Red Carpet Black (The Bright Lights Dark Secrets Collection Book 3) Read online

  Red Carpet Black

  The Bright Lights, Dark Secrets Collection

  Nolon King

  Copyright © 2019 by Sterling & Stone

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  The Bright Lights, Dark Secrets Collection continues…

  Want More?

  A Quick Favor …

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Taking inventory at Provisions was killing Orson Beck one box at a time.

  There’d been a certain entertainment value when he’d first started working at the high-end grocery store, watching well-coifed wives wandering the aisles on their safaris for organic, cruelty-free, gluten-free, and perspective-free fuckery, from chia seeds to guakalemole.

  Orson hated the guy or gal who’d thought this up, and double hated them if they were also the person who brought the abomination to market. He also hated every customer willing to pay for perfectly good guac to get ruined by kale. Orson hated kale, and everything it touched. Especially — he could rant about this one for hours — ice cream, which had several flavors destroyed by the bitter, chewy vegetable over in Aisle 9.

  Inventory would have been the devil’s work regardless, but Orson found it an order of magnitude even more demoralizing, handling ice cream that cost more per pint than what he made each hour, and almond butter that ran twice that. Watching the wealthy, well-put-together people piling their carts with overpriced sundries because, for them, cash wasn’t too different from Kleenex, was like watching beautiful people dancing all over his dreams. It was a wonder that the checkout lines weren’t all ‘ten items or less’ because who could afford to get more than that in a single go?

  The people in this fucking town, that’s who.

  Orson used to find it inspiring. It’s why he’d picked this job. He’d seen a flyer in the coffee shop across the street, the Hill of Beans, advertising the job opening in the grocery store. It felt like a guiding light at the time. He’d waited with a pounding heart for the red light to turn green, knowing that he’d get the job and that somehow that would lead to him being in the right place at the right time and becoming the next big Hollywood success story, the kind that everyone loved to read about. He had been dreaming of living forever.

  But that was stupid, and he was an idiot for thinking it.

  Now Orson was dying, box by box, because every day shoved him further away from the life he had always believed would eventually find him, despite the terrible odds. Fresh prospects showed up in the city every day. That’s how it had been for a century, and how it would be forever. Hollywood held the promise of unlimited everything. Fame, fortune, and an eventual refuge from failure. After you made it.

  But how many people would? Once Orson had been certain he’d be one of the lucky few to ooze through the cracks. Saw it as a reality waiting to happen. But that reality had turned to a fantasy, and now it was settling into a lie. Soon his son would know exactly how big a loser he was.

  At least work was a reprieve from Alexis. That was the only thing making his day tolerable. He didn’t have to ignore her calls when he was legitimately at work.

  Orson shook his head as he finished inventory on the hand-milled, gluten-free soap. Then he turned and--oh shit, there was Bobby Winchester.

  Bobby was smiling, but Orson already wanted to be anywhere else. He’d had nothing against Bobby five minutes ago, but right now he hated the guy. Sauntering up with his little hand basket. How could he afford to shop here? They were in the same acting class. Or at least they used to be, until Orson stopped going to that one. These days, it was over his budget by a little more than a hundred percent of its price.

  “What up, brother?” Bobby said, reaching out for a high-five.

  Orson returned it, smiling wide. “Hey man, what are you doing?” He glanced in Bobby’s basket and saw a six-pack of Flying Dog K9 Cruiser, some of that twenty-four dollar almond butter — what the actual fuck? — and a nineteen dollar box of sustainably sourced condoms. He nodded approvingly. “Looks like a party.”

  Bobby laughed. “So how have things been going?”

  This was the part where Orson either made a bunch of shit up or admitted defeat.

  He shrugged, then gestured around the store. “Living the dream. You?”

  Orson didn’t want to know. Okay, not true. He was dying to. A twenty dollar box of condoms? His neighbor Lacy charged less than that for a blow job. Not that Orson had ever partaken, but Lacy used her mouth for a lot of things, including talking about all the things she used her mouth for.

  “Great, actually.” Bobby’s smile looked genuinely bashful. Fucking actors. “I got it.”

  “Got what?”

  Orson had heard that he was up for playing Cobain in the biopic, but he couldn’t see him in that role. At all.

