And Playing the Role of Herself (Frankiana)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Argel was wrong. No one lost interest.

If anything, the recent mix of stories about me - my disappearance, the photos of me kissing an unidentified man, and my dinner with Argel - combined to set the press into something of a feeding frenzy.

My flight out of Manila the afternoon before had drawn a good bit interest from the celebrity photo corps, and my arrival in Cebu had been just as well documented. Annoyed by the growing group of press following my every move, I wasn't as charming as I could have been as I made my way through the photographers at the hotel that evening, or this morning, on my way to the morning show taping, when I was swamped again outside the network building.

"Shit." I grunted in disgust, tossing my phone I'd been looking on the pictures of Argel and me at Arlene's, smiling and laughing over dinner.

Pictures of Argel with his arm around my waist as we left the restaurant and others of us as we hurried to the car ahead of the press, our hands linked. I don't even remember holding his hand, but there it was, in full color.

Pictures of the two of us at dinner the night before, again smiling and looking very close. The security at the hotel was good and to my relief we hadn't been bothered once during dinner, but they couldn't stop every enterprising diner with a camera-phone.

The pictures taken on the balcony of Kiara's house, of Sky kissing me.

Photos from the supposedly 'closed' set of Siargao, showing Franki looking skinny, pale and un-kept, along with accompanying stories of her rumored breakdown. I knew she was playing an addict in the film, and I applauded her makeup artist, but the photos gave me a twinge of concern - the thinness was real, and she was too thin already. I hoped she wasn't taking this looking like an addict to the extreme.

Scattered throughout the pages were pictures of Argel and Franki, looking happy and beautiful together, gazing at each other with obvious affection and adoration.

And then there were the headlines.

Home-wrecker. Temptress. Seductress. Back-stabber. Conniver. Schemer.

Basically, a thesaurus of words meaning nasty bitch.

I sighed again and dropped heavily onto the couch, staring out the window at the cityscape.

Seemingly overnight, I had become a certified a prickly slut who had broken up one of the most recognized celebrity pairings of the last several years, and caused a nervous breakdown in the process.

Fantastic.

Argel had tried to reassure me last night, telling me again that this would blow over; that another celebrity would do something shocking or just plain stupid and the press would forget all about us, but to me it seemed doubtful. I'd never been the focus of so much press, nor did I ever want to be again.

Ever.

I'd have to examine that wish carefully, considering the relationship I was fumbling around in with Franki. If the press ever got the points of the triangle of Argel, Franki and I connected correctly...I shook my head, not even wanting to imagine the kind of rage that would provoke. What was happening to me now was quite enough to deal with.

And I still have the fallout from the season finale to go through, which should be just about...I checked my watch...half-way through right now.

I ran a hand through my hair, still slightly damp from the shower I'd taken after making use of the rooftop pool and the very fancy exercise facility the hotel boasted. The workout had helped my stress levels a little, but not as much as I'd hoped, and the tumbler of scotch and ice I was sipping on was the next step in trying to relax enough to sleep.