Chapter 31
Avery
I don’t just have press for Deadline for Love this week, I also have my next session with Jan.
While I can ignore a journalist’s question, or just reply with a well-rehearsed quip, I can do no such thing with my therapist. Nic has told me about their very brief phone conversation after the news of our affair broke.
Nevertheless, Jan sits with unruffled elegance, her shoulder-length hair brushed smooth, silver glinting through the blond.
Her expression is calm, but there must be something brewing underneath.
I know from Nic that she feels betrayed.
I also lied to her last week. Not an excellent beginning to any new relationship, let alone with your new therapist.
“How are you?” she asks. It’s probably the standard question every therapy session anywhere in the world starts with.
“It’s been quite a week,” I say. “I’m sorry, Jan. I couldn’t tell you last week. Nic asked—”
She holds up her hand. “I’ll deal with Nic. You don’t have to apologize on her behalf.”
“I understand if you’re angry.”
“Never mind how I feel.” There’s something so much more severe about Jan than there was about Nic. Or maybe that’s just the circumstances influencing how I see her. “How do you feel?”
“I feel great,” I say. “I’m in love.” God, it feels so good to be able to admit that.
“How do you feel about Nic losing her license because you’re in love with each other?” Holy fuck.
“I don’t feel so good about that but, ultimately, it was her choice.”
“Infatuation is such a fragile state, though,” Jan says. “I hope you’re both aware of that.”
“It’s not just infatuation,” I say. “I’ve had plenty of crushes before, and they never felt like this.”
“Okay,” Jan says. “So, what does it feel like to be in love?”
“Absolutely spectacular,” I say, unable to suppress a grin. “I haven’t been in love in forever. So, yeah, it feels pretty damn good.”
Jan nods slowly. “Of course it does.” She pauses. “But do you think some of that rush might also be an escape from something else?”
“Escape from what? My glamorous life? My face on that huge billboard on Sunset Boulevard?” I’m not so stupid—or crazy in love—that I don’t know what she’s getting at, but I hate that we have to drag my feelings for Nic into this now.
“It’s just a question,” Jan says, her voice as calm as if we were talking about the weather.
Once again, I feel like walking out the door. Like not doing this any longer—this probing into depths I’m not even sure I have. It makes me think of that time in one of my sessions with Nic when she told me I was free to leave whenever I wanted. If I had, none of this would have happened.
“It’s both, okay?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because… it is. Falling in love is so all-consuming, it makes me forget about the other stuff in my life.” I haven’t thought about that jerk I shoved in that bar—the direct reason for me starting therapy with Nic—since I sat in this chair last week.
“But I also know it doesn’t magically make it go away. ”
“It’s good that you’re aware of that,” Jan says. She lets the silence expand between us, and for a second I almost believe she’ll move on. But she doesn’t. She just waits.
I fill the silence first. “And then there’s the stuff that comes with falling in love,” I say.
“Such as?”
“I’m scared.” I sigh.
Jan’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Scared of what?”
“Messing it up with Nic.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I’ve never really done this before. Not for real. Not with someone who matters this much to me.”
Jan nods as if I’m saying exactly what she expected me to say. “Intimacy can be terrifying if you’re not used to it.”
I huff out a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it. I’m good at sex. I’m good at banter and flirting. But what comes after… Actually staying and letting someone in… I don’t have a very good track record when it comes to that.”
“But Nic makes you want to stay?”
“So very much.” My throat tightens. “Which means I’m almost guaranteed to fuck it up. That’s what I do. I don’t know how to be close to someone. Not really.”
“That’s not uncommon for someone who’s had to be self-reliant from a young age.”
“And?” I ask.
“You can learn to be different. To allow the person you care about to come close to you.”
Kind of like we did last weekend, I think, in bed. I don’t say that to Jan, though. “You think I can get better at this?”
“I think you can practice it,” Jan says. “And part of that practice starts here. Letting yourself notice when you want to pull away, and what it feels like to stay instead.”
“Okay.” Maybe I won’t run from this chair, after all. It sounds like I have another reason to stay in therapy—and that reason is Nic.
I know Mimi St. James through Stella, who is Nora Levine’s co-star on the TV show Unbreak My Heart.
When I meet her, at her house—which would be unusual for a work meeting if we weren’t acquaintances—she hugs me as if I’m a lifelong family friend. Me being the subject of such juicy tabloid speculation might have something to do with that.
“Avery,” Mimi says. “How are you?” Mimi’s ‘how are you?’ is very different than Jan’s and thank goodness for that.
