32. Dex
I t’s a perfect summer day in Manhattan. I’ve been here the last six weeks shooting my latest film, and we wrap today. But I don’t feel as angsty as I normally do when a project ends. Because when I fly back to LA tomorrow, I’ll be picking up where things left off with Jenna.
After leaving the restaurant together that night in late March, we hung out practically all of April before I had to leave for New York. I guess a month goes by pretty quickly when you’re spending so much of it in bed.
But true to our agreement, our relationship has remained casual.
We don’t talk about feelings. We don’t worry what the other person is up to when we’re not around.
We don’t define or label anything, although I guess it’s pretty clear we’re friends with benefits.
Ultimately, we’re both just grateful to have someone around when we don’t want to be alone.
It's been a much-needed distraction for me, that’s for sure.
After Sunny told me she was engaged, I was convinced I’d fall apart.
But being with Jenna has tempered my anxiety enough that it’s settled to a low hum that’s constantly in the background, rather than the raging riot I expected to annihilate me.
After we wrap filming, I decide I’d like to stay in costume for a few hours and just wander around the city like a regular person.
This is the first movie I’ve done that’s required me to wear a considerable amount of makeup and prosthetics.
I played a detective in his late forties who—how should I put this—isn’t quite as attractive as I am.
I’m unrecognizable for the first time in years, and I’d like to take advantage of it.
My makeup artists are fine with it and tell me to call whenever I’m ready for them to peel everything off.
I go to Times Square first and join one of those double decker bus tours.
I overhear the couple seated in front of me talk about how wonderful my last movie was, and I smile.
When I hop off the bus, I take a long walk through bustling city streets, then get myself an everything bagel with lox and scallion cream cheese (knowing full well I’ll have to add an extra workout tonight to make up for it), and I eat on a bench in Central Park while I people-watch.
I round out the day with a trip to Whole Foods, just for the hell of it.
I’m strolling through the store, completely unperturbed, when I make it to the wine section. That’s when I see a face I recognize at the opposite end of the aisle.
It takes me several seconds to place him, but when I do, a jolt of adrenaline sets off a fight-or-flight reaction in my body.
Jeremy .
And he’s with a woman who isn’t Sunny.
At first, they’re only looking at bottles of cabernet. Innocent enough.
But then he puts an arm around her shoulder .
After a minute, his hand drops to her waist.
Then he pulls her close to him.
And he kisses her.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
My muscles brace and I take a step in their direction.
But then the woman spins around to look at the bottles behind her.
And that’s when I see her face.
Jesus Christ.
It’s Sunny—but it’s not.
Her hair is stick-straight.
Her clothes are tailored. Expensive. She’s wearing Christian Louboutin heels.
She’s so, so thin. It makes my heart break.
Why isn’t she eating?
Is she sick? Is she stressed? Is it…him?
I want to run to the bakery counter and buy her a croissant.
I want to take her out for pasta, and ice cream, and feed her, and kiss her, and make sure she’s okay.
I want to steal her away from him.
But she’s smiling.
Now she’s laughing.
She’s wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.
They choose a bottle.
And walk away.
All I can think is— what the fuck are they doing in New York? —but then I remember Sunny mentioning he’s from here.
When they’re out of sight, my anxiety turns down slightly, but it’s not the low hum I’ve become accustomed to either.
It’s louder.
I walk back to the apartment where I’ve been staying and, as soon as I lock the door behind me, I take deep breaths in and out. Still, when I look at my reflection in the front hall mirror, my heart jolts from the shock of what’s staring back at me.
It’s just makeup. Chill the fuck out.
But what if it’s not just makeup? What if this is my future? A forehead creased by stress…eyelids drooping from grief…the corners of my mouth turned down in chronic disappointment…
This is my life without Sunny.
Beads of sweat form under the layers of silicone glued to my skin. My face starts to tingle.
I need to get this shit off me—now.
I call my makeup artists, Cheryl and Delia, and they arrive what feels like seconds later. Maybe I’m losing track of time.
Maybe I’m losing my mind.
“Dex, are you okay?” Delia asks, staring at my hands.
I look down: my knuckles are white from gripping the armrests of the chair I’m sitting in while they strip my face clean.
FUCK!
I clear my throat. “I’m good. It’s just been a long day.”
Delia looks skeptical—I think. Like she doesn’t believe me. Or does she?
Maybe I’m imagining things.
Maybe I’m unraveling.
I keep waiting for Dex Oliver to kick in and crack a joke or two. But he’s abandoned me when I need him the most .
Oh god no, my hands are trembling.
“How much longer before you’re done?” I ask, clasping them together in my lap. “I haven’t eaten in a while. I think my blood sugar’s low.”
“Oh, you poor thing!” Cheryl exclaims. “No wonder you’re shaking like a leaf. Delia, go get him something from the fridge.”
Holy shit, I can’t see.
Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe, just breathe ? —
Just keep it together until they leave.
“Here you go, hon,” Delia says, handing me a green juice.
I force it to my lips.
“Should be done in about five minutes,” Cheryl says.
Thank you, lord.
My heart slows just enough to get me through until they’re finished.
As soon as they’re gone, I crawl in bed and hide under the blankets.
My ears are ringing?—
I’m losing my hearing!
My vision is blurry?—
I’m losing my sight!
My throat is tingling?—
I’m losing my mind!
And there’s no escape this time…
I kick off the covers and run to the mirror, desperate to see some version of Dex I recognize—but I’m face-to-face with Ollie.
I touch my cheek—he touches his.
I say his name—he moves his lips .
It’s like a funhouse mirror in a haunted house?—
But I’m trapped in here, and I can’t get out.
I can’t get out!
I can’t get out!
I need Sunny. She’s here. She can save me.
Of course, seeing her triggered this panic attack in the first place, but I don’t care about that now. All I care about is feeling her arms around me. Hearing her say I’ll be okay.
Breathing.
I pick up my phone to call her.
But what if Jeremy answers? What if he turns to the love of my life and says, “It’s a good thing you’re with me, Sunny. This Dex Oliver character is a fucking whack job!”
No, I’ve lost her…it’s true…and not just to Jeremy.
The Sunny I knew is gone. A distant memory.
The world is dark, there’s no sun in the sky.
My lungs…can’t breathe…I’M GOING TO DIE!
I look down at the phone in my hand, my finger tracing the numbers: 911.
I have to call. I need to call.
But the media. I can’t. This will be front page news!
I gasp for air
I gasp for air
I gasp for air
I—
…
I’ve lost time. I must have passed out—or worse. I have no idea .
All I know is, I can’t live like this anymore.
I reach for my phone, which has fallen next to me, in the corner of the bedroom where I’m huddled.
Before I can second-guess myself or make any more excuses, I dial.
“Mom?” I cry when she picks up the phone. “I’m scared…and I need help.”