“Yeah, I got it about two years ago. Can’t take any credit for the design. The previous owner had it built but never moved in. Sold it brand-new. I got a steal, if I’m honest.”
I grin, taking it all in. “I won’t ask what constitutes a steal in this case!”
He chuckles and seems to relax slightly. “How was today?” he asks.
He means the screen test but unsurprisingly that’s not the first place my thoughts go. I consider telling him everything that happened today: about Emily, about Marla, about meeting Ben Cohan earlier, about the break-ins and threats and car tampering.
But then he’d either tell me to stay out of it like Ben did or, worse, ask me why on earth I hadn’t gone to the police sooner. I would have to explain my plan, which I know is dangerous and pigheaded, but I can’t leave LA until Wednesday and I want, no, I need to know what happened to Emily. I need to know how I’m involved in all this, and then once I know I’m going to wait until the last possible moment and report everything just before I leave.
I take another sip of wine and answer his question. “I don’t want to jinx it but I think the screen test went really well!” I beam.
He gives a cheer of triumph and high-fives me with gusto.
“Yeah,” I continue. “And I took your advice. I went to Guidi Marcello; thanks for the tip-off. He was great, my co-star. He just made the scenes so easy. I’ve got to stick around here until the test screening on Wednesday for an answer but hopefully they’ll offer a contract then.”
He nods, something on his mind. “And after that?”
The question throws me slightly. “After that…？”
“Are you staying in town?”
“Oh.” Oh shit. I realize what I just said and how it must sound to him. “No,” I admit. “I’m going to head back home if I get it…or if I don’t actually.” I give a sad smile.
He thinks for a second then smiles. “Okay then. I guess this might be all the time we have, so we’d better make the most of it,” he says, rallying. “In which case, I want to show you something. Come with me.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me through the living room, down a spiral staircase, and out onto a large terrace that hangs over the sheer drop of the canyon. It’s a clear night and stars are visible as I follow him over to a crackling firepit.
Nestled in the low bank seating, we cradle our wine and talk, the conversation fluid and easy. After a while Nick disappears back into the house and returns with a platter of cheese and various other delicious-looking finger foods. We dig in and the conversation turns once more to me leaving LA.
I’m going to miss this. Our growing ease, this need to talk and be heard by each other. I am achingly aware of his warm protective arm over my shoulder, the scent of him, the skin of his neck enticingly close. If only I could take him back to London with me. I know we barely know each other but I’ve never felt this close to someone this quickly. Even George.
“It’s not all bad out here, you know,” he jokes.
“What? The weather again,” I say.
He laughs, nearly losing his mouthful of wine.
“Wow. Now, that is damning.” He chuckles. “Okay, and what? The industry’s so different in London?”
I study his face—he genuinely wants to know.
“I’m going to be honest,” I say, before hesitating. “But first, let me just say, you are excluded from this. It’s just weird out here. It’s too nice on top and too mean underneath.” I sigh, exasperated. I know I can’t tell him what’s going on right now but other words come that in a strange way seem to mean the same thing.
“Everyone here is obsessed. And not with the work. With the win. You know. Whatever it may be. I haven’t had a single conversation about an actual movie anyone’s seen or a play they’ve enjoyed, it’s just all about acquisition, like a land grab. For intellectual property, for narrative control, for any control, to get to play a role just in order to be eligible for other roles, in order to get nominated, in order to get bigger roles, in order to start executive producing, in order to…ad infinitum. It’s a mad scramble. It’s a Black Friday sale. Just more, more, more.”