19. Nothing Good Happens After Midnight

The best way to describe how Camryn felt was "blah". She didn't want to work and she didn't want to talk to anyone.

Brooke continued to text her about yesterday's luncheon and how sorry she was for seeming as if she was attacking her at Ophelia's. Really, all she cared about was squashing the uneasiness that now was wedged between them and finally hearing about what all happened between her and Bryson. The suspense was eating at her so much so that she got a zit on her forehead.

You were trying to make me look bad on purpose, not for the narrative Freddie wanted to create. Stop texting me. I'm allergic to bullshit.

Camryn stirred in the plush chair that lived in the coziest corner of her temporary living room that overlooked a gorgeous view that promised peace and tranquility, but didn't deliver.

Diana called that morning to discuss small assignments that Camryn took no interest in. Of course, she would never express that to her commanding boss. As for the notes on the article, Diana was all-of-a-sudden moving fast and demanded the final piece be submitted in just under four weeks for review.

How could that be feasible? The show alone didn't wrap filming for another eleven weeks.

Camryn was up against a deadline and contemplated her career and how her future would unravel without one.

Why couldn't she write about what she wanted to write about like every other professional journalist who had built a repertoire with their readers? Maybe she was better off following models and designers around every season, begging for interviews that would barely attract just enough traffic to her blog to pay for a mediocre life lived in NYC.

What she needed - selfishly, she pointed out - was a day to deal with a mind that felt like it was knotted in a ball, a heart that was disappointed, and an ego that was bruised. Bryson and Jay had already left for The Big Apple to promote the show and despite her emotions that bubbled and brewed beneath her soft, blemish-free skin, she held onto the belief that he would've texted her a final message she could've sat on until he returned from the busy hustle-and-bustle of the PR world, if he cared.

But he didn't.

He left her in limbo, which made her feel cold and full of resentment. How could she feel this strongly for a man after only a mere few days of knowing him? In what world were her feelings rational? Accepted? Favored?

She couldn't figure it out.

After all, she did tell him that they were headed nowhere.

Fuck.

Why did she have to say that? Why did he have to be such an asshole? And why would he swear to not tell anyone about the article? Was he trying to protect her from a pack of wolves? If so, why? Was he starting to care about her just as fast as she, him?

Fuck again.

Damn you, Bryson Knox.

V sat on the steps that led guests to the porch of their home. She missed her real home. She missed her parents and little brother, Harry, who was excited to start his senior year of high school at the end of August. This was his last summer before he'd run off to college. Then who knows how often she'd see him.

But marriage sometimes meant sacrifice. And she was coming to terms that Boston would have to be the one thing she sacrificed in order to make her husband happy. It's not like she couldn't afford airfare. That wasn't it. She missed her family terribly. But that wasn't it. Again, they were just a flight away. Maybe a few flights. That didn't sit well with her, but it sat.

It was more about location. Boston held more promise for her jewelry line to be profitable than Malibu. Even Los Angeles. Especially Los Angeles. Everyone had a jewelry line there. The competition was stupid.

Her connections were in Boston. The people that would help make her dream a reality were there and she trusted those people. How could Beau be so goddamn selfish? What did he ever sacrifice for her? A night in, instead of out, once in a blue moon?

Just then she felt his warm hands caress her shoulders as he sat a step above. He bent down and nuzzled into the side of her neck, not believing he contemplated having his lawyer draw up divorce papers a few days ago.

Her perfume made him want to take a bite right out of her.

"I love you." He whispered in her ear.

"I love you, too." She returned pretentiously. There wasn't any energy left in her to respond in a tone that made him question what was on her mind.

But he knew. And he was done talking about it, too, as well as done caring.

"What's next for us?" Putting her thoughts aside, she wondered what he imagined life had in store for them if it wasn't Boston.

"That's a very vague question." Beau resumed caressing his wife's shoulders to remind her that he didn't come out on the porch to argue.

"I'm serious. Since Boston is off the table, what's the next thing we should be looking forward to that we both can agree on?" She leaned back and looked up at him where he now started to play with strands of her hair between his fingers.

