“I thought there was. Then I thought there wasn’t. Then I thought maybe, and now I think I ruined whatever might have been.”
Hugo spread mustard on a cracker. “Well, that’s probably for the best. For the sake of the film.”
I’d thought this movie would save me, elevate me, like Hugo had said, lift me up and carry me away. But I was too heavy for it. I was going to drag it down. “Do you think the movie’s going to be good?” I asked.
“That depends on a lot of things, including you. But I hope so.”
“What can I do?”
“Unfortunately there’s not much you can do except act,” said Hugo, “ideally extremely well. And for god’s sake, don’t go to bed with anyone else. Not a soul.”
“I have been acting.”
“I’ve seen the dailies. They’re adequate. But I can still see you, and frankly you are the last person I want to see.”
“Tell me how not to be seen. Please.”
He waved a hand. “I can’t tell you. Anyway, I don’t believe for a minute that’s what you want. You want to be seen so very badly. You reek of it. You’re terrified of what happens if no one’s looking at you.”
“No, I want to disappear,” I said. “Really. I want the ground to swallow me up.”
“No.” He swallowed a mouthful of cracker. “You don’t. You want people to wonder where you went.”
* * *
—
That night, after maybe a touch too much weed, I was sure my whole house was watching me. I knew there were cameras and listening devices hidden in every light fixture, every pen, every electronic gadget, and I went outside to get away from them. But being outside in the dark by the pool was terrifying, too. The Santa Anas were up, and everything was dry and rustling and rattling.
I needed to know I wouldn’t always feel the way I did, so I called Redwood. I’d seen him on set but only fleetingly. We hadn’t mentioned Alexei. We hadn’t mentioned what I’d texted him from Vegas. We hadn’t really mentioned anything.
He sounded wary when he answered.
“I’m sorry to call so late,” I said, “or maybe at all, because I know things are weird, but I’m freaking out.” My words came out in a pathetic squeal. “I’m having a really hard time, and…” And what? What could I possibly ask of this person I barely knew? “And I don’t know what’s okay to say to you.”
I heard him take a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, the way they teach you in yoga. “I should have replied to your text,” he said. “I was going to—I just needed to think—but then the next day the Alexei story was everywhere, and I felt pretty confused. More confused. Because I was already quite confused.”
“About what?”
He spoke quietly, as though he were trying not to be overheard. “I like you, and I don’t presume to know how you feel about me or what you want, but I need to be careful…” He trailed off, then restarted. “Like one minute you’re texting me that you miss me, and the next you’re having this thing with Alexei Young. It feels a little dramatic.”
“For what it’s worth,” I said, “there’s history there.” He was silent, and I went on, “I didn’t know he was coming to Vegas. I thought it was over. It had been over for a long time.”
When he spoke again, his tone was softer. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but, on the other hand, I think knowing that does make me feel a little better.”
“Okay. Good.”
“What’s going on with that? With you and him?”
“Nothing. It’s over again.”
“Because of him or you?”
I wanted to lie, but I said, “Him.”
“That’s honest, at least.”
“Will you come over? Just to hang out?”
He hesitated. He said, “I can’t. Leanne’s here.”
“Oh, well then, I won’t take up any more of your time.”
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “She and I are friends.”
Now I hesitated, then plunged. “How come nothing happened the night I stayed over?”
Another big gap of silence. “I’m trying this thing,” he said, “where I have to know the women I sleep with.”
“We’d talked all day.”
“It was still just a day.”
I couldn’t decide if he was being ridiculous or if I was. “Are you single?”