She grabs my hands. “You’re brilliant. You play the game like you were born for it. Not many people can. But you’re also genuine somehow. Plus, you have this thing. People talk aboutItall the time. People are desperate forIt. But you really haveIt. That Thing. I get to see it firsthand every day. Even before your fame, I bet you were always the center of attention.”
I stare at the floor. She’s right, but it’s never felt earned. She can’t understand that. There’s no such thing as getting everything. There’s always a cost. She lifts my chin with a finger and her gaze penetrates me.
“Also, you’re a brilliant actor. You give me chills. It’s unreal. You should know that I don’t say that lightly. Like I’ve said, I’ve been in this town a long time. It’s not dumb luck that you’re here. Not by a long shot.” Her tangent does weird things to my chest so I break the tension.
“I thought you’ve never seen my movies.”
She shrugs and the old Maggie coolness is back, but she’s playing at it because the corner of her mouth lifts.
“I lied.” She kisses my nose. “I didn’t want it going to your head.”
Her ease of intimacy compared to when we first met is surprising. For someone so cold and angry she’s very good at it. It’s like it’s all been lurking under the surface. And she just needed to find someone deserving of it. Which means she thinks I’m worthy of it and that has me feeling like the best fucking guy in the world. More than all the accolades she listed. Her eyes pull down in a sad little frown and her tone grows serious.
“You deserve more than most and then some. But you’re not happy. This city is eating you alive. That’s what it does. This industry. It’ll pump you full of whatever you think you need temporarily so it can get what it needs but it’ll leave you drained long term. It’s not luck. You made it here, you’ve sustained it here, because you’re brilliant.”
Despite her intent, I feel worse again. Because now it feels like maybe it is my destiny to be here in this career and even she believes it. Like I don’t actually have a choice in the matter.
Maybe I’ve waited too long to respond because she says, “But just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it’s your passion. It doesn’t mean you have to do it.”
“What. And just walk away?” I ask. “From all this. From everything?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs.
“It’s not that easy.”
“But it really is. Take your money and run before there’s nothing of you left.” She wraps her arms around my neck. Her eyes cloud a little with sadness. her thumb caresses my lips then presses the area between my eyebrows, soothing them. “I give you permission to leave.” Her voice is tight.
“But you said I have a talent for it.”
“So? I have a talent for packing U-Hauls very efficiently but I’m not a mover for a living.”
“That’s an odd example and not exactly relevant.” The side of my mouth lifts. Because, Maggie. “You aren’t awarded lots of money for your packing ability.”
“The point is still valid. You don’t want to admit it to yourself because you’re holding on so desperately to this false truth you’re living.”
“Jesus, Maggie. Way to cut to the quick.”
She holds my stare. And there’s something she’s not saying, something on her mind.
“You’re allowed to be grateful and still walk away,” she finally says. “Nobody expects you to be miserable. You get to choose your life, Roe, that’s how this all works.”
* * *
Maggie
Roe doesn’t thankme for my brilliance. He doesn’t say anything. But he does smile at me in a way that makes my heart conga around in my chest. He grabs my face and kisses with something that feels deep with meaning. When we pull away from each other, we’re both panting. What I told him is true. He should leave. He isn’t happy here, but I’m surprised at how bad that idea hurts me. I don’t like how much I’ve grown accustomed to having him around me.
He snatches the flight-inducing pancakes and takes a big bite. We share the now cold breakfast in silence, occasionally smiling at each other or pausing to lick syrup off the other’s mouth.
I’m happy. It feels weird, to have fallen for Roe in a way that I can’t even begin to understand. I’m not throwing out the L word but I’m notnotthrowing it out there either.
There’s a nagging at the back of my mind, though. Some weird self-revelation I had when I spoke to Roe. About living a life for the wrong reasons. My mind keeps wandering back to that. Pointing out the statement and waving its arms at my hypocrisy. I nudge it away.
Things have changed between Roe and me, but my mission hasn’t. I haven’t changed. I need to bring Zebulund down. More than ever, actually. A plan formulates in my mind while I clean up plates. Roe is showering when my phones buzzes.
“If you’re done with the gooey eyes, check the news.” It’s from O.G.
I raise an eyebrow at his salty tone.
