Page 29 of Dark Ugly Places

“Oh, sorry, baby. Is the film a go?”

“Yeah.” Jason swirls his drink around in the crystal glass. “Of course.”

“Where will you shoot?”

“Paris. London. Maybe Italy for a week or two. It is back-to-back with The Hurting Game. I told you that, right?” His voice sounds a bit exasperated to her, and Bambi scoots closer, putting her hands on his biceps, then his shoulders. She massages him slowly to try to calm him.

“Yeah, you did.” The Hurting Game has only just wrapped, and already he’s off again. She feels a pang of sickness she cannot place, her mind wandering to the last time Jason shot a film abroad several years ago for the WWII drama Telegraph. Bad connections. Lost signals. With Jason always eight or nine hours ahead, Bambi stayed up late, trying to catch him before his day on set began. The film itself was a flop, and since then, Jason has insisted on filming in the U.S. She wonders what’s changed.

Jason shakes her hands off him and turns. “We had a date, remember?”

“I know, and I’m so sorry, baby,” she says, trying to kiss him. He dodges her carefully.

“We’ve talked about this. This kind of thing cannot happen.”

“I know. I should have left sooner. They kept us after for the extra shots.”

“They?”

“The photographer. The director. You know. Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Yes. It’s for next summer’s catalogue.”

“I see.” Jason pours himself another drink. “Well, I missed you,” he says, his expression pouty.

For a moment, she thinks he’s being sweet, and her heart flutters. “I missed you, too.”

“You know I like you home when I’m home.”

Bambi nods, uncaps the water bottle, and takes a drink. In her palm, she can feel the blue pill against her skin, already starting to sweat.

Jason strums his fingers on the edge of his glass. “So, you were busy tonight with the photographer—sorry, having your ass kissed by the photographer—which is why you’re late for me?”

There it is. The turn Bambi was expecting. “I couldn’t just leave. Everyone else stayed. You know what it’s like.”

“I’m an actor. The whole set revolves around me. You’re a model. It’s different, Bambs.”

She doesn’t want to tell him that that’s exactly her point. He can make demands and control his own schedule, and directors have learned to put up with it. She’s never been quite so lucky.

“I’ve been here for hours waiting for you. Doesn’t that matter to you at all?”

“Yes, of course. That isn’t what I meant.”

Jason’s eyes widen with agitation. His pupils enlarge as he reaches out to her, stroking the side of her tanned face, then holding it between his thumb and forefinger tightly. “You’re browner than usual,” he remarks, an air of disgust in his voice. “You know how I hate that spray tan look.”

“I was going to take a shower.”

He releases his hand and studies her. “Have you been eating the meals Lucita prepares for you?”

“Of course. I eat.”

“You look like you’ve gained some weight.”

That’s impossible. Of course she hasn’t. Because of the shoot, it’s been nearly a week since she’s really eaten anything substantial. She wants to protest, but the words cling inside her throat.

“You have to want it, too.”