  Bobby leaned forward, and in a decibel more than a whisper, said, “It. A ticket to the Onyx List.”

  Fuck him, of course he did.

  “Wow!” Orson said. “That’s amazing.”

  “Yeah.” Bobby nodded, grinning ear to ear. “I still can’t believe it.”

  Neither could Orson. Except that he could. This shit always happened to him.

  Every. Fucking. Year.

  “It came in the mail yesterday.”

  Orson already knew, but he asked anyway. “What did it look like?”

  He forced himself to smile his way through Bobby’s description. Every actor who’d made it in told the same story, because even though the Onyx List had only been around for a few years now, it was already the stuff of legends.

  Orson worked hard to forget about the invitations. Until now, he’d been doing a decent enough job of keeping those thoughts in the black. But now here they were again, turning him green. They always came out in November, j
ust before the year’s Oscar bait hit theaters, when the city was feeling especially fancy. It had to happen to someone he knew sooner or later. Might as well be Bobby.

  “That’s really fucking cool, man,” Orson said, and he really did mean it, even though it hurt.

  “It’s not like anything is guaranteed,” Bobby said, self-effacing.

  “But it’s a helluva head start.”

  And it was. Not everyone who made it onto the Onyx List became instant Hollywood royalty, but it had been a shortcut for so many. It was the most important invitation in the most important city in the most important country in the world. Orson would die to trade places with Bobby Winchester.

  “Any idea why they picked you? All respect, man. We shared a class. I know what you can do. But this town …”

  “I don’t really know, honestly. I was up for the lead in Cobain, but even I thought I was wrong for the part.” He slapped Orson on the shoulder. “Dude, I’ve seen you too. Hopefully whoever makes the List has seen what you can do.”

  “F the ‘90s was a while ago. I’m not sure anyone even remembers that show.”

  A long silence, because they both knew he was right.

  Bobby broke it. “How is Alexis?”

  Orson opened his mouth to explain that failure, but before he could, the universe intervened.

  It made sense, in a town built around stories, where the biggest rule was putting show over tell, that Alexis was marching right toward them, dragging his son behind her.

  Chapter Two

  After a machine gun greeting and Bobby’s retreat, Alexis was immediately in his face.

  “I’ve asked you a million times not to just show up with Connor while I’m working.” Orson looked at his son with apologetic eyes, not wanting him to think that any of this was his fault.

  “Ohh, a million times? Is that right? Because I’ve really come down here a million times, and you’ve had to tell me every one of them. I’m that stupid. Three times, Orson. That’s how many times I’ve showed up here. And all of them were only because you did what you’re still doing, ignoring my calls. You know how much that pisses me off.”

  “To be fair, everything pisses you off.”

  “I don’t like being ignored.”

  “I’m working.”

  “You weren’t working during any of the times I called you in the morning.”

  “I already know what you want.”

  “Oh, and what’s that, Orson? What do I want?”

  Why was she making him do this?

  Especially here?

  Orson leaned in, then in a low voice he said, “Because you want this month’s child support.”

  But Alexis couldn’t pass up the chance to trample on his dignity. She half-yelled, “Because I want you to pay your child support?”

  “Stop it,” he growled.

  “You’re the one who wouldn’t answer my calls. This is your fault.”

  “Isn’t everything?” Orson looked down at Connor, who stood there mute, observing their quarrel in silence, like always. “Do we have to do this now? Or here?”

  “Maybe next time you’ll answer my calls.”

  “Yes, Alexis. Next time I promise to answer your calls. Your many, many calls. Now can you please go so I can get back to work and we can talk about this later?”

  Orson had already surrendered. She didn’t have to beat him down. But Alexis was all riled up. “I just hope you appreciate how lucky we are that our son has a model example at home, and that that can give him the right impression of what a father should be.”

  He rolled his eyes. Orson would rather get caught beating off in public than to hear another word about Alexis’ magical fiancé, Tyler Crane. He’d landed a role on a show about a hipster grocery store — Greens — which was almost exactly like Provisions. And Tyler’s character was a fucking clerk, just like Orson had been when he started working here. The irony was as unbelievable as it was infuriating. The man who mocked his existence in front of millions of viewers was also raising Orson’s son and fucking his ex-wife.

  “I am so very lucky,” Orson said to Alexis. And to Connor, “Sorry about this, buddy.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Orson asked.

