“Benny would probably be happy to donate,” I said. “Except we need to change the subject because ewwww, I can’t think about what he’d need to do to donate.”

She laughs. “Yeah, you thinking about it is just wrong.”

“Also: you are not allowed to go back to Lyssa,” I say. “Need I remind you of The Birthday Party Incident?”

Short story: Noe and I caught Lyssa and another girl making out in the bathroom of the restaurant we’d booked to celebrate Noelle’s twentieth birthday. I vividly recall throwing the soap bottle on the counter at them.

“I, for one, am glad I’m not in a relationship. I’m free as a bird,” I say. “The absolute last thing I want is a boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh, surrrrrre…” Noelle says. 

I roll my eyes, then head into my bedroom. Boys are a bit of a sore subject right now. I have to say, I’ve got decorating skills. After I moved, I went to the Santa Monica Promenade and bought everything I liked. I have deep rose-colored velvet curtains, a paisley comforter in pinks and greens, and this old-school vanity with lights all around the mirror. I walk in here and I feel like a movie star. Fake it ’til you make it, right? 

I take a quick look at my Twitter feed—nice. Gained fifty new followers with my red carpet appearance. Every time that number goes up, I feel warmer, better. I know they’re all strangers and each one of them will unfollow me the moment I’m off TV, but for now I matter. The key is to matter longer than ten seconds. I check my texts: not a thing from Jax. Not even a “Hey, it was nice boning you.” This is how it always is, why do I fall into this trap Every. Single. Time? Benny says I give it up too easy, that I don’t make guys work for it. The only one who lasted at all was Seth and you saw what became of that.  

I throw my phone on the bed and grab a pair of skinny jeans, a black sequined tank top, and a pair of ankle boots. I have zero interest in ever going to college, but I have to say, Benny and Matt throw some damn good parties. 

Honestly, though, the last thing I want to do is go out again. There isn’t time to take a shower and I can feel Jax all over me. And a sick, bad part of me likes having his sweat on my skin. 

I feel the post-party downer and normally this means it’s time to go to bed and cry myself to sleep, but I gotta watch my twin’s back. Last time he got drunk, he almost broke his entire body falling down a flight of stairs. 

I feel bad about lying to Chloe in the email I sent her, but there’s nothing she can do from India, and Bens will get pissed that I was tattling on him. He’s obviously avoiding her for some reason and I’m not getting in the middle of that drama. I am so over fights in the Baker clan.

“Wanna come hang out with college boys?” I ask Noe as I come back into the living room. 

“Nah. Eric and I are binge-watching Breaking Bad.”

I briefly imagine being curled up on the couch next to Jax watching TV. Yeah, right. When hell freezes over. I’m not the girl boys cuddle with. I’m the one they pull into the backseat, the alley, the bathroom at Denny’s at four a.m. 

I call Matt, Benny’s boyfriend, as I’m heading out the door. “How is he?” I say when Matt picks up.

“The usual, Lex,” he says, tired. “I could use a hand.”

“I’m on my way.”

It’s going to be a long night.