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Laurie doesn't like it. The suit doesn't like it. They leave the room to talk about us. They claim it's for a phone call, but it's obviously to talk about us. Naomi turns to me, her eyes narrow.
“You quit your last show,” she says.
“I had to. Health reasons,” I say.
“Which health reasons—Adderall or Percocet?”
“Different health reasons.”
“Yeah, right.” She mimes snorting coke. I roll my eyes. Some people are impossible.
But she's signed a contract. I haven't. If I want to secure my role 100%, I have to get her on my side.
“I know this is frustrating for you,” I say. “You've done it before. But the only way we're going to get through it, is if you work with me. We both want this show to make it. We both want it to go for 100 episodes and make us rich. So, can you help me convince these suits we're both right for these parts?”
“Yeah, whatever,” she says. But, when Laurie and the suit return, and we read our next scene, Naomi gets into character, allowing me to steal moments and have a little fun with my lines. The sisters come to life, sparring and arguing to much more comedic effects. They like this version better. Hopefully, they like it enough they'll keep me on.
My last chemistry read is easy. My character's ex-boyfriend. A sweet guy, but far too dull for Marie Jane. The actor, Brett, is gregarious and fun, but I can see why Marie Jane would leave a guy like him. She needs someone with more to offer. Someone more interesting. Someone who loves life and seeks out knowledge. Someone who cares about more than working to the bone. Someone who would fuck her in a movie theater.
We finish with a long conversation about Model Citizen. Laurie is sure the network will approve me. I should have the contract tonight. The rest of the week will be wardrobe fittings and rehearsals. We start shooting the following Monday. Next week will be my last week of freedom before 10 weeks of 12 hour days.
I drive home, willing my brain to stay on the meeting. It went well. I was acting again and I was killing it. It's one thing I actually know how to do.
But my thoughts are a jumble, and they keep jumping around between Luke and Ryan and this whole mess.
***
I spend the afternoon in the apartment, pacing around the living room, flipping through channels on TV. Luke texts. I'm worried about you. What would he say if he knew what really happened? What would he do if he caught me binging and purging? Would he freak out, utterly unable to handle it? Or would he stay calm and collected like Ryan does?
It's not like I do it all the time. This was the first time I've done it since treatment. But it might happen again, and I can't be with someone who can't handle it. I can't be with someone who is scared of how ugly I can get.
I'm getting ahead of myself again. Luke hasn't had a chance to fuck things up yet. He might not even want to fuck things up. He might want to be with Samantha.
Besides, I'm not supposed to be thinking of him at all. I'm supposed to eradicate him from my thoughts.
But he offered an explanation, and I want to hear it.
Or do you want another chance to be in his apartment, in his presence, his skin pressed against yours?
I text Luke. “When do I get this explanation?”
He replies 30 minutes later. “Ryan has an early meeting tomorrow. Come by my apartment at 8. We'll have at least two hours before he could possibly interrupt.”
“What do you think you're getting in your apartment?” I reply.
“Well, my first choice would be a long day with you. Breakfast, tea, conversation, a movie, something black and white maybe. Then we could try using the bed. I hear those are popular.”
“Luke…” I reply.
“I'm not an idiot. All I expect is 15 minutes to explain things. Okay?”
But what if I'd rather skip all the talking and try using the bed? What if I want to channel Marie Jane and find the perfect distraction from how much I've fucked everything up?
What if Luke really is in love with this other woman?
Chapter 19
My cell phone alarm rings at 7:30. The sunrise fills the empty room. I reach over to Ryan's side of the bed, but he isn't there. He's already gone.
