Chapter Twenty-Five Lies Aren’t Better After All #2
garden at all. Well, I might owe you one for my dishonesty, actually, but not for the role itself.”
I rear back from her words. I guess, of all the things I thought she would apologize for, I figured the stolen role would
be the easiest. The least of a land mine.
Apparently, I was wrong.
“What do you mean? What dishonesty?” I ask, bracing myself for real this time for whatever’s coming next.
“Okay,” she says, leaning forward to take my hand. “Okay, so . . .”
I resist the urge to pull away. “So . . . ?”
“The truth is,” she says, “my agent had already sent in my headshots and an old audition tape to the casting director by the
time you started talking about wanting it. I had no idea Eliza had done that. I never went behind your back to secretly audition,
if that’s what you’ve been thinking this whole time. My excitement and encouragement for you was real.
“When my former agent called and told me they wanted me for the role, I was horrified. I told Eliza that you were going for it too and deserved it way more than I did. She said if I didn’t take it they were going to move on to read with the next person they had scouted.
They weren’t even going to call you for an audition!
I told them I wouldn’t come in for a formal read unless they gave you one too.
I thought if they heard you, if I could just get you in front of them . . .”
I swear all of the air just got sucked out of the room. I open and shut my mouth uselessly, trying to make sense of it all.
Of all the things I thought she might say, it wasn’t ever that.
“Nikki, what the hell!” I practically whisper, my voice running off to wherever the oxygen went. “Why didn’t you tell me any
of this was going on? Why did you make it seem like—”
“How could I tell you? You were over the moon when they called you in! You were brilliant and had worked so hard prepping
for it. I really thought they’d give it to you, and I’d never have to tell you that you almost didn’t get a call. I really,
honestly, thought that role was made for you.”
My head suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. I slide my hand out from under Nikki’s and sink into the couch, needing
its support. “Why didn’t you tell me even after it was clear I wasn’t getting it?”
“Because I got drunk about it instead and decided it would be kinder to let you think I stole the role from you. I didn’t
want you to feel like you weren’t good enough or had another failed audition—instead it could just be about me letting you
down again. Like I always did by then. I was trying to protect you in a really, really convoluted way.” She sighs.
“You could have not taken the role either,” I point out, incredulous that this is the explanation she’s going for. “How did you not see that that would have been kinder than pretending to steal it!”
“I was also supporting both of us at the time, if you recall,” she says, sitting up a little straighter. “You were already
suing your old manager and dealing with—”
“You had a higher percentage of residuals coming in and you were paid significantly better than I was on The Nikki and Andy Show! How can you even pretend that money was—”
“It was going up my nose or down my throat faster than it was coming in, Anderson! You don’t know how bad it was. I kept it
from you.”
“Not that much. I would have noticed if it were that much.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. I’m an actress, remember?” Nikki shakes her head sadly. “There were so many parties,” she says, her
voice cracking. “At first, producers, actors, people I looked up to, would feed the drugs to me like it was candy. They were
all doing the same to each other, but I was the belle of the ball for a little while there. I was shiny and new, and people
more important than me wanted to talk over lines or buy me endless top-shelf drinks and . . . other things.
“I was just trying to keep up. I had to impress everyone, or they’d move on to the next new face, and I’d have blown my chances—or
so I thought. That was very expensive. I don’t know if you understood how badly I didn’t want to be Nikki from The Nikki and Andy Show anymore.
I wanted people to see that I was sophisticated and important and worthy.
I wanted people to think I had things under control. I nearly went broke doing it.”
“Nikki . . .”
“Eventually, it wasn’t just expensive to show off to all my ‘new friends,’ it was expensive to stay steady. It took a lot
of work and a lot of drugs to find that fine line between being productive and sloppy. I got pretty good at it, though.”
I look at her with huge eyes. “I knew there was a disconnect between us then and you weren’t home very much, but this doesn’t
make sense to me. You were in trouble, for sure, but not to that—”
“You thought I didn’t want you at those parties because I was keeping them for myself, but really, I didn’t want you around
those people. I especially didn’t want you to see me around those people. I am deeply ashamed of the things that I did, even though I’ve been working hard for years to make peace with it. I think I’m most ashamed
that I hid that from you when you’d been nothing but loving and helpful and kind. I took away your agency at every turn by
keeping it from you.
