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I never look up at the stars.
SKIP
Why’s that?
SCOOTER
Because they make me feel too small. Less than a speck. I’d rather stick my hand in a lion’s cage than look at stars.
SKIP
That’s crazy. Stars are beautiful.
SCOOTER
Stars are depressing. I want to do big things with my life, but how can I when the stars only remind me of how small I really am?
Eventually the van pulled off the highway and came to a stop on a bumpy dirt road. Bram dropped to the ground. She poked her head out. It was pitch-black, and they were in the middle of nowhere. She climbed down and walked gingerly around to the front of the van. The headlights picked out a wooden sign reading jean dry lake. Next to it, a tattered poster advertised some kind of rocket-launching festival. Bram was talking to the driver of a nondescript dark sedan. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, so she stayed where she was.
The van driver passed her carrying their luggage. “I really liked you in Skip and Scooter,” he said.
“Thanks.” She wished more people would say they liked her in one of her movies.
The sedan’s driver got out and put their suitcases in the trunk. Both men climbed into the van and pulled away. She and Bram stood alone, only his burnished hair shining in the moonlit darkness.
“They won’t keep quiet about this,” she said. “You know they won’t. It’s too juicy a story.”
“By the time it gets out, we’ll be long home.”
Home. She couldn’t imagine them trapped in her small rental house. She’d have to find another place quickly—something large enough so they’d never see each other. As she opened the car door, she checked her watch. It was two o’clock; only twelve hours since she’d awakened and found herself in this mess.
Bram slipped behind the wheel. He drove fast, but not recklessly. “A friend is driving my car back to L.A. in a couple of days. If we’re lucky, it’ll take that long before anybody figures out we’ve left.”
“We need a place to live,” she said. “I’ll have my real estate agent find something fast.”
“We’re moving into my place.”
“Your place? I thought you were house-sitting in Malibu.”
“I only stay out there when I want to get away.”
“From what?” She kicked off her sandals. “Wait. Didn’t Trev tell me you live in an apartment?”
“Is there something wrong with apartments?”
“Yes. They’re small.”
“Have you always been such a snob?”
“I’m not a snob. This is about privacy. From each other.”
“That’s going to be a little tough with only one bedroom. Although it’s a pretty big bedroom.”
She glared at him. “We’re not living in your one-bedroom apartment.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but that’s where I’m living.”
Now she got it. This was how he intended to handle everything. It would be his way or the highway.<
