“Okay.
The bottom-up approach isn’t
going to work.”
“Why
doesn’t
Haley just do an interview?”
Jessica
says. “She
doesn’t
have to go in deep. Just deny it with a word and leave it at that.”
“This
is the internet, ”Brando
says, turning around. “There
are no ‘denials’
and
‘confirmations.’
There’s
just ‘admitting’
and
‘ignoring.’
Haley’s
got everything to lose, and everything to gain from this. If she goes
on record and denies it, all that will happen is that this thing will
get another boost. People expect her to deny it. The only time denying something works is if you’re
too big, or respected, or have nothing to—”
Brando
looks up suddenly, his mouth open and his eyes round as if he just
caught sight of something amazing.
“What?”
I say.
Brando
walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders.
“Haley.
Do you trust me?”
“Of
course I do,”
I
reply, still confused, but able to answer that much.
“I’m
going to do something you won’t
like. But it’s
our only option.”
Before
I can say anything, he’s
kissing me deeply, and then grabbing his keys as he makes for the
door.
Chapter 17
Brando
I
don’t
need to call anyone to find out where Rex Bentley lives; anyone who’s
been in LA longer than a week knows the place. It’s
one of the biggest mansions in the city, and was bought when
rockstars like Rex were giants who couldn’t
seem to fit their egos into anything smaller. A Tuscan-style villa,
its walls are a combination of stark angles, sections jutting out in
every direction, as if somebody took a small English village, smashed
it all together, and colored it white. It’s
the kind of place only a rockstar or a supervillain could live in –
and
I’m
hoping Rex isn’t
both.
I
roll the car up to the tall black gates and push the button on the
intercom conveniently placed on the driver’s
side. After waiting for about as long as it takes someone to get
anywhere in a home that big, a young woman with an accent answers.
“Hello?”
“Hey.
This is Brando Nash. I’m
here to speak to Rex Bentley.”
“What
did you say your name was?”
“Brando.
Nash.”
“Just
a moment, please.”
I
drum my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. This time the wait
is short. The intercom crackles into life again.
“I’m
sorry. Rex isn’t
here right now. Can I take a message? What was your name again?”
“Okay,”
I
say, in my ‘enough
bullshit’
tone.
“I
know Rex is in there, otherwise you wouldn’t
have had me hold. Please tell him it’s
extremely important, and can’t
wait.”
“Hold
on just a second.”
I
stare through the gates, the massive fountain at the front of his
mansion just visible across the curve of the driveway. The intercom
crackles.
“Rex
isn’t
here. Do you want to leave a message?”
“Fuck
this shit,”
I
mutter, to myself rather than the intercom, as I push open the car
door and get out. I start jogging alongside the wall, and hear the
intercom behind me as it crackles off.
The
vast grounds of Rex’s
mansion are surrounded by the high walls of someone who has a lot of
people he wants to keep out. But it’s
also surrounded by plenty of gigantic trees trying to keep those same
people from looking in. Though I’ve
never climbed trees for the fun of it, as a teenager I went up plenty
of drainpipes with a pretty girl at the back window and judgmental
parents at the front door.
When
I find a tree with a low-enough branch and a good-enough lean I start
making my way up. Soon I’m
feeling the adrenaline rush and the bone-deep satisfaction of a good
work-out, and just like in the gym, I push all the negative thoughts
out of my mind. Thoughts like the fact that I’m
breaking and entering, like the fact that Rex’s
mansion is probably full of security cameras, like the fact that
turning up on his doorstep without an invitation doesn’t
segue smoothly into asking for a favor.
I
get to the end of a wide
The bottom-up approach isn’t
going to work.”
“Why
doesn’t
Haley just do an interview?”
Jessica
says. “She
doesn’t
have to go in deep. Just deny it with a word and leave it at that.”
“This
is the internet, ”Brando
says, turning around. “There
are no ‘denials’
and
‘confirmations.’
There’s
just ‘admitting’
and
‘ignoring.’
Haley’s
got everything to lose, and everything to gain from this. If she goes
on record and denies it, all that will happen is that this thing will
get another boost. People expect her to deny it. The only time denying something works is if you’re
too big, or respected, or have nothing to—”
Brando
looks up suddenly, his mouth open and his eyes round as if he just
caught sight of something amazing.
“What?”
I say.
Brando
walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders.
“Haley.
Do you trust me?”
“Of
course I do,”
I
reply, still confused, but able to answer that much.
“I’m
going to do something you won’t
like. But it’s
our only option.”
Before
I can say anything, he’s
kissing me deeply, and then grabbing his keys as he makes for the
door.
Chapter 17
Brando
I
don’t
need to call anyone to find out where Rex Bentley lives; anyone who’s
been in LA longer than a week knows the place. It’s
one of the biggest mansions in the city, and was bought when
rockstars like Rex were giants who couldn’t
seem to fit their egos into anything smaller. A Tuscan-style villa,
its walls are a combination of stark angles, sections jutting out in
every direction, as if somebody took a small English village, smashed
it all together, and colored it white. It’s
the kind of place only a rockstar or a supervillain could live in –
and
I’m
hoping Rex isn’t
both.
I
roll the car up to the tall black gates and push the button on the
intercom conveniently placed on the driver’s
side. After waiting for about as long as it takes someone to get
anywhere in a home that big, a young woman with an accent answers.
“Hello?”
“Hey.
This is Brando Nash. I’m
here to speak to Rex Bentley.”
“What
did you say your name was?”
“Brando.
Nash.”
“Just
a moment, please.”
I
drum my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. This time the wait
is short. The intercom crackles into life again.
“I’m
sorry. Rex isn’t
here right now. Can I take a message? What was your name again?”
“Okay,”
I
say, in my ‘enough
bullshit’
tone.
“I
know Rex is in there, otherwise you wouldn’t
have had me hold. Please tell him it’s
extremely important, and can’t
wait.”
“Hold
on just a second.”
I
stare through the gates, the massive fountain at the front of his
mansion just visible across the curve of the driveway. The intercom
crackles.
“Rex
isn’t
here. Do you want to leave a message?”
“Fuck
this shit,”
I
mutter, to myself rather than the intercom, as I push open the car
door and get out. I start jogging alongside the wall, and hear the
intercom behind me as it crackles off.
The
vast grounds of Rex’s
mansion are surrounded by the high walls of someone who has a lot of
people he wants to keep out. But it’s
also surrounded by plenty of gigantic trees trying to keep those same
people from looking in. Though I’ve
never climbed trees for the fun of it, as a teenager I went up plenty
of drainpipes with a pretty girl at the back window and judgmental
parents at the front door.
When
I find a tree with a low-enough branch and a good-enough lean I start
making my way up. Soon I’m
feeling the adrenaline rush and the bone-deep satisfaction of a good
work-out, and just like in the gym, I push all the negative thoughts
out of my mind. Thoughts like the fact that I’m
breaking and entering, like the fact that Rex’s
mansion is probably full of security cameras, like the fact that
turning up on his doorstep without an invitation doesn’t
segue smoothly into asking for a favor.
I
get to the end of a wide
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