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“What the hell?” I swiped through screen after screen of unfamiliar titles, poetry, romance, crime, legal thrillers. It hit me I must’ve grabbed Lacey’s e-reader instead of my own. She loved all that crime crap. Read it on set. She bit her lip when she got to an exciting part, thumbed the screen faster, racing through the pages. It hit me with a pang, how I’d loved to watch her. How her simple enjoyment had made my heart swell. She’d been readingThe Bayou Lawyer, ten percent to go. Only the ending. Now she’d never know how the verdict came out.
I packed her e-reader away again and stretched out on the bed. Ruining endings for Lacey was becoming a trend for me — first the way I’d walked out on her, and now her book. At least our divorce would be neat and painless. I could give her that much, after all I’d taken.
I’d slipped into a shallow doze when I heard knocking. I jolted upright and shouted out “Coming,” and straightened my shirt out to answer the door.
“It’s just me,” said Sam, from the other side.
I left my hair how it was, flat and sleep-matted, and let him in. He frowned at me.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Sort of,” I said. “I had a long day.”
“Yeah, Gruber mentioned. That’s why I’m here. I told him I’d talk to you about what happened on set.” He squeezed in past me and stood surveying my room, my half-unpacked suitcase, my jacket on the floor. The room service menu facedown on the dresser.
“I feel bad,” I said. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”
“He said you advanced on him. He thought you might hit him.” Sam picked up my jacket and hung it over a chair. “I assured him you wouldn’t have. That you aren’t violent. That you’re simply exhausted, and you need some time off. Will three days be enough for you to get ahold of yourself?”
I couldn’t look at him. “Can he give me three days?”
“He’ll move up Jeremy’s murder scene, and his scenes in the club. But that’s the most he can give you and still stay on schedule.”
“That’s fine. And I’m sorry.” I sat on the bed. “Iwouldn’thave hit him. You’re right about that.”
Sam sat down next to me. “I know you wouldn’t. At least, I don’t think you would. But I didn’t think you’d yell at him either. He wasn’t the only one spooked by the way you reacted. Some of the crew said the same thing he did, you were moving toward him, crowding him back.”
I sat hunched and shamefaced, studying my knees. I’d made the kind of mistake today that was hard to live down, a meltdown on set. A full-blown tantrum. That type of behavior followed actors around, got them labeled divas and nightmares to work with.
“He was worried,” said Sam.
I looked up. “Who, Gruber?”
“Yeah. You know how he is, his attention to detail. He knows you’re not like this, no other complaints. He’s concerned you’re struggling, and frankly, so am I. You’ve been hiding away, shut in your hotel room—”
“I’m not hiding,” I said. “Iamexhausted. Two starring roles back-to-back, that’s not easy.”
“And neither is what you’re going through with Lacey.”
I stiffened and said nothing. Sam touched my arm.
“I know you don’t like to air your dirty laundry, but it’s bursting out anyway, all over the place. You know you can talk to me. I won’t judge.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “It really is just exhaustion.”
Sam made a frustrated sound, air through his teeth. “I’ve seen you exhausted. You don’t get like that.”
“Well, today I was wet, cold,andexhausted. And come on, admit it, Gruber’s the worst.”
“And so’s getting your heart broken. Come on, what happened? You at least need to—”
“No.”
“You can’t pretend—”
“No.”
Sam threw his hands up. “Fine, be that way. Keep shutting me out. But sooner or later, you’ll needsomeoneto talk to. Keep holding it in like this, you’re going to explode. Explode again, rather. Explode everywhere.”
