remembered they’d been that day before everything had changed.
That day, she remembered, was a Friday. She had worked for thirty minutes setting up that shot and kept getting it wrong. Either she would miss getting seated altogether before the autoshutter went off, or Reese would make a silly face and they would dissolve into laughter again. There was a decent posed shot—all terribly serious. Even she had to admit they both looked great, but she didn’t like it as much as this one. This accidental one. This shot captured the real Reese. Not the physician the world knew on TV news shows. Not the brilliant, accomplished one their parents adored.
But simply her big sister whom she had loved.
She transferred the photo into the stop bath, swirling it beneath the surface with the plastic tongs. She liked the contrast on this one. It was good and she knew it. But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t for the show she was putting together. The point was—she’d realized sometime late this afternoon—she’d begun to forget that little dimple in Reese’s cheek and the way the lines around her eyes crinkled when she laughed hard. It had taken almost a year to work up the nerve to even develop this roll. Now she wondered why she’d waited so long.
Reese would have said it was because Ellie always did everything the hard way: school, their parents, falling into a career in modeling. “RWC” Reese would call her with a smile. Rebel-without-a-Cause. And deep down, Ellie suspected that maybe her driven, accomplished sister envied that just a little.
She studied the photo under the safelight for anything—any sign that a mere twelve hours after this uproarious laugh, Reese would be gone forever and Ellie would be left alone.
There was nothing. No precognition. No warning. Just two women sharing a rare moment of sisterly hilarity. Maybe that was just how life was. A constant collision of happiness and loss.
“Ellie?” Dane knocked on the makeshift darkroom door. “Are you dressed? It’s almost six-thirty.”
She looked down at her ripped jeans and fixer-stained T-shirt. “Um…” she hedged, pulling the photo out and slipping it into the third tub containing the rapid fixer.
On the other side of the door, she heard Dane cursing. She couldn’t see him, but imagined that about now, he’d be dragging a hand through his perfect dark-brown hair and starting to sweat through the perfect charcoal Prada shirt it had taken him two hours to pick out.
“Just give me a minute, okay? I’m almost done.”
“Ah, God, Ellie.” The words were gruff, husky, disappointed.
“I know.”
“This screening is important to me. You said you’d come, dammit. I need you there.”
“I know. I’m coming.” She’d done enough red carpets in her lifetime to pave the Great Wall of China, but she detested them. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do this for Dane. It was what she knew would come along with it.
“What are you doing in there? Can I come in?”
Ellie switched off the safelight and turned on the regular one. Outside the door the red warning light would no longer be on, and Dane took that as an invitation.
He appeared at the door, looking very Hollywood producerlike in his power suit and spiffy Italian shoes. In another lifetime, Dane Raleigh could have been a movie star, with his looks and his confidence. But now, he was a producer with a film that had made it to screen and that, in this town, was like winning the freakin’ lottery.
He glanced down at the photo in the stop bath and went quiet for a second. Ellie slipped the photo into the hypo fixer.
“So this is about Reese again?”
“Again?”
He slid his hands around her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Just for tonight, can we not put your sister between us?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I want all of you tonight. Not fifty percent. Or eighty. I want a hundred percent of you. You know the damned studio has got us opening against Lands’ End, the best reviewed gangster movie since The Godfather, and that behemoth animated kids’ movie Pixar Films made about damned ladybugs.”
“I know.”
“And if we can’t get press on this thing tonight, we’re screwed for opening weekend. And if opening weekend is screwed—”
“It won’t be. And you have me,” she said, leaning her cheek against his hard shoulder so she didn’t have to lie directly into those rich-colored eyes. “It’s just…you know I hate these things. With the paparazzi and the media.”
He patted her awkwardly with his palm, distracted by his own problems. “They’re just people trying to make a living. And for a girl who spent half her adult life on the world’s best runways facing flashbulbs, you should be used to it.”
She could explain to him again about the things she didn’t want the world to know about her, about how a chunk of her had gone missing after all those years of modeling. She could try to explain that the rock he’d put on her finger a month ago did not give them the right to invade her private life one more time. But she had the sneaking suspicion that Dane liked the attention that came with having her on his arm and the ring making the tabloids. But underneath everything else she believed about him—about them—was the fear that he loved all of that more than he loved her.
He swatted her on the rear and pushed her toward the door. “Go get ready. The driver’s here in twenty minutes. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
THE GAUNTLET set up along Sunset Boulevard beneath the historic archway of the old Cinerama Dome came complete with a red carpet and banks of halogen lights. Beacons of bright light pierced the night sky, as heavy banks of clouds hovered over the Hollywood.
There was a deep crowd just outside the railing, which included fans and paparazzi who hadn’t been lucky enough to nail a press pass. The media had already swarmed Ross Neil, the only money star of Ticking Clock!, and his little-known female costar up the line. Fans were shouting at them across the railing, hoping for autographs or even eye contact.
Ellie touched the jade necklace at her neck, Grandma Lily’s necklace, like a talisman. She hadn’t taken it off since Reese vanished. And though it complemented the designer canary-yellow dress she’d worn, she didn’t care if it did or not. It made her feel safe to wear it.
She’d spent her life, it seemed, at events like this, tugged around by her parents. Yes, they’d brought her and Reese to their movie openings. The happy family photos would show up on the pages of the latest gossip rag with captions about what great parents they were, and wasn’t it fabulous that two big stars could keep it all together the way they did? Until they’d gotten divorced.
For a while, Ellie had cherished these red carpet events as the only way she would have any time with her parents. But that was old water, way under the bridge now.
Ellie gripped Dane’s hand tighter as they exited the town car beside Caleigh Nguyen, Dane’s publicist. The woman was wearing her official I’ve-got-everything-under-control look and a lime-green, Rachel Pally kimono dress. For about the count of three, they were anonymous. Unnoticed.
Then…all
