I glance at my best friend. “I’ll bar the door. You go get Masters — tell him what happened. He can stand guard, make sure no one comes in here.”
Harper grimaces, but she doesn’t argue as she steps out into the hallway. While she’s gone, I run through every possibility I can think of… and grimace in frustration at the lack of good options.
If I call an ambulance, they’ll roll up outside, sirens blaring, drawing the attention of everyone in a ten-block radius. Then, in all likelihood, they’ll lock Helena up in a psych ward and throw away the key — which may not be an altogether terrible idea, given her current state, but it definitely isn’t my call to make.
If I leave it to theLimbostaff to handle, it’s only a matter of time before the story spreads to the servers, and then to the patrons, and then to the rest of the world.
If I walk her out the front door and put her in a town car, the paparazzi camped outside will notice… and take about a zillion photographs that will be plastered all over social media tomorrow.
The only viable alternative I can see is one I’d do almost anything to avoid.
Harper slips back inside a few moments later. “Kent is on door duty. Did you come up with a plan?”
“Not really.” I sigh, deeply troubled, and run through the bleak list of options.
Harper’s sigh echoes mine. “Crap.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I hesitate. “There is one person I could possibly call…”
Harper frowns. “If you’re considering who Ithinkyou’re considering, that’s your worst idea so far.”
“What choice do I have?”
“See this situation?” She points at Helena, who’s still standing in a drunken daze by the sinks. “This is the definition of a human garbage fire. Adding Grayson to the mix and thinking it’ll help matters is sort of like dousing flames with gasoline and expecting them not to explode.”
“Give me another suggestion then. Tell me one reasonable, responsible alternative.”
Her teeth sink into her lip in frustrated silence.
“That’s what I thought,” I murmur softly, pulling my phone from my clutch purse. I scroll through my contact list until I reach his name. My lips twist; he’s still programmed in as GIANT DOUCHEBAG.
I haven’t called him on the phone since Hawaii; haven’t spoken to him at all since the day of the camera-smashing incident. Yesterday, in a moment of weakness, I logged online to see if the story made the headlines —DUNN ASSAULTS PAPARAZZO! CHARGES FORTHCOMING— but there was nothing. Not one tiny blip about the smashed lens or show of rage. His lawyers must’ve bribed the shutterbug into silence.
Then again, the tabloids may just be sitting on the news until a slow day. From what I saw, they’ve got plenty of material concerning Grayson and me to keep the presses busy for months. This week alone, I’ve been accused of a teenage eating disorder, a decade of unreciprocated devotion, and an estrangement with my darling mother. I can only wonder what they’ll come up with next week.
FROM BUSY BEES TO LOVE BIRDS… WE’VE GOT THE #GRAYKAT DETAILS YOU’RE DYING FOR!
INSIDER INTERVIEW: “SHE’S LOVED HIM FOR YEARS!”
KAT CRACKS DOWN: DUNN’S PARTY DAYS ARE DONE!
PHOTOS INSIDE: KAT AND GRAYSON, THROUGH THE YEARS
KAT’S SECRET STRUGGLE: FRIENDS OPEN UP ABOUT THE ACTRESS’S ANOREXIC PAST
UP IN FLAMES! FIRESTONE’S AGENT-MOTHER SEEKS LARGE SETTLEMENT FROM AXC
With clenched teeth and shaking hands, my eyes scanned all the horrendous things they’d written about me, not once bothering to check whether they might be remotely accurate before printing them as fact. Each bullshit story was capped with a cute little disclaimer: “Firestone did not return our request for comment.” As though that somehow validates them spreading lies.
If I had to bet on the identity of this “insider” who’s provided a steady stream of stories and photographs, I’d put all my money on Cynthia. This practically reeks of my mother — stirring the embers of my stardom into a full-fledged inferno, not resting until my face is on every magazine rack, news feed, and Twitter stream. Even when we were still on speaking terms, she had no problem using my secrets as media fodder. Now that we aren’t, there’s no way she’d turn down an opportunity to make a quick buck by selling my childhood memories to the tabloids. The more I’m worth, the more she can ask for in the lawsuit.
Heart in my throat, I lift the phone to my ear and wait for it to connect. He answers on the second ring, his voice muffled. There’s so much background noise I can barely make out his voice at first.
“Kat? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “But Grayson… I need you to come toLimbo.”
“Why?”