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Just as I’m feeling as if I’ll go mad, my phone vibrates, and I jump for it. It’s Greg. I swallow down my disappointment.
“Hey, man,” I say by way of greeting.
“Are you home? I’m in the neighborhood,” he says.
“I’m home.”
“I’m on my way.”
He finds me pacing the room ten minutes later. “I thought you might enjoy some company.”
“Are they still outside the gate?” The last time I’d checked on the CCTV cameras, the paparazzi were still outside my gate. I feel like a prisoner in my own home.
“Oh yes, but there are cops. Wasn’t too difficult driving in. Man, you look like shit,” Greg says.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I feel worse.”
“Maybe you should give them something, then they’ll stop hounding you,” Greg says.
“Yeah, Sebastian and my publicist are pushing me to give a short interview,” I tell him.
“I’m with them,” Greg says.
“Want a drink?” I ask him. I feel so tightly wound up that if someone so much as touches me, I’ll snap.
“Sure. A cold beer would be awesome.”
I lead the way to the kitchen to grab some beers from the fridge. We carry them to the living room, and as soon we enter, Greg spots two of the paintings I bought off Grace.
“What the?” he murmurs going to stand closer to the portrait that is hung above the mantelpiece. “Who did this?”
“Grace,” I tell him, forgetting my own woes as I watch his reaction. I can see that he is as entranced as I had been.
“The same Grace?”
I laugh. “Yes. She’s gifted, isn’t she?”
“She’s more than gifted. She captured a part of your soul in that painting. It’s almost as if we can see your thoughts.”
I swallow hard. I can still see Grace’s face when she opened the door for me that day, with paint smeared on her face and clothes. But it’s the passion and excitement in her eyes I remember the most.
“Does she have more finished work?” Greg says as he moves to the landscape. I can tell that he’s fighting to keep the excitement from his voice.
“Plenty. They are lined up in the spare bedroom she uses as a studio.”
“I’ve got to see them,” Greg says, dropping all pretenses of being cool.
“Hold your horses. She’s not going to let you see her paintings. Not now. She’ll associate you with me. Be patient. I’ll tell you when the time is right.”
He doesn’t look happy, but he nods. “You sure no one else will snag those paintings before I take a look?”
“Double sure.”
Greg goes to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I follow him. We look out to the well-kept gardens with gorgeous bright red roses.
“You’re really serious about her, aren’t you?” he says quietly.
“I’ve never felt this way about any other woman. She’s real, Greg, and you know how rare that is in the showbiz business.” The last three days without Grace have been the worst that I can remember. It feels as if the sunshine has gone from my life.
“Tell me about it,” Greg says.
He’s been thick in the business as well. His ex-wife is one of the most gifted actresses, and she has a temperament to match. She had had affairs when they were married, and Greg had only come to find out about it afterward.
Being in the same business, I’d heard rumors of Maryann’s cheating, and being the good friend that I was, I’d told Greg to investigate. He’d flown off the handle, and we hadn’t spoken for six months. The first thing he did when he and Maryann separated was to come to me to apologize.
“So what will you do?” Greg says.
“I need to deflate attention away from me, so I’ll do the interview, and hopefully, that will satisfy the vultures. Then I’ll get the space I need to be alone with Grace.” I haven’t risked going to her place when I’m being followed everywhere. The last thing I want is for them to find out about Grace. If they do, my chances will drop to zero percent.
“Sounds like the smartest thing to do. They’ll lose interest when they hear the story from the horse’s mouth,” Greg says.
We have another beer, and then Greg leaves after casting another longing look at Grace’s paintings.
“Call Sebastian and Anna. I’ll do the interview. Tell them to set them up as soon as possible.”
***
I sit still as a makeup artist brushes powder across my face. The momentous nature of this interview doesn’t escape me, but I’m too worried about Grace to obsess over what my fans will think of the new me. I’ve grown used to my scarred face, and so have the people around me, but I’m prepared to get all sorts of comments.
“Ready, Mr. Bryce?” one of the producers of the show asks when the makeup artist is done.
The interview has been set up on my front lawn with the house as a backdrop. My publicists chose the Morgan Morris show to do the interview for the host’s respectful way of handling interviews. He has been in this game for decades and commands respect everywhere.
