Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
A lex spent the rest of the week after the incident at The Rooster just as he always did—in near-constant darkness. He woke up every day around five, went for a brief jog or did push-ups or other body-weight exercises on his living room floor, made himself something simple to eat, then went up to The Rooster to relieve his parents from their nightly duties. He spent every night alone at the front desk, editing videos for his side hustle, greeting guests as they returned from dinners out across the island, and passing out flyers for potential “things to do” during the remainder of their stay. Sometimes, guests checked out before his parents returned for the morning, and Alex, who hadn’t slept all night, was often groggy and inarticulate when he wished them a “happy journey back home.” By eight or nine, he was back in his cabin, closing his curtains to block out the light and falling into bed to prepare to do everything all over again.
Alex finished Wes and Beatrice Sheridan’s wedding video and managed to cry only three times during his editing process. Their true love was beautiful. It was also something he would never be allowed to have again.
Alex’s parents were worried about him. They often asked why he didn’t meet up with his old friends and kept to himself. Only once did his father ask why he didn’t date. Alex hadn’t been able to answer truthfully, so he lied and said he sometimes did date, but that he was too focused on his filmmaking career to commit to anything. His father’s eyes had glinted with sorrow. Your career isn’t everything, Son.
After the incident with Zane and his parents, The Rooster staff heard nothing from the family at all. Someone came by to pick up their belongings and pay the bill, but Alex wasn’t at The Rooster then, and his mother didn’t ask who the stranger was. By the time Friday morning rolled around, none of the guests at The Rooster had been there when the ambulance had come, which meant Alex was alone with his memories. Even his parents had put it behind them in pursuit of making the new guests comfortable.
“I’m just so glad he’s all right,” Gina said.
It was a surprise to Alex when a man of about his age marched through the front door of The Rooster Friday morning just before seven. Alex’s parents had just arrived and were getting ready for the day ahead in back, and Alex was finishing up some logistic work for them and daydreaming about the sleep that awaited him at home.
The man wore all black: black jeans, a black V-neck T-shirt, and a pair of black aviator sunglasses. He looked sleek and entirely Hollywood, not unlike the men Alex had worked with when he’d very nearly been “someone” out West. If Alex wasn’t mistaken, the man winced on his way to the front desk but did everything he could to hide it. He wasn’t the kind of man who wanted to be perceived as weak.
Alex recognized him from somewhere but couldn’t place him. Too many guests had come in and out of The Rooster in the previous days. Too many new faces had blotted the old ones out.
“Morning,” the man said.
“Good morning!” Alex put on his best hospitality voice. “How can I help you?”
The man removed his aviators and spread his hands across the counter. Gina’s voice came from the back, telling Timothy they were nearly out of mustard, and it would be a “dire situation” if they didn’t rectify it soon.
A smile wiggled across the strange man’s lips.
“Everything in the hospitality industry is life-and-death, isn’t it?” the man asked.
Alex let out a laugh. “I take it you know the industry well?”
“Better than well. I worked at the Chateau Marmont from the age of twenty to thirty-one.”
Alex’s jaw went slack with surprise and intrigue. The Los Angeles hotel was a glowing relic of Hollywood royalty, most of whom were notoriously demanding.
“That’s an environment I respect but want nothing to do with,” Alex said. “Not from the hospitality end of things.”
“You got that right,” the stranger said. “Some of the things people asked me to do for them still haunt me. Actors and actresses who thought they owned me just because I appeared in front of them with a uniform on. But now that I’ve stayed there as a guest? I can only recommend the luxury of that place.”
Alex’s heart pounded. He was right that this man was a part of Hollywood; a part of the mechanisms of that colossal beast that controlled so much of pop culture. Who was he? A director? An actor? He was handsome enough for on-screen but sharp and intellectual enough for behind-camera work. But what’s he doing at The Rooster?
“Listen, I wanted to come by and thank you myself,” the man said. He pressed his hand to his heart and grimaced. “I’ve been crazy stressed with work lately. Over my head with anxiety. And it took its toll the other night.”
Alex’s thoughts clicked into place; this is Zane’s father.
“Oh, man. I didn’t realize it was you.” Alex furrowed his brow. “I’m just so glad you’re all right. We all are. I should tell my mother you’re here. She might hug you and never let go.”
The man waved his hand with a smile. “I appreciate that. But I actually came to talk to you, specifically.”
Alex’s chest thrummed.
“I’m here for a job,” the man continued. “We arrived last weekend to get the lay of the land and soak up the coziness of a little Nantucket inn before I started work. We’ve moved into a beach house in Siasconset.”
“Lovely,” Alex said. It was the richest part of the island.
“My son and wife adore it,” the man said. “But there’s something about these family inns, don’t you think? Something that transports me back to childhood. And I loved being able to walk around the Historic District at night without bothering with a car. But my son can’t get enough of the water, and my wife needs the peace and quiet after so many hours in the hospital.”
Alex imagined Zane racing up and down the beach as sand flew out from the heels of his feet.
“The thing is, I’m not one hundred percent ready to get back to work.”
“I imagine not. You had surgery.” Alex took a beat. “Do you want to sit down?”
