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“‘Blow’ pretty much describes it. But when he finally got clean and sober, he downscaled his lifestyle and started investing his residuals. He’s done shockingly well for himself. He even paid off the mortgage on his house.”
It was ironic. The only thing Bram hadn’t deceived her about was his feelings for her. Friendship. And there it stopped.
She found herself stari
ng at nothing, or picking up a book and reading the same sentence over and over. But she didn’t cry as she had with Lance. This time, her sadness ran too deep for tears. The only activity that interested her involved taking a camera down to one of the luxury resorts and interviewing the maids. Since she couldn’t endure that kind of public exposure, she set up her camera on the shady white stone patio and interviewed herself.
“Tell me, Georgie. Have you always been a loser in love?”
“More or less. How about yourself?”
“More or less. And why do you think that is?”
“A pathetic need to be loved?”
“And you’re blaming that on…what? Your childhood relationship with your father?”
“Let’s.”
“So it’s ultimately your father’s fault you fell in love with Bram Shepard?”
“No,” she whispered. “It’s my fault. I knew falling in love with him was impossible, but I had to go and do it anyway.”
“You gave up your audition and a chance to play Helene.”
“How about that. What a woman will do for love, right?”
“Stupid.”
“What was I supposed to do? Work with him every day, then go home with him at night?”
“What you should do is make your career your first priority.”
“I don’t care about my career right now. I haven’t even hired a new agent. I only care about…”
“Being miserable?”
“A few months and I’ll be over him.”
“Do you really believe that?”
No, she didn’t believe it. She loved Bram in a clear-eyed way she’d never loved her ex-husband, no rose-colored glasses or mindless giddiness, no Cinderella fantasies or false certainty that he’d put her life in order. What she felt for Bram was messy, honest, and soul-deep. He felt like…part of her, the best and the worst. Like someone she wanted to struggle through life with; share triumphs and catastrophes; share holidays, birthdays, every days.
“Excellent,” her interviewer said. “I’ve finally made you cry. Just like Barbara Walters.”
Georgie turned off the camera and buried her face in her hands.
Georgie had been gone almost two weeks, and Aaron was Bram’s only source of information. Georgie’s P.A. had taken it upon himself to leak a series of fictitious stories to the tabs. He’d detailed Georgie’s decision to take a vacation while Bram worked and also served up long descriptions of romantic phone calls between the newlyweds. Aaron’s fabrications kept the press at bay, so Bram didn’t correct them.
Tree House continued to move forward without any major snarls, even though they still hadn’t finished casting. He should have been on top of the world, but he mainly wanted to look up his old drug dealer. He buried himself in work instead, to keep the devils at bay.
Chaz was waiting for him on Monday night when he got home from the studio, a new supply of cookbooks spread out on the kitchen table instead of the GED workbooks she still hadn’t opened. She jumped up as he appeared. “I’ll make a sandwich for you. A good one, with whole grain bread, turkey, and guacamole. I’ll bet all you’ve eaten today is junk.”
“I don’t want anything, and I told you not to wait up for me.”
She bustled over to the refrigerator. “It isn’t even midnight.”
Long experience had taught him the futility of arguing with Chaz about food, so even though all he wanted to do was sleep, he hung around and pretended to sift through some mail on the counter while she pulled containers from the refrigerator and filled him in on her life. “Aaron’s being a pain. He and Becky split up—they haven’t even been together three weeks. He said they’re too much alike. But that should be a good thing, right?”
