“You have to go.” She glares.
“I’ll think about it.”
Zebulund’s party is the last thing on my mind. My mother’s worried tone flashes through my mind and I replay her words, “internal bleeding.” I need clear tonight’s schedule to talk to Paul. I’m booked solid until the press tour is over and I start shooting the next film. Then the whole damn cycle starts over again.
“When is it? I’ll move things around.”
The ball slips out of my hand and rolls toward the closet in the foyer. “Stop giving me that face,” I call out as I half stoop to chase after it.
She starts to speak but whatever she says blurs into the background as my brain fights to take in the scene in front of me.
A naked woman stands in front of me. I’m talking right in front of my face. Were her arms not crossed casually in front of her, I would know her waxing preferences. She has a bored expression. My shock must show because finally, she reacts. She frowns and looks behind her like I’m the one out of place in this scenario. Her mouth falls opens.
Peers have shared stories of crazy fans sneaking their way into rooms, of men and women draped naked across beds when they get home. But never, not once, have I experienced anything at this level.
I’m on a delay but then reality hits me. Crazy naked lady in my closet!
I scream something I’m not proud of and shoot upright. I scramble back, slamming into the table so hard the large arrangement of flowers wobbles precariously. I have to use my whole upper body to steady it.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel is at my side in an instant.
I point to the closet with a shaking hand. We turn in unison to examine the empty area.
“Someone’s in here.” As I speak I’m whipping all around to find the missing woman.
“What? Where?” Rachel, to my surprise, immediately picks up her phone, ready to act with whatever power she can wield.
“You didn’t see another person?” I ask.
Rachel scans the room as she calls down to the front desk. “Send security.” She pushes open doors and checks the room as she explains the situation.
My tiny assistant checks closets and calls for help as I stand pointless near the exit, half-cowering behind the safety of the doorway. It’s not my finest moment. Barely five minutes later a hulking guard sweeps the room and assures us that nobody is there. He leaves, insisting he’ll check the cameras. I slump into the couch.
“It’s been a long fucking day.”
Week.
Month.
Year.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes until tiny white spots swirl around. I saw something. Didn’t I? Fuck. I can’t remember the last time I slept more than an hour or two at a time. My stomach grumbles again to remind me of my other problems.
“What did she look like?” Rachel asks and, God, I could hug her for humoring the crazy man.
“Sort of like you. I mean, I think. Tall. Blond.”
“Well, that could be it then. Maybe my reflection in the TV or window or something? There are a lot of shiny surfaces.” She seems very sure.
But I’m sure too. There was a woman standing just inches in front of me and there was no trick of light. My cheeks heat. I’m a tool. I can’t tell Rachel that the woman I saw was naked. What if she thinks I’m making some crazy-ass pass at her? Not that she seems to need my protection. If anything, it’s clear that I need her as my bodyguard.
“Actually,” I say, “I think you’re right.”
Rachel sits back and lets out a breath through puffed cheeks. “Yeah?” She watches me too closely. “I can tell you saw someone. But I was standing right there too. I didn’t see anybody coming or going.”
“Maybe she snuck out.”
“Maybe. Regardless, I’m canceling the rest of your interviews. In fact, I’m canceling the rest of your day. You need a break.”