"Baby..."

"A baby? Really?" She cut him off.

"No, no, no. I was trying to say 'Baby, I don't know', but you didn't let me finish." He smiled at her foolishness.

Her heart sank a little further. Why on God's Green Earth did they not have these conversations before they got hitched?
__________________________________

Callie was sliding the hangers over viciously one after another until she came across an emerald green dress that was ruched from bust to waist. It was couture, but not gala appropriate. Tatum would look fierce in it. It must be new - she had never seen her wear it.

Callie held the dress up to her neck as if it were an option for herself. It looked so much bigger against her small body than when she let it dangle high in the air after yanking it off the rack in Tatum's closet.

"I loved that dress. I won my first Emmy wearing it. Wished it still fit."

"When's the last time you tried it on?" Callie asked. Where were her SKIMS?

"Before I gained thirty pounds two years ago." Tatum laughed. She no longer let America decide for her what a healthy body should look like. Life is about being comfortable in your own skin. And she was. Truly. She welcomed fatter tits and an ass.

Filming would continue that evening at Midnight Sky, a classy nightclub, where people always lost their class after one too many shots.

It was already 7 p.m. and Callie reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone to text Camryn. They ended up exchanging numbers the night of the bonfire.

What are you doing and who are you with right now?

At home, currently sitting with Jim. Seriously considering inviting Jose to the table, lol. You?

Oh, I'm sure they'll both treat you right. Lol. I'm with Tatum. Stay put, we're coming over!

How do you know where I live?

Packet.

See you soon, stalker.

Callie wondered if Camryn finally had found a reason to get wasted.

Be ready. We'll be over in an hour. Then we'll go to Sky.

Cool. Bring a lime.

It felt like deja vu. Callie and Tatum were making drinks and Camryn was focusing extra hard on not slicing a finger off while cutting the lime Callie came proudly bearing, in the kitchen.

Camryn was pretty lit, but wanted to keep drinking. But wanted to slow down, too. There was no way she was making it out the door if she kept her pace. She was going between Jim Beam and Jose Cuervo like they both were apple juice. What an epic love triangle.

"I need to eat something before you guys see what I had for lunch earlier." Camryn put the knife and lime down and walked over to her pantry to snack. Not realizing she couldn't exactly talk to the camera-and-sound crew, she offered them bagels that they silently shook their heads at and refused. This clip would have to be cut from the footage.

"Are you guys hungry?" She shouted over to Callie and Tatum.

"No." Tatum answered. She was still unsure about this new girl.

"I love this side of you. We need to make sure you have a drink in your hand more often." Callie giggled and threw back a shot of tequila.

"What's making you want to get drunk so fast?" Tatum pried.

"Who says I'm drunk?" Camryn asked with a dumb smile on her face as she walked closer to them with an uncooked blueberry bagel in hand.

"Who says she needs a reason?" Callie chimed in.

"Come on. Look at you. It's written all over your face."

Camryn checked the round mirror hanging on the wall next to her to make sure nothing was actually there. Callie laughed at her silliness.

"What is?" Camryn couldn't help but to smirk stupidly some more.

"Bryson Motherfuckin' Knox." Tatum crossed her arms over her chest and grinned at the can of worms she miraculously just opened with a single guess.

Camryn placed a coffee pod in the Keurig. She needed to sober up some. "I plead the fifth."

She was starting to forget the crew was filming. After awhile, it was like they were invisible. And shit! She was dying to tell someone - anyone - what really went down. What a fucking bummer for Brooke.

"But can I trust you?" She imitated the tone Tatum asked her in the night of the bonfire.

"That depends. Define trust."

Tatum was a brick wall. A wrecking ball, such as a Camryn, may be the kind of friend the duo needed.

It felt good to have stand-in girlfriends on her side, vowing to keep her dirty laundry hidden.

However, Camryn knew better. She wasn't about to just give up valuable information in exchange for nothing.