The man laughed and waved his hand. “My wife’s in the rental car outside. Dr. Sutton assures me I can walk a few steps a day. The human body is amazing, isn’t it? I can’t believe I ever took so much pleasure in art when I should have been focused on science. That’s the real magic in this world. Not some silly film.”
Alex smiled at the sound of Dr. Sutton.
“I grew up with Bethany,” he said. “I mean, Dr. Sutton.”
“They tell me she was the best surgeon in Savannah,” the man said. “But she just moved back. I lucked out.
“My son and wife told me how helpful you were that night,” the man continued. “It occurred to me that your tenderness and empathy were nothing like we’d experienced across the entire West Coast in many years. I was bored out of my mind in the hospital and decided to look you up. Alex Garland.” The man shook his head. “Alex, we know each other. Or we did.”
Alex’s stomach heaved with nausea. He felt as though he’d woken up in outer space. “I’m sorry? I don’t remember.”
The man stuck his hand out and said, “My name is Rowan Collins.”
The name shot electricity through Alex’s mind. It was familiar. He shook his hand and gave Rowan a confused smile.
“I’m sorry. Again. My mind is a bit out of sorts,” Alex said. I can’t remember the last time my mind wasn’t out of sorts. I can’t remember the last time I felt like myself.
“I’ll clue you in,” Rowan offered. “Six years ago, you worked on a film set in Oakland, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. It was called Blue Days. I imagine you remember?”
Alex’s mouth went dry with alarm. He suddenly felt as though a creature had crawled out of his nightmares.
“Wait. You were an actor,” Alex stuttered. “You were my lead!”
Rowan clapped his hands together and laughed. “That’s right. I was thirty-one and still trying to make it as an actor. That script was sensational. Seriously. I still think of it as one of the best I ever read in the business.”
A hot rash crept across Alex’s neck and over his cheeks. He’d written that script during an incredibly manic and depressive stage of his drug abuse days. By the time he’d actually gotten around to making the film, he’d been sober a year and fragile. He’d decided Blue Days would be his crowning achievement, which would drag him fully from the depths of his sorrow and into the bright light of Hollywood adoration.
At first, it had seemed impossible to get funding for Blue Days. The year was 2018, and things in the film industry were changing. They’d probably changed even more since then. Alex was working odd jobs as a videographer for weddings, and bar mitzvahs, and baby showers, and everything in between, just as he did now. At one of these baby showers, he met a producer who took an interest in his “unique eye.”
Alex’s friends called it “the luckiest baby shower gig in the biz.” They couldn’t believe that Alex’s three hours at a multimillion-dollar mansion in Malibu had led to the biggest breakthrough of his career. But not long after that, the man who would soon be a father told him, “I don’t want to lose my connection to art. I want to create a beautiful world for my son. Even if he can’t enjoy things like your film quite yet.”
And just like that, Alex had the biggest budget of his career. He could hire people to work for him. He could pay his actors.
Alex remembered Rowan’s audition for the role of his main character. Rowan could do it all: cry on command, scream in a way that felt like the ground shook beneath him, and turn on a dime and make you laugh. Alex remembered now that Rowan had had a young son at home. Zane. Alex remembered saying, “You’re lucky. I want kids someday.” And Rowan had said, “Zane’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
But I was scared. I was so scared of what would happen.
Now, it was six years after that, here at The Rooster. Alex’s eyes welled with tears that he immediately blinked away. “Rowan. It’s so good to see you, man. Wow.”
It was the strangest coincidence.
Suddenly, Gina entered from the back room, smearing lotion on her hands. She melted at the sight of Rowan, whom she recognized immediately. She’d probably chatted with him numerous times during her day shifts at the inn.
“Mr. Collins! How are you?” Gina hurried into the foyer and crumpled up her face with a mix of worry and euphoria. “We’ve been so worried.”
Rowan smiled that million-dollar Hollywood smile. A shiver ran down Alex’s spine.
“I wanted to come thank your son personally for looking after Zane,” Rowan said. “I hoped to drag him to my house in Siasconset for a thank-you breakfast.”
Alex considered saying, I have to go to bed in a few hours, but decided not to close the door between himself and whatever this was. Nothing interesting had happened in his life in a long time. And after years of feeling only pain and torment and loss when he thought about Blue Days, he now acknowledged how beautiful the images were that floated in his mind’s eye. He remembered an afternoon shoot with Rowan at the Golden Gate Bridge, when Rowan’s character screamed with rage over a different ocean. Alex’s heart had shattered with the memory of his past torment. “We got the shot,” Alex had warbled to Rowan at the time. “That was it.”
“I’m here to free him from his duties,” Gina said with a smile. “You should go.”
Alex collected his things and followed a very slow Rowan from the lobby and into the waiting rental car on the cobblestone street outside. Sunlight splintered his vision, and he scrambled through his backpack to find a pair of sunglasses less Hollywood and more discount store. Alex remembered a time when he wouldn’t have been caught dead looking less cool than Rowan did right now. He just got out of surgery and still looks ready to conquer the world.
