A/N:
I don't own Twilight. If I did, I would have never let Jackson walk on the New Moon set wearing that Little Miss Muffet wig.
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APOV
"So, Ali, I know you're pressed for time so I'll make this interview quick and easy."
I nod my head and smile politely at the thousandth interviewer I've seen today. After a while, I stopped even trying to remember names. "Thank you."
"Well, we all know that you're a very hard worker. Very loyal to your fans. In fact, you've only ever missed one concert in your four years on the music scene." More nodding and smiling on my part. "Do you mind telling me what really happened?"
I struggle against the urge to roll my eyes and huff. I mean, really, I've already told these people the story, why can't they just let it go? Can't I just have a night to myself? Alone? Apparently not.
"Well, I've explained it numerous times. I'm sure you've heard what happened." More smiling.
She sneers at me and gives a tightlipped smile. I detect a bit of smugness in her demeanor. I don't like her one bit. I know her kind. Sneaky. Willing to do anything to get her story. Thinks she has a right to know every detail of my personal life. "Yes, I've heard. But I'd like to hear it from you. Personally."
"Well, it's quite simple, really. I took a drive to relax before my show and got lost in the woods somewhere. After taking a while to calm down, I used my common sense and my internet enabled phone," insert fake chuckle and big smile here, "and found my way back. I really do feel horrible about it all, but I'll be returning to Seattle tomorrow and I'm really excited!"
She taps her index finger on her chin and narrows her eyes at me. "Hmmm... see, that's really interesting because I have pictures that suggest you weren't alone in the woods."
What? Pictures? Pictures of Jasper? Oh, no! No! I work double time to keep my breathing regulated and my face neutral.
Time to act nonchalant. Don't let her see you sweat! "Pictures? I don't know anything about any pictures."
Her face breaks into a wide, toothy grin and I've never seen anything so creepy in my life. "I just find it odd that you would blatantly lie to your fans, Ali. I'm... I'm shocked." Deep breaths. "Do these ring a bell?"
She shoves a small pile of 8x10 photos in my face, they're dark and grainy but it's unmistakable that I'm the one in the pictures. My breath catches when I see the first one. Me and Jasper, walking intimately close on our way to my car. The second, Jasper holding my hand and me looking adoringly into his face. The third, him kissing my hand. Deep breaths. Calm down, just stay calm.
"Care to tell us who this mystery man is, Ali? As you can see, his face is rather difficult to make out. Is he a fellow celebrity? Did you two sneak off to have a late night rendezvous?"
They don't know who he is! I calmly hand the pictures back to her and chuckle to make it seem as though her accusations are ridiculous. I smile and look at her condescendingly.
"No, the gentleman in the photos is not a celebrity. Just an old friend who happened to be around when I got lost. He helped me with my cell and I went on my way."
"Well, I find that rather hard to believe, Ali. Why was this young man not mentioned in your initial story?"
Deep breaths. Keep smiling. I chuckle again. "I didn't think seeing an old friend for a few minutes was crucial to the story. It really wasn't a big deal at all. I was lost, I panicked, he was there, he briefly helped me with my phone and I was on my way. Honestly, if I would have mentioned a man, this," I gesture toward her and the pictures, "is exactly what would have happened. False accusations and foolish assumptions. I try to avoid unnecessary drama and just stick to what I care most about. My work."
She's glaring at me and my PR agent, Bella, decides to cut in. "Well, thank you for your time, but this interview has sadly come to a close. As you know, Ali is extremely busy. We'll be in touch."
I smile and nod and get out of my seat, trying not to hyperventilate. My head security guard, Jacob, is at my side immediately and Seth, Sam and Paul join him when we step out of the room—effectively cocooning my body between them. As soon as we're in the hallway, Bella is on her phone, talking a mile a minute—damage control, I'm sure. Outside of the building is a hoard of paparazzi. It takes at least fifteen minutes to fight our way through them. Their yells for my attention are deafening and there are so many flashing lights, it's hard to even see Jacob's body directly in front of me.
