“Well, that would suck.”
“It’s a weird world.”
A beat between us. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
“Me too.”
For a minute, maybe two, we’re simply silent, looking at each other. It feels like a million years have passed and no time at all. It feels like he’s always lived in some secret part of my body and now I’ve opened the door. It feels like oxygen. It feels like a prayer.
He picks up his cup and drains it. “I’m going to see about getting you an alarm system that works. Is that okay with you?”
“Very.”
He stands. “I’ll get to it, then.” On the way by, he touches my shoulder for longer than a casual moment. I close my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and then he’s gone.
Right after he leaves, my agent calls.
“Hey, Edwina. What’s up?” She never calls, only emails, so something is up.
“Not the best news of all time,” she says.
I’ve been expecting something like this. The new season is set to start filming in a month and some decisions need to be made about what to do with my character, who has been languishing in a coma for quite some time to give me space to heal. But I’ve pushed the time a little too long, I guess. “They’re going to kill Alice on Going Home Again.”
“Not exactly.”
“They’re not going to leave her in a coma, are they?”
“No. They’re replacing you with Morgan Millstone.”
“What? Viewers hate that!”
“Viewers are clamoring to have her back, and they don’t want to go through another season waiting for you. The network is gambling that they’d hate the end of the show more.”
“But she looks nothing like me!” Morgan is an actor about my age but she has a completely different look—like a cat standing in for a dog. “How will they explain it?”
“I don’t know, Suze. I’m so sorry. It’ll be some idiot thing about plastic surgery or something. You know the things they do.”
A hollow feeling pours through my gut. I thought I was ready to get out of Hollywood, but this is all I’ve known my entire adult life. “Wow,” I manage.
Edwina says, “Are you ready to come back? I could probably get them to hold off for a couple of months if that’s what you want.”
I’m shaking my head even though she can’t see me. “No, I’m not ready. I . . . I can’t right now. I don’t know when I will be, not for television. I need to work through some things.”
“Totally. I get it, and I’ll let them know. How about I send you some scripts I’ve collected for you? Maybe a movie in a few months would be a welcome change?”
“Okay.” I am not sure that will be the answer, either, but I have nothing to put in the yawning space where my career has been all this time. “Thanks, Edwina. I know you’re just the messenger.”
“I hope you get to feeling better, Suze. The world misses you.”
I doubt that very much, but I say dutifully, “Thanks. Send me the scripts. I’ll take a look.”
Yul Brynner senses my mood and jumps into my lap, his tail waving beneath my nose, tickling me. “Silly cat,” I say, laughing, but that’s why I have him. A dog will only build your ego, but cats have a sense of humor. At my feet, Maui barks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean you.”
On the beach below, the sun is breaking through. I impulsively text Phoebe. Headed to the beach with Maui if you want to meet me there.
See you in 15 minutes!
Another ding lets me know I have an important email. Edwina has already sent the material. Six scripts. Some of them will be terrible and one or two might be interesting. I’ll give them a look.
Later.
“C’mon, Maui. Let’s go for a walk.”
Chapter Seventeen
Phoebe
Suze and Maui are already on the beach when we arrive. Jasmine runs toward her like she hasn’t seen her in a year, arms out, palms high. Her body makes a joyful X against the landscape, and the artist part of my brain files away the contrasts—sea and sky and rock, flesh and bones and hair. I wish I could bottle her essence right now, bottle all the essences of the girls and women she will be through her life. I wish I could witness all of them, participate.
I’m sloshing with happiness today. At odd moments, I flash on the feeling of Ben’s naked body against mine, the gusto he brought to bed, to kissing, to pure, animal enjoyment. It freed something in me, something careful and withholding. I could be myself with him, utterly and completely, because over the months our friendship grew, I learned to trust him. I still do.