Famous by Association Page 12

  The headline that everyone found so entertaining was probably the darkest day of the other person’s life. And while it appeased their curiosity for a brief moment in time, it had likely stuck with the other person from that day forward. They could turn off the TV or put down the magazine, but for those who were part of the headline…they didn’t have the luxury of turning it off or putting it away.

  At least, that’s what it was like for my sister and me.

  11

  Tasha

  Ty had told me that I needed to act colder toward the women, so that was exactly what I did.

  “What do you think about this?” Jeannine asked, holding up a frilly top that I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.

  That also meant that Tiff would’ve probably loved it, so I stopped typing on my phone and offered a half-assed smile. “It’s not your color.”

  Honestly, I had no idea what her color was—or anyone’s, for that matter. But it sounded like something Tiff would say, so I went with it. Then I returned my attention to my phone and finished typing my text to Dave. It was all part of our master plan to deal with the ladies on set.

  I was out shopping with Jeannine, Lauren, and Serenity while the cameras followed us around. Really, it was just a way to get us together to gossip or start trouble; there wasn’t much shopping being done. In the last shop, Serenity took a bunch of clothes to the counter. The owner totaled it up—for the camera’s sake—and then pretended to charge Serenity’s card. Right now, the bag she had on her arm was filled with a sweater belonging to one of the producers, and a bunch of tissue paper to hide the fact that she didn’t actually buy anything.

  Whatever. It was free advertisement for the shop owner.

  So we were pretty much pretending to shop while talking about things the producers want us to talk about, all while acting like we hadn’t just been prompted to share stories that real friends would’ve already known. Like, what had happened after dinner the other night. If we were actually friends—or even liked each other—then someone would’ve called me as soon as they left the restaurant to spill the tea. Instead, viewers are expected to believe that rich women only gossip when in front of each other with the camera rolling.

  Anyone who believes that needs a serious reality check.

  “Oh, they have it in blue.” Jeannine lifted the top, which was identical as the other just in a different color, to her chest and waited for my opinion.

  Considering she and Tiffany knew each other prior to this show, I tried my best to avoid as much interaction with her as possible. If anyone knew enough to question Tiffany Lewis’s personality change, it’d be her. The only thing that gave me confidence was the fact that they had a very surface-level friendship, if you could even call it that. It seemed more like a long-time acquaintance to me, which meant I didn’t have to be nasty to her. The easiest and smartest thing to do was to ignore her. And there was no better or more natural reason to ignore someone than being on your phone.

  My best friend was a genius.

  Knowing she wouldn’t buy it anyway, I shrugged and said, “Much better than the other one. But you should probably find something to wear over it so your arms aren’t showing.” There was nothing wrong with Jeannine’s arms, but I wouldn’t put it past my sister to find something about them to pick apart.

  Just then, Serenity approached me with a pair of dark jeans. “I saw these and thought they’d look good on you. They’re stretchy denim, so you shouldn’t have a problem.”

  I could handle Jeannine and Lauren just fine, but this broad was a different story. She had a way of turning everything she said into an insult, except she did so in a friendly, loving tone while smiling like she thought the world of you. This was only the second time I’d been around her, and I still wasn’t sure if she was intentionally rude or just completely unaware that her words, sweetly spoken or not, were hurtful. It was incredibly difficult to ignore.

  I took the hanger from her hand and checked the label in the back of the jeans. “These aren’t even my size.”

  Confusion lined her forehead for a moment as she scanned my body up and down with her eyes. Then she looked right at me and asked, “Oh, do you need me to get you a bigger size?”

  Either she was the world’s best actress, or she was dumber than a box of rocks.

  “Bigger? No. I would need something smaller.” Realizing that I’d responded more like myself than my sister, I cocked my hip, handed her back the hanger, and with a smile as phony as I could make it, said, “You must’ve grabbed these for yourself.”

  Her sweet stare instantly turned into a heated glare, which made me believe that she wasn’t dumb. Serenity knew exactly what she was doing. But man, she was good at it. I had to give the woman props. She could certainly fake being nice better than I could fake being mean.

  Maybe she could give me a couple of tips.

  “Watch your back with that one,” Jeannine muttered out of the side of her mouth as she sidled up next to me. “She won’t hesitate to put a knife in it. Just ask any of her three ex-husbands. They’ll tell you. The moment she doesn’t need you anymore, you’re out with yesterday’s trash.”

  I nodded while keeping my eyes on Serenity, who was with Lauren on the other side of the shop. Conveniently, the cameras were on Jeannine and me. “All right. Umm…thanks for that piece of advice.”

  My phone vibrated in my hand. While Jeannine carried on talking about Serenity behind her back—about how Serenity talks about others behind their backs; the irony—I turned my attention to the text that just came through.

  I expected it to be from Dave, but to my surprise, it was from Jacoby.

  Jacoby: I can’t stop thinking about you.

