“What do we do after this?” she asked.
I took a breath. “You’ll go home. You’ll pretend everything—”
“No, not me. I’m clear on my role in this. But us. Keep pretending we hate each other?”
“Pretending?”
“What, you do?” she laughed like the thought was ridiculous. “Come on, it’s far more complicated than that or you wouldn’t be here now. Neither of us would.”
“In this car? No. I’d be at a party in Soho celebrating my BAFTA.”
“No you wouldn’t. I’m what gives you hunger to savor a win.”
“You’re right,” I said dryly. “You made me a much better actress and a much worse person.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Look, Harper. I was determined back when you were still flirting with professors for grades.Youdistracted me from that determination with all this rivalry bullshit. I’d be perfectly fine without you.”
“You were bored stiff. Admit it. I saved you.”
“You ruined me.”
“Same thing.”
She pulled up to a red light and took the opportunity to cock her head to the side and look at me, a smirk drawing slowly across her still-stained lips. “You’re a beautiful ruin, Nadine. I don’t want to imagine me without you or you without me. Not when what we’ve created is so fascinating. So noteworthy.”
“Noteworthy like a body in the woods.”
“Yes,” she said simply, like that didn’t matter much at all.
I flipped the mirror down on the sun visor, trying to pin my hair back into some semblance of how it had looked before with the added messiness of a few hours of dancing.
“In terms of what we do from here,” I said carefully. “We lean in like we’ve never leaned in before. We create chaos. We are the great biglook over therethat keeps eyes away from your missing husband.”
“And us?”
She was rolling through South London now. She was dropping me in Brixton, where I could jump in a cab and pretend I’d been at The Fridge all evening. I’m sure plenty of people would be on enough substances to hallucinate me there anyway.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I need to think.”
She nodded and pulled up at the curb on a quiet side street.
“What are you without me?” she asked quietly—not to be cruel, as I would usually expect, but like she truly needed the answer.
A multi-award-winning actress. An icon. One of the biggest names in Hollywood.
All answers I might have given in another life but couldn’t right now. It didn’t seem to be what she was asking. It wasn’t a response I could give.
“I don’t know, Harper,” I said, sliding out of the car. But I hesitated before I closed the door, met her wretched eyes and said: “The only thing I know is that all I ever wanted was attention. And no one ever paid me as much as you.”
A FATAL FEUD
Jasmine McKenna:There are few shots I’d deem legendary from the last few years. Nicole Kidman after signing divorce papers. Winona Ryder shoplifting. And Nadine Heywood in her ball gown, smoking a cigarette on the streets of Brixton.
Amos DuPont:Don’t ask me about that. I’m still furious.
Nadine Heywood:I wanted to go out and celebrate.
