17
Roe
After the premiereis over I take a sleepy Mrs. J. home. She thanks me profusely and we make plans to see each other again soon. Maggie isn’t at the main house or back in her bungalow. She isn’t responding to my calls or my texts. Out of obligation, I head to the after-party at the Four Seasons, thrown by the production company. The guy in front of me may as well be speaking Latin for all I’m paying attention. He’s a writer. He’s got a wispy goatee and it’s painfully distracting. Every time he talks it flops around on a delay, like it’s trying to tell me something in code.
“It’d be a great chance to earn your acting chops. A serious role,” he says.
My head nods like it’s listening but I’m pretty sure he wrote a movie about giant killer house cats. I almost choke on my water when I hear him say “bad pussy.”
“That sounds interesting.” I pat his arm and start walking away. “Pass it on to my agent. Excuse me, I see somebody I know.”
In the bathroom, I call Maggie again. It goes right to voicemail. I’m going to kill her. As soon as I make sure she’s okay. I step out of the bathroom and Rachel’s waiting for me.
My heartbeat stutters and skips like a dying engine. For a split second, I thought she was Maggie. For that instant, thoughts of her on my arm at these events teased me. I’d show her off as my brilliant Maggie to every person I met.
Rachel could be her stunt double. But my Maggie has an aura about her that nobody can touch. She glows. And when she’s Under it’s like she’s a beacon.
“Doing okay?” Rachel asks.
“Yup, how are you?”
“Want some?” Rachel forces a plate into my hand. It’s an assortment of shrimps and quiches and something gelatinous.
“I just ate a big meal.”
She studies me for a second. “Okay. I’m not even hungry.” She shrugs. “I’m going to go throw it away then.”
“No.” I snatch the plate out of her hands. “Don’t throw it away.” I stack the four small pieces of food like checker pieces and swallow them down.
Rachel watches me over the rim of her champagne glass. “I think the tail was still on that shrimp.”
“Extra fiber.” Something scrapes along my throat.
“You’re sort of an odd duck, you know that?” She drains the rest of her glass.
“Yes.”
“Thinking about heading out soon. I’m done for.” Rachel sets down a champagne flute and yawns, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’ve got a documentary and comfy pants with my name on them.”
“I’ll walk out with you.”
I stop and say my goodbyes to a few important people and thank the organizers for a great night. Rachel waits patiently outside the hotel doors.
“Want me to call a car?” I ask.
“Nah. Let’s walk. It’s a beautiful night.”
Rachel stumbles a little as we stroll. I steady her, and she tucks her arm through mine. It’s intimate but not weird. She’s been working for me for two years and there’s never been a worry about line-crossing. We’ve never talked about it but we aren’t each other’s types. Whatever tangible zing I feel with Maggie isn’t present with Rachel.
“Does it bother your fiancé that you work all these crazy hours?” I ask after we’ve walked in silence for a few minutes.
“Since when do you ask about my personal life?” She narrows her eyes.
“Ouch.” I hold my chest. “Am I that self-absorbed as your boss?”
“No.” Her head shakes with a laugh. “You’re just private and it seems you expect that of others too. I’ve always respected that about you.”
“I should still ask about others.” I shrug because it’s true. I’ve never understood those who tell their entire life stories up front.