"I'll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours."

"Fine. That's fair. I'll talk only if Callie does, too." Tatum negotiated.

"Don't drag me into this." Callie put her hands up as if she were about to be searched by the fuzz.

"Deal. I'll tell you what happened between Bryson and I if you both tell me something that's worth it's weight."

"Fine." Tatum began. "A little birdie told me that Paige has been seeing Freddie off-camera if you know what I mean. But I'm not revealing my source, so don't ask."

"That can't be true and if they are seeing each other, I'm sure it's nothing romantic - or even sexual. She's been hooking up with Bryson." Camryn did recall Paige getting out of Freddie's car a few nights ago. Maybe it was true.

"So? If Bryson has been messing around with more than one person, what makes you think Paige isn't doing the same?" Tatum made a very good point.

This was getting juicy. No wonder these people were always featured in gossip magazines.

Camryn looked at Callie. It was her turn.

"Sonny and Rosie are bankrupt."

Tatum's mouth dropped to the floor. Not even she knew that. "How long have they been broke?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know how they're managing to get by if I'm being completely transparent. I think after Sonny agreed to do this 'comeback fight' they paid him an advance. I could be wrong. You know I don't talk to my sister all like that anymore." She looked over at Tatum for subtle and muted consolation.

"Why not" asked Camryn, curious.

"It's a long story. I'll ruin your buzz if I tell you tonight. Another time." Her smile let Camryn rest assured.

The three of them were awkwardly quiet for a few seconds until Camryn finally revealed what's been on everyone's mind, but only two were actually hearing it straight from the horse's mouth. Well...them and the crew.

"I fucked Bryson but..."

It felt so good to say those words. Fucking him, in general, felt so good.

"I knew it" exclaimed Callie. "You little slut!" The way she referenced Camryn being a slut was in the same way a mother would reference her small child as being "a little stinker".

"But what?" Tatum asked.

Get on with it.

"But...it's over. You were right - he was pursuing things with Paige on the side. And say what you will, I'm not about turning the other cheek to an attractive guy who's hooking up with someone else just to be on his arm."

"Thought so." Tatum knew all along and it was fair to say she did try putting it out there to be known. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." She lied. "Nothing a new outfit and some drinks can't cure."

Callie could hear how bummed she was. So that's why she was drinking alone.

"Well, to break it down for you from an outside perspective, you have two choices here: you either wipe your hands of the situation and move on to the next, or you pull yourself together and give him many reasons why he should be fucking you and only you." Tatum sounded big-sisterly. Why was she being so nice all-of-a-sudden?

"I agree. Who does he think he is?" The more shots Callie took, the more she wanted to reveal deeper secrets of her own.

She put the bottle down before pouring another.

"Bryson Knox." Tatum grinned and looked back at Camryn. "He thinks he can do whatever he wants because of his reputation. I never liked Paige. She's threatened. Don't let her - or him - get the best of you. To be honest, neither are worth it."

Now if she could only take this advice instead of pushing it off to the side. She wanted to text Bryson so they could pick up where it left off.

Was it left off, though?

She immediately ignored such an unreasonable thought. It wasn't one that held any substance.

Damn you, alcohol.

"I'm surprised you aren't with Brooke drinking your sorrows away. What's going on there?" Callie asked.

Callie didn't care for Brooke the way Tatum didn't care for Paige. Whichever angle you looked at it, the pairs of friends didn't necessarily "get along" when in the same room. There wasn't any beef, but there wasn't any respect either.

"Nothing." Camryn lied some more. "She's just been different since we started filming."

"How so?" Callie needed details.

"For example: yesterday we were at lunch with Rocco and Bryson and she kept pressing me to talk about us having sex. She was the one who told me about Bryson and Paige."

Camryn didn't want to elaborate much further. Revisiting the situation pissed her off again. She definitely wasn't texting Bryson now.

"While the guys were there? At the table?" Tatum couldn't believe it.

Camryn nodded.

"And you call her your friend?" Callie was dramatically floored.

