I’ve found her. I’m taking her back to the house.
Where? When? Why didn’t you tell us?
* * *
I stare at my phone until Vivien appears.
“Carter found her. They’re heading to your house.”
Her mouth pops open. “What? Where? When?”
“That’s exactly what I asked. I’m not sure. He’s not replying. Now, I guess?”
She sinks onto the sofa. “I can’t believe this.”
I sit next to her. “Are you okay?”
“This is just like her. Only thinking about what she wants to do, and not how it will affect anyone else. The selfishness is inherent. Genetic. Am I like that?”
I angle my knees toward her. “Not at all.”
“I’m being unfair. I don’t really think Audrey is intentionally like that, either.” She slumps back. “At least she’s trying. Sometimes. Sort of. I don’t think anyone who grew up with our mom as a mom could turn out normal. I’m not normal. I’ve never had real friends because I was so isolated and awkward.”
“You’re not awkward now.”
She rubs her face. “I got out as soon as I could. Audrey didn’t. I still don’t really have friends, except Daphne, and we just met.”
“What about the guys you did the show with? Weren’t you friends?”
“They call me, sometimes. Actually, Whitman texted me this morning, but only because my Mother called him.”
“Your mom called your ex-costar? Why?”
“She was trying to get information from him on my whereabouts. She does stuff like that sometimes. Anyway, Hudson came to visit me in Boston twice, but he’s impossible to go anywhere with. He draws a crowd, and he loves it. I hate it. Hudson and Whit are close. But they didn’t have the same experience as me.”
“What do you mean?”
She shifts closer. “They’re boys. No one was bugging them about relationships, or printing entire articles on their changing bodies and eventual virginity loss.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. There was a whole website devoted to counting down the seconds until I was of legal age.”
“That’s disgusting.” I have a sudden urge to hunt down every person who ever objectified her, even a little bit, and punch them in the face.
As if sensing my violent tendencies, she reaches over, putting a hand on my knee. “It’s fine. It’s over now. One of the many reasons I disappeared from Hollywood and all its trappings. For so long, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Until I got the letter from you, about Beverly. And I remembered how much Surrender meant when I was young, and I had to come back. But I didn’t think I would inherit the theater . . . and now I won’t be inheriting the theater.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
Her hand leaves my leg. “Oh. You’re right. You have to confirm with the next letter. I almost forgot, after everything with Audrey.”
“I’ll be right back.” Pushing to my feet, I head into my office.
I read it while I’m walking back into the waiting room, coming to a stop in front of where she’s still sitting on the couch. My eyes skim down the page, and then I read it over again.
Vivien’s foot taps against the hardwood. “Spencer.”
“Give me a second.” I read it a third time. Then I fold it and look at her. “ I think . . . I think it’s going to be okay. I think you did what you were intended to do.”