  Had my cheeks not started to ache, I would’ve been oblivious to the massive grin I had on my face. Quickly biting my bottom lip to hide my reaction, I glanced around me to ensure no one noticed.

  Even though it was risky, I responded anyway.

  Me: What a coincidence, because I can’t stop thinking about you either.

  Jacoby: Well, you should probably stop. You’re supposed to be a soul-eating monster. No one will believe you’re Tiffany if you’re walking around with stars in your eyes and little red hearts floating out of your ears.

  Me: Little red hearts? Not even close.

  As soon as I hit the little blue send button, I started to overthink my response. I equated hearts with love, so all I was trying to say was that I didn’t love him. But maybe he’d meant it differently. Obviously, there’s no love between us. We were still getting to know one another. But there was definitely like. A strong like. And maybe even a little infatuation on my side. So if all he meant by it was attraction or affection or infatuation, I just basically told him hell no.

  I scrambled to fix it.

  Me: Maybe purple hearts tho.

  My attention was transfixed on the bouncing speech bubbles on the screen. It wasn’t until his text came through that I even realized I’d held my breath. With a long sigh of relief, I read his response, not at all paying attention to anything around me.

  Jacoby: Why purple? What does that mean?

  Me: Red equals love. We’re not there yet. I’d say we’re more in the purple heart stage. It’s more than a crush but less than the real deal.

  He read my message but didn’t respond. There were no bouncing bubbles to indicate that he was typing, either. I stood with my back to a display of dress pants and a mannequin on my right, frantically rereading my text, my heart pounding harder against my ribs with every second that passed.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t take the suspense, the bubbles appeared.

  Jacoby: I just looked it up but I can’t find anything about what each color means.

  Giggling to myself, I replied, my fingers tapping the screen faster than usual.

  Me: That’s because I made it up.

  Jacoby: OK, so what color comes after purple?

  Me: Blue is strictly platonic love. Dave always gets b
lue hearts. Yellow is like having a crush on someone…you like them but it’s a mild like. Then comes orange, it’s yellow with a little heat to it. Next is purple, which I’ve already explained. After that is red.

  “Who’s got you smiling like a love-struck teenager?” Serenity asked as she approached me from my right.

  I pulled my phone closer to my chest and turned to face her completely so she couldn’t see what was on the screen. Oddly enough, there was no mannequin next to me like I thought there was, just a rack of cardigans.

  “No one. I mean, Adam. With him being away so much, this is how we keep the spark alive.”

  “That’s cute.” She was a pro at taking a genuine phrase and making it sound condescending. “I thought it might’ve been one of your side pieces.”

  Well, that caught me off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, was I not supposed to know?” She glanced over her shoulder and then took a step closer. Lowering her voice, she said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t say it in front of the crew. Your secret’s still safe.” And with that, she walked away.

  My phone buzzed again, for the second or third time—I was too busy trying to maneuver through Serenity’s landmines to count.

  Jacoby: Wow! We got through a few colors and I didn’t even know it! So the next promotion would mean we’re the real deal?

  Jacoby: That was a joke, BTW

  Jacoby: The first part, not the last

  Before I could respond to any of those, another one came through.

  Jacoby: You must be busy. Text or call when you get done.

  That one made me both sad and happy. Sad because I wasn’t ready for our flirting to end, and happy because he ended it with a single purple heart emoji. He was right, though. No matter how badly I wanted to keep the banter going, it was too dangerous to do that around this crowd.

  Thankfully, the day was almost over. After one more shop, we all said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. It was the strangest thing. The only two people who seemed to have a genuine friendship were Jeannine and Lauren, yet we all hugged each other like we some super close foursome.

  The fakeness was so thick I was in danger of choking.

  As soon as the car door closed, I called Ty. I didn’t even wait for the driver to pull away from the curb. Ever since that little run-in with Serenity, getting ahold of Ty was all I could think about.

  “How’d it go?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

  “Wonderful, especially the part when I learned that I’m cheating on my fiancé.” Thanks to Jacoby, I could no longer use the word especially without smiling, and this was no laughing matter. It was rude of him to do something that could cheer me up, even when he wasn’t around.

  The line was dead silent for a long moment, so long that I wondered if we had a bad connection. But then he cleared his throat, which answered that. Now all I needed was an answer to the question I had asked him.

  “Your silence tells me you know something, which pisses me off. You’ve done nothing but lecture me about how I act and what I say, yet you keep this from me, allowing me to be ambushed by it. You can’t have it both ways, Ty. You can’t expect me to pull this off and keep stuff like this from me. It doesn’t work that way.”

  He cleared his throat again, but this time, he actually spoke. “To be honest, Tasha, I really don’t know much. I didn’t see the point in telling you what I did know, because it’s irrelevant. She swore to me that it’s over, has been for a while, and that no one knows. So why would I open that can of worms?”

  “Well, clearly, someone knows, because Serenity just informed me.”

