“I have some difficult news,” he said. And I knew what was coming. An old girlfriend just called . . . He liked me but it wasn’t going to happen . . . It wasn’t me, it was him . . .
“What is it?” I asked as my stomach erupted with butterflies.
“Louisa died this morning.”
It took me a few seconds to process what he’d said. Because people you meet on Saturday aren’t supposed to die on Monday.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I mustered as the realization that I wasn’t going to get that job hit me like a blow to the ribs. It was disgusting that my first impulse was to make this about me. Good God, what kind of monster had I become? I used to cry about how cutthroat everyone in Hollywood is; now I was a regular Sweeney Todd myself.
“Thanks. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that’s, um, why she wasn’t calling.”
“That’s so kind of you,” I said. “But obviously not the most important thing here.” Obviously.
There was a long pause. And then came the knockout blow.
“Listen, things are going to be a bit tense for a while,” he said. “I hope you understand?”
I didn’t understand. But I was an actress. “Yes, of course.”
“I really enjoyed our date, but I need to take a step back right now, until the smoke clears.” And then I understood.
“Right,” I said, my heart breaking into a million pieces. “Well, thanks for letting me know. And sorry for your loss.”
I hung up the phone. I was super glad Jerry wasn’t there, because I totally lost it. Big, ugly, barking sobs exploded from my chest. Any normal person probably would have appreciated his candor—of course he needs space!—and that he’d taken the time to call during such a fraught day. But I was an actress, and I didn’t do “normal.” We’d only had one date, but he was the best thing in my life right now—OK, the only thing in my life, now that Louisa was gone and my “big break” along with her—and I wasn’t ready for the one thing I was excited about to be so cruelly taken away. Maybe he’d call “when the smoke cleared,” but who knew when that would be, if ever?
My disappointment turned to dread when I realized there was another layer to this tragedy. I had just thoroughly and irreversibly repelled my roommate. I didn’t regret saying no to Jordan—I couldn’t accept his proposal when I was attracted to someone else—but driving him to move “closer to work” meant that if I wanted to stay put, I was going to have to start making more money, like, immediately. Instead of quitting my job, I would have to take on more shifts. So much for kissing these day tours goodbye so I can audition. In less than twelve hours, things had gone from hopeful to hopeless on every single front.
Movie people refer to that moment in the script when the main character hits rock bottom as the act two crisis. Romeo is dead. Jaws just ate the captain and first mate, and the killer shark is circling your sinking boat. In the last forty-eight hours, I’d lost a potential boyfriend, a dream casting, and the roommate who had supported me both emotionally and financially for the last seven years. If this wasn’t my personal act two crisis, I didn’t know what was. The only question was whether the hero in my narrative was going to rise up and kill that shark, or succumb to defeat like poor jilted Juliet.
CHAPTER 33
* * *
NATHAN
There was nothing more to do at Louisa’s house, so I went to work for a few hours.
Winnie and Charlie weren’t due to arrive until dinnertime, so I caught up on emails, then opened Louisa’s “Death Folder” and got to work making the arrangements for her funeral. They were holding 10:00 a.m. for the burial, so I confirmed it, then emailed Louisa’s estate lawyer, whose contact info was also in the folder.
Dear Mr. Redding, I wrote. This is Nathan Lake, nephew of Louisa Lake George. I am writing to tell you the sad news that Louisa passed away early this morning. Her children are on their way into town, and we would like to schedule the will reading at your earliest convenience.
I hit “Send” and my phone rang almost immediately.
“This is Nathan.”
“Nathan, Simon Redding. So sorry for your loss,” the lawyer said.
“Thank you.”
“I am in possession of your aunt Louisa’s will and can administer it tomorrow if you like.”
“That would be appreciated.”
“Let’s tentatively set it for eleven o’clock,” he said. “I’ll contact the other parties named in the will—there are only a handful. If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know.”