I’m doing the right thing.
12
An Unexpected Visitor
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11
I’m making fajitas when the text comes through.
Necessity means I’ve managed to keep myself busy with research for the Kathryn Mayer meeting at Universal tomorrow. My mind only strays from the DVDs Kathryn’s office sent me occasionally to respond to texts from Nick asking if I would like to grab coffee this week. With no lines to learn for tomorrow I’ve had time to make copious script notes and familiarize myself with the scenes in general, and I’m feeling as ready as I’ll ever be for whatever tomorrow may hold.
It’s after six p.m. when my phone finally pings and I hop over to it, spatula in hand, half expecting it is, half knowing it isn’t, Emily. I swear, if it wasn’t for the physical fact of that empty white car parked in North Hollywood, I’d start to wonder if I’d made Emily up completely.
I’m half right. The text isn’t from Emily, it’s from my friend Souki. Asking: Do I, or do I not, want to go on a Hollywood Homes of the Stars four-by-four tour around LA tomorrow afternoon?
I burst out laughing at the incongruity of the question, choking on the spicy fug of fajita seasoning filling the kitchen. Souki knows me too well. The idea sounds like tacky, tourist heaven. I cannot think of anything I would rather do tomorrow, after the most stressful meeting of my life, than sit in a four-by-four and listen to a tour guide talk complete nonsense while we gawp at A-listers’ houses.
I shoot back an affirmative and pop my tortilla wraps in the oven to warm. It’s early for supper but I want to get an early night tonight. After eating, I’ll lay out my outfit for tomorrow, take a bath, then head to bed to reread the script and hopefully be asleep by ten. That way I’ll be bright-eyed when the alarm goes in the morning.
Belly full and bath running, I select a silk camisole for tomorrow to go under an oversized Ganni suit paired with some sharp heels; I want to look smart. It’s a business meeting, after all. And while I’m sure Kathryn can imagine me playing Cockney Eliza in Galatea, I want to convince her I can play post-makeover Eliza too.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I wander over expecting to see Souki’s name.
But as I get closer, my breath catches in my throat. Instead of Souki’s name I see Emily’s. It’s her.
I grab the phone and sink down onto the edge of the bed to read.
Thurs Feb 11, 6:43pm
So, so sorry about yesterday. Long story…Goes without saying, I am a complete disaster. Thank you so much for looking after the car. You are an actual lifesaver. Can I collect my wallet and keys tonight? Xxxx
I stare at her words for a long time. My first thought, though ghoulish, is simply Thank God she’s alive. Which is a strange thought considering that it hadn’t explicitly crossed my mind that she wouldn’t be—not consciously anyway. Not enough for me to raise any kind of alarm or tell anyone what had happened. And yet, there the thought is.
The mind immediately goes to strange places when strange things happen, I suppose. A cascade effect. Our ideas of what’s possible in the world shift up to meet the new reality. But she’s not dead. She’s not even missing. She’s right here talking to me; I’ve let my imagination run wild, untended, over the last two days, when the truth is, I just need to return this woman’s things.
I tap out a response.
So glad to hear from you! Yes, no problem at all. We’ve all been there. Could you pop over to mine and collect tonight x
The dots pulse.
Of course. What’s your address?
My thumb hesitates over the keypad for a second, as I consider whether it might be better to meet her in a more neutral setting, somewhere a bit more public. After all I don’t know her. I don’t know her situation. But then meeting in a public place means getting in the car now and driving somewhere and staying out way too late the night before the most important meeting of my life. The last thing I want to do is head out to some random bar or diner. I don’t think I can reasonably ask her to wait until tomorrow. God knows how she’s managed this long without money or a car. It’s not as if I’m here on my own, Miguel and Lucy are just downstairs. Every inch of this building seems to be covered by CCTV anyway. Seeing her here should be perfectly safe.