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Sydney
Gropelman Studios
Back Lot
“You fucked her,” Marsha says matter-of-factly after Stacee went off to her trailer to find her assistant.
“Jesus Christ, Marsha. Shut the hell up.”
“You did. Don’t deny it,” she says, poking me in the side.
I don’t say anything about Stacee because I’m not a fucking dick; instead, I needle her.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with Tyler?”
“Tyler? Why in the world would you think anything is going on with Tyler?” she asks, already turning pink.
“You can’t be serious, Marsha. I’ve known you since you were eighteen. You’re what, thirty-three now?”
“I’m thirty-two, I was seventeen when we met.”
“And you’re telling me that you don’t look longingly at my brother every single time you’re in the same room with him?”
“Shut up. It’s not the same thing. He doesn’t see me like that, no matter what I think.”
“Marsha, just tell him how you feel. He’ll respond, one way or another and you can move forward. This isn’t healthy.”
“If I do that, it’ll be over. I know it. We won’t be able to be friends. He’s my best friend, Tyson. I can’t. I’ll stop teasing you, just please don’t tell him.”
“Don’t tell him what?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“That I’m in love with him.” She breathes out, and it’s almost like she’s been holding that breath inside of her lungs for fifteen years. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
“Feel better?” I ask, already knowing that she doesn’t.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. I watch a tear fall from her eye before she turns and walks away. My brother is a fucking idiot. Too bad I can’t tell him. I wouldn’t do that to Marsha. She’s been a good friend forever.
“Tyson!” I hear my name shouted, and before I can even turn around, a blur of curly hair and thick coke bottle glasses barrels around me and pulls me into a hug.
“Stella! How are you?” Stella Arnett is my go-to director. She’s twenty-five and is already the greatest director of our generation. Every award she’s ever been nominated for, she’s won. I haven’t seen her in about six months, but it’s like no time has passed.
“Where’s your brother?” she asks, and my mind freaks out for a minute. “He said he’d be here.”
“Tyler?”
“God, no. Not that sullen asshole. .”
“?”
“Yeah. He wanted to meet for drinks later tonight.”
“In Sydney?” I ask, confused. The last I saw him, he was with my mom.
“Yes…”
“I didn’t know he was coming. I haven’t seen him.”
“Oh never mind. I must have misunderstood him.”