“The only explanation I have is that something broke in me back then and a lot of people took advantage of it. If you want
to hear every sad, sordid story, I will tell you, just maybe when I’m not six thousand miles away from my therapist.” She
laughs bitterly. “Is that okay?”
I reach forward and grab her hand again, trying to wrap my head around how bad it actually was. I was so distracted with everything
going on with my agent—the interviews with the IRS and the police, balancing court prep with auditions, having the paps hounding
me on the way to my PA job, looking for a reaction. It was chaos.
I know it’s not my fault, and that Nikki’s not saying it is, but I can’t help but feel like I should have paid more attention instead of alternating between getting angry and trying to cover it up.
I knew she was struggling and partying too much, but .
. . “I wish I tried to help you more before I left.”
“No,” she says, squeezing my hand. “It wouldn’t have mattered. How many times did you show up at the bars back then when I
didn’t come home? How many fights did we have over what you thought was just me drinking too much?”
“A billion? Conservatively?” I say.
“A billion,” she says. “You leaving was the best thing you could have done for both of us. I know it’s horrible to say Oscar
night was my rock bottom—especially after telling you how awesome it was, but—”
“Oscar night? Really?”
“Coming home alone again to our empty apartment after such an important night . . . sitting on the couch wasted with no one there? I was living in hell, and I was tired of it. I checked in to my first rehab the next day. Admittedly, it took a few
tries before sobriety stuck and it’s a forever kind of process but . . . yeah.”
“This explains so much. I can’t believe I didn’t get it, not really.”
“I lied to you so that you wouldn’t. My greatest performance ever,” she huffs. “You couldn’t have prevented it, even if you
did really ‘get it.’ You couldn’t have saved me. I had to do it for myself—just like you did when you left—and I wasn’t ready
then. You know, when you left, a part of me wanted to die, but the other part was relieved that you had escaped.”
“I ran away. I hid.”
Her fingers tap my hand. “Sure, but then you built a life.”
“Then I built a life.” I smile. “I did. A good one too, for the most part.”
“You always were so brave, Andy. I was so jealous of you. I still am.”
“You’re jealous of me?” I laugh. “Which one of us has the Oscar again? The millions of dollars?”
“Which one of has the friends who would practically murder for her? The cool job they love? The cat who lets you pet her?”
She smiles, looking at Gouda, who stops licking herself long enough on the floor beside me to hiss in Nikki’s direction. I
can’t help but laugh at the timing.
“Don’t feel bad for me, though,” Nikki says. “I don’t. I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m proud that I came out of it on
the other side and that I’m doing the work to stay there.”
“And here I just thought you were a selfish asshole,” I sniffle.
“I was.” She grins, catching one of my tears with the pad of her thumb. “I’m trying not to be anymore.”
“You overshot simply not being an asshole,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her closer. I need to feel her
body warm and strong beneath my arms. I need to feel her breathing and healthy and alive. I think of how many other child
actors Hollywood chewed up and spit out, and how few of us ever make it to the other side healthy and sober. “You’re pretty
great these days.”
Nikki laughs into my hair. “So are you.”
“I’m sorry that all happened and I’m sorry for the things you went through that you’re not ready to share with me yet. I hope
you know, whatever it was, you didn’t deserve that either.”
“I do. I’ve had of lot of therapy. Like, a lot.” She laughs, wiping at her own eyes. “It helped.”
I take a deep breath. “Now what?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, hesitant.
“I mean, what do people typically do after the love of their life comes back and you finally do the whole no-bullshit vulnerable
honesty thing? Do you get pizza, or . . . ?” I ask.
Her anxiety seems to melt away at my words and she tugs me down on top of her on the couch. I wiggle around until my ear is
over her heart, relishing the steady beat. Strong. Alive. And somehow still loving me.
“The love of your life, eh?” Nikki says, kissing the top of my head. I hear the smile in her voice, and it’s contagious.
I reach up and flick her arm. “It’s a figure of speech.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” she asks, her voice lilting up even more.
I laugh into her chest, reaching my hand along her body and . . . wedging my finger into the spot on her side where she’s