“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.”
He’s grinning at me. “And you don’t like that?”
I can’t suppress a smile. “Correct, I don’t like that.”
He pops an olive in his mouth gamely. “ ’Cause a lot of people do like that.” He crunches.
I giggle. “Yes, I know. I know they do. And I’ve met those people, I know them.”
“But you think they’re wrong?” He’s prodding me on.
“No. Not wrong. I don’t know what’s going on in their lives. But I don’t want to be one of them. I guess I’m only just starting to wonder what exactly we’re all hoping to find at the top of the ladder when we finally get there, you know?” It’s strange, it’s the first time I’ve articulated that thought in my life, but hearing myself say it I understand it’s been creeping up on me since George left.
Nick watches me scramble for words to explain why I can’t wait to leave this godforsaken place. And again, I think about telling him the whole truth. But then that would change everything between us.
He senses my flip in mood. “What is it? Just say it,” he encourages.
I watch as soft flames lick the edges of the logs in the firepit, their heat on my bare ankles.
“Do you know someone called Ben Cohan, Nick?” I ask, avoiding his gaze.
I feel him tense next to me. There’s only the pop and crackle from the firepit and then he speaks. “I’ve met him a couple of times, yeah,” he says, his tone tight. “Why?”
“I met him today,” I say, turning to look at Nick. His features, usually so quick to shift to a smile, are fixed in a frown.
“Okay…” he prompts.
I don’t know how far I’m going with this but I let the words come. “I’ve heard some things, about him.” In my tone there’s a question.
“Yeah, I’d take those things at face value.”
“They’re true?”
He leans forward. “Did something happen?” he asks.