  “That’s who told you?” His heavy exhale—which was mixed with a bit of a grumble—wafted through the line. “The chances of her actually knowing anything are slim. Serenity is a pot-stirrer. I wouldn’t take anything she has to say as being credible.”

  I’d already assumed that she was two-faced, but there was something about the way she said it that made me believe this was more than her starting trouble. “Obviously I can, because she was right about me sleeping around, wasn’t she? And for all you know, it’s not over. She said, and I quote, ‘I thought it might’ve been one of your side pieces.’ One of them, Ty. Meaning there are others.”

  “Don’t freak out just yet. Let me call your sister and see what I can get from her. I’ll let you know what she says.” He didn’t even say bye before disconnecting the call. Then again, I hadn’t gotten a hello, either.

  “I’m not touching your feet until you wash them.”

  Jacoby laughed at me, but I was dead serious. If he wanted me to pay up on our bet, he would have to thoroughly clean his feet—with bleach and a scouring pad—before I even began to think about rubbing them. “I literally just took a shower.”

  “And then you put on shoes, ones that have been worn by dirty feet. Plus, if you took a shower, then I’d be willing to bet that you didn’t clean them properly. It’s a known fact that most people don’t wash their legs, and the majority of those who do, don’t get their feet. Now, if you look at the tiny percentage of the population who wash from top to bottom, you’ll find that more than half don’t get between their toes. Considering there are seven billion people in the world, we’re talking, like, maybe two hundred of them get all the nooks and crannies when they shower.”

  “I’d like to see this study.” Humor cloaked his face, making it difficult to remain stoic.

  “It’s online. Go ahead, look it up; statistics don’t lie.” If I cracked, he’d think I was joking, and while I was sort of kidding about the shower facts that I made up on the spot, I was super serious about him disinfecting his feet before I touched them. So, to keep from losing my composure, I waved him off and said, “No scrubby, no rubby.”

  With a dramatic huff, he snatched the washcloth out of my hand and sat on the edge of the tub. I leaned against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest for no other reason than to give him a hard time.

  Jacoby reminded me of Dave in some ways, such as his quick banter. Much like my best friend, he took it as well as he gave it. I wasn’t easily offended, so I tended to get along better with those who enjoyed a bit of back and forth. It was comforting to know that if I pointed out spots that he missed while washing his feet, there was a good chance he’d toss the washcloth at me. And he would do so all in the name of fun.

  “Don’t forget in between the toes—all of them.”

  He glared at me from over his shoulder. If his expression could talk, it would’ve said, “Shut the hell up.”

  I held up my hands, doing my best to appear innocent. “Just making sure. You never know what’s hiding in the crevices and creases.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not making me wash them in iodine and then rinse them off with rubbing alcohol.” His monotone voice was too exaggerated to be taken seriously.

  “Trust me, I tried, but I couldn’t get it delivered in time.” Two could play this game. “The good news, though, is that I was able to get an ultraviolet light in time. My Google searches might’ve raised some red flags, so there’s a good chance I’m on someone’s watch list, but that’s totally okay. Just as long as I don’t have to touch dirty feet.”

  He tucked his chin, doing his best to hide the amusement that rolled through him. He might’ve kept me from seeing the smile on his face, but it did nothing to hide the way his shoulders shook with the laughter he fought to hold in. It literally showed in every part of his body.

  “You wouldn’t understand; you play with dirt for a living.”

  That got him. Even though he continued to keep his chin tucked toward his chest, he was unable to keep the laughter from billowing out. His shoulders went from more of a vibration to full-on jumping, and as the humor rolled through him, he leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs as if he needed to steady himself.

  “I guess that’s one way of describing a landscaper,” he said when he was finally able to speak again. “You do know that there’s such a thing called washin
g your hands, right? I’m sure you touch dirtier things than my feet.”

  “Oh, trust me…there will be some very intense disinfecting going on when I’m done.”

  Shaking his head in comedic disbelief, he looked over at me and pointed to his wiggling toes in the tub. “Are they clean enough for you?”

  “That’ll do.” I tossed him a towel and left the bathroom.

  Either I walked slowly, or he rushed to meet me in the living room, because he rounded the couch as soon as I sat down. But when he reclined against the padded armrest on the end and settled his feet on the cushion between us, I decided I was just a slow walker. They were completely dry, as if he’d taken his time toweling them off.

  I started cautiously, basically poking the soles while trying to avoid as much physical contact as possible. At first, he laughed and rolled his ankles to egg me on, but when I didn’t, he groaned and said, “Come on, Tasha. A bet is a bet.”

  He was right. If I’d succeeded at my plan, he’d be owing me a foot massage, and I would’ve wanted him to give it his all. It was unfair of me to offer a less-than-mediocre attempt when I would’ve demanded a hearty effort from him.

  “Okay, fine. Give me a second.” I got up and went to the kitchen. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for, but as soon as I opened the cupboard below the sink, I found it. When I returned to the living room to resume the massage, I was immediately met with hysterical laughter. “What’s so funny?”