Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Summer

Sunlight glinted through the first-class window of the 777, momentarily blinding Shasta Pyke as the oversized tin can banked towards the west on its final approach to Toronto Pearson International Airport. She frowned, lowering her tortoise shell Prada cat eye sunglasses, then pulled down the shade out of spite. She had no desire to see Toronto. It wasnt her final destination anyway.

She huffed and glanced to her right. Eddie grinned at her like a used car salesman at a discount lot. How ya doin, kiddo?

She hated when he called her that. Eddie had been a fixture in her life for as long as she could remember, a sort of surrogate father, if your father were a shark in a designer suit who lived for martini lunches and killer deals. It was he who had arranged this little adventure, which, in all honesty, beat the hell out of the alternative. That didnt prevent her from hating him at the moment.

How do you think Im doing? she snapped.

Now, doll, you know this is a great plan. Think of it as a long-overdue vacation. Six weeks in the woods. It will do you a world of good. Besides, he added unnecessarily, its better than jail.

Shasta sank down in her seat, crossing her arms and closing her eyes behind green-tinted lenses. She knew he was right and that just fanned the flames of her irritation. If it hadnt been for Eddie and her legal team, shed have been doing forty-five days in an orange jumpsuit.

Eddie had instead proposed forty-five days in a private rehab, and the prosecutor had agreed. Of course, this private rehab was, in actuality, a wilderness lodge in northern Ontario, but it would accomplish the goal of having Shasta out of the public eye long enough, hopefully, for the entire incident to all blow over. Surely by the end of six weeks, the gossip outlets would have gone on to the next big train wreck.

Three quarters of an hour later they were tucked into the back of a black Lincoln and headed north out of the city. Shasta closed her eyes and dozed restlessly, visions of the past few weeks ruining any chance of real sleep.

Shed been dating fellow actor Jeremy Slade, a fact that had been well-documented by the paparazzi. But having grown up in the spotlight, Shasta was accustomed to media attention. The couple couldnt go out to dinner without being swarmed by an army of cameras. Somehow the fact that Jeremy wasnt actually divorced from his wife only fueled the insatiable interest of the public.

Of course, hed assured Shasta that making their separation permanent was only a matter of time, and the twenty-three-year-old actress had believed him. Shed never had a serious adult relationship, just a series of boyfriends since her early teen years. At thirty, Jeremy had represented, to her, a break from her childhood.

It had made it all the more heartbreaking when, at the moment Shasta most needed him, Jeremy had chosen to return to his wife. Shed been left wondering if it had all been a ploy by the older actor to gain publicity. His career hadnt exactly been on fire. By dating Shasta publicly, hed gained a great deal of press, and that had translated into new offers for films and television.

Still heartbroken, Shasta and her assistant Millie had been having dinner at Milos, a trendy upscale restaurant in Hollywood, when Jeremy had walked in with his wife Lisa. Hed nodded to Shasta from his table across the room and she hadnt been able to stop staring at the handsome golden-haired actor and his stunning blonde wife. Shed downed glass after glass of sauvignon blanc as shed watched the couple laugh and nuzzle each other like they hadnt had a care in the world. Like nothing had happened. But plenty had happened.

When she hadnt been able to stand it any longer, Shasta had approached the couple and an argument had ensued. According to police reports, the three had engaged in a loud, heated verbal altercation and at some point, Shasta had poured wine on Jeremy and his wife before jerking their tablecloth from the table, spilling their dinner all over the floor.

Witnesses had recorded the entire incident on their phones, including the moment when Shasta had been led away in handcuffs. It had hit social media nearly instantaneously and shed spent a few hours in the county lock-up before Eddie had been able to secure her release. She had retreated to her home where paparazzi had camped out en masse, venturing out only for court. Until now.

Now she was on her way to her own, albeit much more pleasant, jail.

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