When we make it to the Towncar, my bodyguards shield me and I throw myself into the car, the door swiftly shutting behind me. Bella hurriedly hangs up her phone. "OHMIGOD, A, I'm so sorry, I had no idea!"
"Yeah. A warning would have been nice."
"She must have kept those pictures under lock and key until she had a chance to interview you. I'm sure this will further Victoria's career—all part of her plan, I'm sure. She's always been a sneaky, conniving bitch."
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"You handled yourself impeccably back there, just so you know. Just stick to the story that you told Victoria and you'll be fine. A statement has already been released and I'm taking care of everything. Don't worry about it, okay?"
"Pffft." I cross my arms indigently.
"Why didn't you tell me about him? I could have come up with a believable story. This had the potential to turn really ugly."
"That's the problem, Bella! He isn't just some... problem that I want explained away. I don't want any stories made up about him. I just wanted to keep him for myself, away from my fucked up world and my problems and my tabloid stories and the paparazzi and fucking PR agents. I just wanted to know someone pure, someone good. Someone with no ties to this... ruthless industry!"
The rest of the ride is silent, save for the sound of Bella's incessant texting on her Blackberry. I think about Jasper and wonder what he's doing. I miss him so much. I would give anything to be able to hear his voice. I tried calling once, but it almost turned into a disaster. I had snuck into a coat closet one night when there was an almost uncontrollable crowd of fans and paparazzi around. This was the only way I could call him. Any other time, I'm surrounded by people and have no privacy. I can't talk about Jasper in front of anyone. No one can be fully trusted.
I learned that the hard way when an influx of old classmates, cousins and even a few teachers sold me out. My high school exploits and grade transcripts were leaked, along with my medical history. Suddenly, the whole world knew that I was prescribed a Nuva Ring and anyone with internet access had access to my STD history. Not that I had a history, since all of my tests had come back negative, but it was still a gross invasion of my privacy. The nail in the coffin was when my mom sold a personal story of mine—along with pictures—to People magazine for five million bucks. If you can't trust your own mother, you can't trust anyone. That was a tough pill to swallow—the hardest lesson I've learned since becoming "Ali."
I'd bought a pre-paid, untraceable phone some time ago just for an occasion like the one I'd found myself in—where I was completely alone, no one around to sell the story of me sneaking on a phone to some mystery man. I had to whisper and make the conversation quick before being caught. He seemed so excited to hear from me and the sound of his husky voice was like a soothing balm for my tense nerves. I heard someone coming and had to hurriedly hang up before being caught, and then stuffed the phone into my pocket.
Sam was the one who found me—I'd told him I was scared and was hiding from the unruly crowd. He bought it, even though it was a bunch of baloney. I'd been caught in immensely larger crowds before, but I guess I was believable that night. When we manhandled our way back into the throng of fans, I discreetly dropped my phone and smiled to myself when I heard it crunch under the trampling feet of the screaming mass. No one even noticed.
If anyone had found the phone and knew it belonged to me, Jasper's number would end up on every blog in the nation. Every newspaper, website and gossip mag would be calling him, asking about our relationship. Were we secretly married? Was I pregnant with his baby? Was he my bisexual lover? Would we elope in Vegas? Was I quitting my career for him? I can't do that to Jasper. I can't let them get to him... and he can't know who I am. At least, not yet. It felt so good to be with someone who treated me like a normal person. Who liked me for me, and not because I'm rich or because I can get them into the hottest clubs or because I can kickoff their music career. He spent time with me because he wanted to. Because I was just Alice and that was good enough for him.
But now that the pictures have been leaked it's inevitable that he's seen them. That his friends have told him about them. That he knows who I am. And he'll treat me differently, just like everyone else. He'll look at me with big, awestruck eyes and maybe even ask for an autograph. And it will break my heart.
Before I know it, we're at my hotel and next thing I know, I'm in my room with a few of my backup singers and dancers. Sometimes it's just easier if I block everything out. It really comes in handy. I probably would have broken down if I heard someone ask about the pictures.