  “You know what. Apologizing to him, like this is my fault.”

  Orson controlled his breathing, careful not to yell. “You’re the one who put him in the Prius and came over here.”

  “We’re not in the Prius,” Alexis announced, glowing. “Tyler wanted a new Tesla, so we’re in his old one.”

  “I can totally see how my late child support is an emergency.”

  “It doesn’t have to be an emergency, Orson. It’s your responsibility. So just be a man and take care of it. Tyler has a job and he’s well-compensated, but it isn’t his job to provide for our kid.”

  Orson was boiling. It wasn’t that Tyler had so many of the things that he would give anything to get, it was that the asshole didn’t deserve them. Tyler was one of those guys who was just talented enough, just good looking enough, and just lucky enough to stumble into one fortunate circumstance after another.

  Orson worked hard for everything. Even if Alexis thought his dream was dead, he definitely didn’t. He’d been working fewer hours to attend some of the more affordable acting classes, and to show up for auditions as often as he could. He wasn’t about to tell Alexis that because she’d see it as an excuse at best and pathetic at worst.

  He looked at Alexis, not wanting to fight. He needed to get her out of Provisions before Lester came over and chastised him for taking personal time on the company dollar.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Things are really tight right now, and—”

  “Why are they tight? Your place is a piece of shit and you don’t even drive.”

  “Can you please not curse around him?”

  “We’ve had this conversation. It’s dishonest. He already knows all the words, and that we use them.”

  Goddammit, Alexis.

  Orson gave her his most charming smile. He reached out and touched her shoulder. Then in his best gentleman’s voice, he said, “I’ll take care of this as soon as I can. I promise.”

  He wondered how many eyes were on him. It felt like hundreds.

  He couldn’t have hated this more, but still he gave Alexis a smile that was really for Connor. Bobby was at the edge of his peripheral vision, pretending not to watch the show. Lester was watching and waiting.

  Orson fixed her with his best smile and held it. “We good?”

  “We’re good.” She finally smiled back. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. But you can’t ignore my calls. We had a deal.”

  We had a deal.

  She might as well get it as a tattoo. That’s what she always told him, We had a deal, whether that deal was explicit or not. It was her way of making the rules, of designing an argument that couldn’t be won. Orson wasn’t the piece of shit that she thought he was. She spent too much of her life pissed that he didn’t turn out to be who she’d imagined he would one day be. And now she was stuck with his kid. Who she — and the courts — would only allow him to see every other weekend. Orson felt like his son’s favorite stranger. They always had fun, but they were sort of starting over each and every time.

  “You’re right. We had a deal.” Orson held two fingers in front of him. “Scout’s Honor, I’ll have it to you soon. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  They hugged it out because that was how they always did it. Then Connor began to tell Orson about what had happened on the last episode of Crazy Town, because Dr. Nanobot had taken control of the entire Voltrosphere and now all the sharks were in trouble. It all came out in the space of a cough. Orson had to cut him off before he started the next sentence because Lester was marching over.

  “I can’t wait to see you on Saturday!” He kissed Connor on his head.

  His wife and son were seven steps away when Lester began to berate him. “We’ve talked about this,
Orson.”

  Lester would be lucky if he was only seen as a loser. The guy was twenty-five, two years younger than Orson, and he acted like managing a Provisions was his life’s dream. It was ridiculous. So was he.

  But Orson still nodded and smiled as his boss gave him the Personal Time Lecture.

  If someone from the Onyx List had been peeking around the endcap to watch Orson right now, they’d have to hand him an invitation. He got more use out of his acting classes at work than he did in auditions.

  “You’re right,” Orson said. “We haven’t just talked about it, we’ve talked about it four times. You shouldn’t have to remind me that I can’t put personal time on the company dollar. I didn’t know that Alexis was going to come by like that, and I didn’t invite her, so I didn’t have time to clock out. Since of course I would have, if she’d given me a chance.”

  Lester’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s fine. Just tell her she can’t do that.”

  Yeah, that'll work. “I’ll tell her again.”

  Lester left him alone after Orson made extra nice by agreeing to take Krystal’s register shift so she could pick up her sick kid from school.

  This was all his fault, Orson thought as he logged into the register. He could have finished college. He should have finished. Orson had no excuse.