Rowan introduced his wife from the front seat of the rental BMW. “I think you’ve already met. This is Nadine.”
Alex shook Nadine’s hand and tried to place her in his California days. Had she ever come to set? She was bottle blond and blue-eyed and clean and polished, entirely unlike she’d been the night of Rowan’s emergency. It was remarkable what the nighttime did to a person.
“I still can’t believe you’re Alex Garland, the famous director,” Nadine said. She pulled away from the curb and smiled beautifully into the rearview mirror. “When Rowan figured it out, I was like—of course! Blue Days! The film that got robbed. I still can’t believe it. That was the film that would have launched Rowan’s acting career. I mean, you were exquisite in that thing, honey.”
Alex’s heart thumped. Sweat billowed across his neck, and he squeezed his thighs and tried to remember some of his anti-anxiety tactics. It’s anxiety that makes you use drugs, a therapist had told him. It’s anxiety that makes you want to be anywhere else but in your own mind.
In their rental, Nadine led Alex in his truck all the way to a three-story glass-and-stone mansion in Siasconset, the sort that Victorian homeowners ridiculed as “stripping the history from Nantucket and replacing it with modernity.” But Alex knew that the haters of houses like these were partially envious, too. Walking through the gorgeous rooms beaming with sunshine, he felt as though he’d been transported to a heaven of wonderful smells, lush plants, and a view like a perpetual postcard out the entire wall of windows. Out along the beach was Zane, a woman in her twenties, and a golden retriever puppy, running amok. A babysitter, maybe. Alex surged with gratefulness that Zane was happy, safe, and no longer fearful and alone on that little bed in the backroom of The Rooster. This was where he belonged.
This was what I should have had. This was supposed to be my life.
Nadine ordered them to sit on the veranda and served Alex coffee and Rowan tea. Rowan explained he wasn’t allowed to have coffee for another year or so, which he called a blessing in disguise. “I’ve been so stressed. So outside of myself. I need to focus on breathing.” Rowan burst into a grin and said, “Sometimes I still relate to my character in Blue Days. The guy was a mess. But I felt so close to him back then.”
Alex smiled and tried not to remember that he’d based that character on himself and his own life.
Nadine soon served them a pile of fresh fruits, Greek yogurt, vegetarian sausage (because Rowan was off meat due to health), and low-sugar pancakes with low-sugar maple syrup, which Alex and Rowan both agreed didn’t taste half bad.
“It feels a little soulless to eat things that are low in sugar,” Rowan said. “But I guess it’s a part of getting older, right? You have to work with your body and not against it.”
Alex took a bite of pancake just as Zane howled across the empty beach and raised his fists.
That was when Alex remembered to ask, “So you’re not an actor anymore?”
“No. Thank goodness,” Rowan said. “Nadine thought that was my talent, but I like life behind the camera much more. I stumbled into documentaries about four years ago and haven’t looked back since. Have you heard of Salem’s Last Act ?”
Alex hadn’t because he hadn’t bothered to keep up with anything Hollywood-related since he’d returned to Nantucket. But he knew better than to say that, so he said, “I heard about it. I didn’t get around to it yet.”
“That was mine,” Rowan said. “It went to all the festivals last year. Sundance. Berlinale. Venice. It was a wild journey, but it means I can decide whatever I want to do next. People see my name and throw funding at me.”
Alex’s left cheek twitched, and he tried to focus on the pancake in his mouth, but he’d over-chewed it, and now it was soggy and awful.
“So you’re here to make a documentary?” Alex asked.
“That’s right,” Rowan said. “But it’s a little tricky, especially now that I’m, you know.”
“Just out of minor surgery?”
Rowan snapped his fingers and took another bite. “But that’s where you come in, I hope. I looked you up on IMDb. Blue Days was the last thing you finished? How is that possible? I can’t figure it out.” He furrowed his brow. “Why are you back here working nights at your parents’ inn? You have singular talent, man!”
Alex hadn’t anticipated today as the day when a man from his past would metaphorically smack him in the face with the memory of his own failure.
“Life happened,” Alex said.
“Life is always happening. I nearly died the other day,” Rowan reminded him. “But I came out here to make a film, and I’m going to do it. And you’re going to help me.”
A shiver ran through Alex’s chest. “I’ve never made a documentary before.”
“That’s not true. You were the assistant director on two documentaries in your late twenties,” Rowan said.
He’d done extensive research.
“I just want you to do that again,” Rowan said. “I owe you, man. You helped Nadine and me out so much the other day. And six years ago, you gave me a ridiculously meaty part when most other directors gave me television commercials for gum and mouthwash.”
Alex knew why they’d done that. Rowan had spectacularly white and straight teeth. If only I’d gone into directing commercials. Maybe I could have made enough money to survive.
“I’m not agreeing.” Alex raised both hands. “But I’m curious. What’s the subject of the documentary? Eighteenth-century whaling on Nantucket? A celebrity death that happened here? True crime?”
Rowan’s smile was sinister and showed too many of his teeth. “You said you grew up with Bethany Sutton. Do you know much about her father? The famous family psychologist Victor Sutton?”
Alex’s heart thudded. “Enlighten me.”