Camryn nodded. "She tried apologizing earlier but I'm not buying it this time."

"Don't." Callie cut her off. "Brooke Knolling only keeps Brooke Knolling's best interests at heart. Don't forget that."

Camryn attempted to be light and humorous to break up the shift of energies in the air. "Jeeze, you're making it seem like I need to cut ties with her or something."

"Better now than later." Tatum added.

"I'm grabbing my heels. We're taking a shot. Then we're leaving. I'm not arriving last again this time." Camryn said boldly.
__________________________________

Finally, Camryn's shaven, oil-gleaming leg attached to a six-inch stiletto emerged from Callie's Range Rover as she wondered how it was still possible - and legal - that Callie be able to drive on public roads. She was the worst driver.

Then again, they all had been drinking.

She, most certainly, was calling the three of them an Uber home. Roger deserved a night off.

Callie tossed her keys to the young valet who wore a red jacket, like in the movies.

"You wreck it, you buy it sweetheart."

Tatum kept checking her phone, trying to stall them from entering Midnight Sky.

The flashes began. Then more people flocked to the entrance of the club to get their picture, including Camryn's. They shouted and called her "New Girl" to get her attention so she could face them.

This was different. And she liked it.

"Who are we waiting for?" Camryn asked, a bit chilled. She knew she should've worn something underneath her black, sequined blazer-dress that just barely covered her vagina. Surely a pap probably caught more than he bargained to see.

The body oil really defined her legs and the glittery body mist accentuated her very open, bare chest.

Eat your heart out, Bryson Knox.

Sure, he was out-of-town, but there was no doubt in Camryn's mind that he wouldn't see a picture of her tonight. Whether it be pictures uploaded online somewhere, or pictures posted on her - or others' Instagram story.

Bryson had her name written all over him and she would make sure nothing - and no one - got in the way of that. Maybe she was down...but she wasn't out. Tatum was accurate yet again - she was going to give him a million reasons why he should be fucking her and only her...starting tonight.

Thirty minutes past and Camryn was starting to feel freer and freer the more she drank and danced to songs she loved. When was her cutoff?

A random clubber bumped into her and made her spill some of her drink down her outfit and didn't even think to turn around and apologize.

Great.

"Hey" a voice called out before Camryn saw an arm extend just inches in front of her face that grabbed the back of the man's shirt and yanked him behind.

"You owe this woman an apology - and another drink."

"I'm so sorry, Miss. What are you drinking?"

Clearly, it was an accident and Camryn actually felt bad for the young guy who was just there tonight to have a good time and to not cause any trouble.

"Vodka Red Bull."

He scurried off towards the bar without saying another word.

"Are you always so hostile?"

"If that's your way of saying 'thank you', then you're welcome."

Rocco was trying to show her he was willing to potentially move past his feelings over the article. If only he knew another one was just around the corner.

But Camryn felt she didn't owe him a "thank you" - or a response.

"Aren't you happy I called you a woman this time and not a little girl." He, still, didn't smile at her. Was he trying to break the ice - the tension - between them, or continuing to be a dick?

"You didn't call me a little girl the first time." She rolled her eyes at him, waiting for the clubber to return to that same spot with her drink.

"Well I should've. That's what you are, isn't it? A little girl just trying to find a clique to fit into."

She noticed the bronze of his skin. He was tanner than yesterday. He also wasn't wearing a designer tee that was a size bigger than what actually fit his body. On him, was a fitted black tee hidden underneath a tailored black blazer. His caramel-colored hair was styled and brush back to stay out of his eyes.

She had to get away from him. Forget the free drink. He was going to drive her mad.

Just then, Brooke saw Rocco dance with two different skanks at the same time. But they weren't dancing with him, they were dancing on him.

The way he stared down at their cleavage when they took turns wrapping their arms around his neck drove Brooke insane. Why was she letting this get to her?

Fuck you, Rocco Jet.

Rosie begged Sonny to leave early. She wasn't feeling well. He told her to run it past the crew whom were becoming part of the