Suddenly, I remember I'm supposed to be meeting Jasper tomorrow. Crap!
Tracy. I know she'll help me! Tracy is one of my dancers, one of the people I'm closest to. She's a little perverted and always trying to find pictures of Rob Pattinson's bulge—apparently he has an aversion to underwear—but she's really cool and I know she'll be on board with my plan. I grab a notebook and two pens and ask her to join me in the bathroom. Can't risk talking in a room full of people and anyone could listen at the bathroom door. Writing with a gel pen is easy to erase. Just run it under the water in the sink and the evidence is gone. Extreme? Yes. But I have to be.
When she joins me, I let her show me a few pictures of the indent of Rob's penis through his jeans while she squeals on and on about how hot he is. After ten minutes, it's time to get down to business. I write out my plan and show it to her, she excitedly agrees, telling me she'd do anything for her home-slice. We spend the next hour making sure to it goes off without a hitch.
When the written conversation is over, I rub liquid soap over the ink and run scalding water over the paper, erasing our plans from prying eyes. I'm sure someone would rush in here as soon as we finished, trying to find anything they could sell to a tabloid.
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I couldn't sleep last night. My nerves got the better of me. I'm so damn nervous and scared. What if he doesn't show up? What if he's mad at me? What if he sells the story to a magazine? What if he brings his friends so he can brag and look like a stud? What if the box was lost? What if he hasn't gotten it, yet? I knew I should have gotten a tracking number, but I was in such a rush, I wasn't thinking clearly. Damn it!
Well, the plan has now been put into motion, so there's no turning back.
"Okay guys, I'm ready."
My fleet of four surrounds me as I shuffle out of my hotel room, on my way to concert rehearsal. The concert isn't until nine o'clock tonight, but I have to get up insanely early to practice all day and make sure everything's perfect. Everything from my hair, makeup, wardrobe, lighting for each song, where the dancers stand on the stage, the placement of my feet when I hit a certain note—everything is taken into consideration and it's extremely grueling. We make our way through the screaming fans and I stop to sign autographs and take pictures on the way to the car.
We're on the road for about ten minutes when a throng of paparazzo bombard the car and open my door. I smile to myself. I left my door unlocked just for this reason. Tracy did good, tipping them off. They grab at me and I'm pulled from the car. My old friend Ben sneaks up to my side and helps me run through the crowd. There are so many people, no one notices. I faintly hear my guards frantically calling my name and I feel horrible for causing them so much grief. But I have to do this. We run into an underground parking garage where I see my body double near an elevator, wearing an outfit identical to mine.
Ben drags me to a middle row and pulls me down, so we're ducking between cars. He hands me keys and points to a car next to us with blacked out window tinting. "For you," he mouths silently. I nod and smile at him, placing a kiss on his cheek in thanks. I get in the car just as I hear a parade of heavy footsteps, screams and camera flashes. My body double takes this as her cue to push the elevator button and rush onboard. Everyone is chasing the fake me, so no one notices when I pull out of the garage in my banged up '96 Caprice Classic.
Wow, that was almost too easy. I really owe Tracy one. I sigh in relief and make my way to my destination, hoping against all hope that Jasper will be there and that he'll let me explain. That he'll forgive me. That he'll still want me.
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A/N:
So I hope you enjoyed Alice's side of things, poor girl. And I hope that all of your questions were answered in regards to why she hasn't called, why she never gave him her number, etc.
Growing up, my aunt was a PR agent, so I've seen a bit of what celebs go through. And Ali is currently the biggest star is the world, so her situation is obviously on a much grander scale.
Two more chapters before this story ends, honey bunch :-) Let me know what you think! And if you haven't reviewed yet, go on and do so. Even a simple "I like it" will make me squee with happiness.
Big thanks to my beta, coachlady1. If you look up "fuckawesome hottie" in the dictionary, you'll see her name. True story.
Until next time! Smooches! ^_^