Harper’s home was tiered, and she led me up to the very top, where a singular room sat, the entire wall glass that could be pushed aside to access the terrace perched on the roof of the floor below. I tried not to look at what was obviously her bedroom—the messy sheets, the clothes strewn about, the jar of sleeping pills on the side. It was too intimate a glimpse of her.
But we went onto the terrace, and we sat beside each other on the huge daybed, the artificial fire pit burning, and watched the gently crashing ocean waves, the stars shining dimly above.
The scotch was oaky and smooth. You had to drink it slowly. You had to savor every last drop.
“Do you ever wonder what happened to everyone else from CADS?” Harper asked.
I shrugged. “I only really spoke to Ivan—and I was just staying with him. I didn’t want to be alone after … everything.”
“No,” she said quietly. “Me neither.”
I knew what she really meant—because I’d still felt alone at Ivan’s. It was here that I didn’t. With someone who understood.
(Whatever else I’d ever felt in Harper’s presence, it was always, inarguablyunderstood.She had dissected me well enough to know the bones of me.)
“He’s getting married next year.”
“Well, best of luck to him,” she laughed, pouring more scotch into our glasses.
“Ruben Porter and Eric Mwangi are still on the circuit. Mwangi’s huge on the West End and Porter’s in anything the BBC throw at him.”
“I heard Flora McCarthy is a Playboy bunny now.”
It took me a moment before I remembered the quiet girl in ourBlood Weddingensemble. “No!” I gasped.
So we reminisced and we drank and we watched the waves roll in the dark.
Harper leaned back against the headrest, so close I couldsmell the scotch on her. I must have smelled the same. We had to be indistinguishable.
“Even the press wouldn’t call this frenemies,” she said. Her hand lay so close to mine I could feel the static arcing between us. My fingers twitched, a small jolt. Enough to close the space. Enough to call that quick brush an accident. Her hands were cool to the touch, and I wanted to grasp them within my own, to bring them to my lips and warm with my breath.
“No,” I said, sighing and leaning back with her. I turned to face her, this time, for once, prepared for her to be so close. “We’ll have to come up with something else to be.”
———
The tide turned, and it turned quickly. It began as whispers, idle chat and speculation at every drinks reception I went to, with makeup artists on sets, even the drivers who brought me from one party to the next.
Then it hit the press.
Fears Mount over Whereabouts of Joel Ingram as Credit Card Unused for Two Weeks
“Joel wouldn’t disappear without speaking to the team first,” Says West Ham Captain Leandro Ameida
Heart of Stone? Harper Moore Seen in Skimpy Dress Enjoying Cocktails withFriends Kayla Alexander and Stephanie Cameron While Husband Still Missing
I could barely keep still before the Academy Awards. I was nervous, which wasn’t rare for an award—I wanted each and every one, wanted to collect them like the accomplishments might one day feel enough. And this was a damn Oscar—the best of the best. I had no singing ability, so a Grammy to complete the EGOT was out of the question, so a second Oscar it was. Ruchi’s words felt like a quiet whisper—one the hungry, needy part of me was willfully ignoring because Iwantedthis, no matter the odds stacked against me.
I’d fought for a comeback, and here I was at the Oscars. Fears the Academy were beyond the reproach of my scandalous past abated by the nomination—and perhaps they really were ready to knight me serious, dedicated, devoted Nadine Heywood once more.
But still I knew my nervousness was more than all that. This was my first time with Harper in public since the BAFTAs.
It was only a few weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime, and each day without the police knocking at our door felt like a day where that eventuality was more and more unlikely.
“I caved,” Amos said, unzipping a pearl pink gown complete with layered taffeta ruffles.
“By making me look like a cake?”
“This is one of mine, Clipboard.” He swatted me. “It rustles as you move. You take up space. You take up sound.You’re a winner, and you’re dressing like one. But you arenot, I repeatnot, going out clubbing like one.”