“It’s all true,” I say, because Nic and I no longer have to hide. “Yes, I fell in love with my therapist, and no, I don’t regret it.”
“Love is love,” Mimi says. “You can try to fight it but, in my opinion, if it’s mutual and both parties are able to fully consent, there’s really no good reason to ever do so.”
“Thank you for saying that.” The couple of times I’ve met her, I always took a shine to Mimi. She directed Gimme Shelter, the movie about Justine founding the Rainbow Shelter, and I’ve also been a fan of her work ever since.
“What’s going to happen to Nic?” she asks as she sits us down and brings over large glasses of ice water.
“She’s waiting on a decision from the Board of Psychology but she will almost certainly lose her license to practice, so…”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, we just sit there, the ice rattling in our glasses the only sound. Then Mimi leans forward and says, “Nora sends her love. She would’ve loved to stop by, but she’s on set. We’re both huge fans of you and Queer Girl Summer.”
Compliments still have a way of sliding right off me, but not so much when coming from Mimi—and Nora Levine.
“Thank you.” I give her my brightest smile—I do have a lot to smile about these days.
“Are you ready to talk shop?” Mimi cuts right to the chase, which I appreciate.
“Definitely.” I take a sip of ice-cold water.
Mimi’s eyes light up. “This movie I want to make is about a woman in her thirties who wakes up one morning to find herself living an alternate version of her life. She’s in the same city and she’s the same person, but every choice she didn’t make before has now been made for her.
The career she turned down, the woman she didn’t stay with, the family she didn’t build—all of it playing out as if she had chosen differently. ”
“This character is queer?” I blurt out without thinking.
“Yes,” Mimi says matter-of-factly.
“Okay.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” I catch some drops of condensation sliding down my water glass.
“But?” Mimi sounds genuinely surprised.
“After Queer Girl Summer, I’m not sure I should play gay again.” Apart from really jumping the gun—Mimi has only briefly explained the premise of her movie—I’m also being difficult, but it’s how I feel.
“Are you serious?” Clearly, Mimi is not a typical Hollywood-type who just tells me what I want to hear in order to secure my cooperation. “Why?”
“I was on a soap opera for ten years. I’ve finally reached the next step and… I don’t want to pigeonhole myself as that queer actor who only plays queer parts.”
“But, Avery,” Mimi says. “You’re the actor who brought such depth and nuance to a character that millions related to. That’s hardly a pigeonhole. That’s real impact.”
I shift in my chair, bracing for the kind of lecture I’m used to getting from Sienna and Stella.
“What I’m offering you is a role that has nothing to do with a label. It’s about choice, about regret, and about love. Queerness isn’t the point. Humanity is.” I do admire Mimi’s passion.
“But why does she have to be queer?” Now I’m just being obtuse.
“Why not?” Mimi looks me straight in the eye.
Christ. This is a bit like therapy—and not the good kind, with Nic. I don’t have an immediate response to her question.
“You’re no longer a soap actor. You’re not only a queer actor. You’re an actor. Period,” Mimi says.
I press my lips together, because damn it, she’s right and I know it. Mimi’s not lecturing me. She’s spelling out something I should know very well myself.
“Sorry,” I say. “You’re right.” Maybe Nic is rubbing off on me—and Jan.
“This character is not just queer. She’s complicated and human… and you’d get to play both versions of her. Think of all that screen time.” Mimi throws in a wink.
“Okay. Please, continue.”
“The film cuts between the timelines, but she’s the same physical person in both.
In one, she’s successful but often lonely.
In the other, she has taken the more risky choices.
Her life is messier and less secure, but she has love, family, and intimacy.
The tension is in how much she recognizes herself in both versions, and how hard it is to accept that no matter which way you go, you lose something.
But you also gain something else. And that’s life. ”
“That sounds pretty amazing, actually.” That particular fire I need when choosing a project sparks inside me. “Is there a script?”
“I’m working on it, but that’s why I wanted to meet with you now.” Mimi smiles at me. “I’d like to write it with you in mind.”
“Really?” I can’t help but feel extremely honored.
“Very much so,” Mimi says. “I think you are an amazing actor. What you brought to your character in Queer Girl Summer, that’s not an easy thing to do, Avery.
I’ve been in this business a long time, and it’s quite rare.
That instant likability paired with such pure vulnerability.
It made the movie.” She winks again. “Don’t tell Stella I said that.
” She holds up her hand as if apologizing. “I would really love to work with you.”
“Okay.”
Mimi continues, outlining the feel of the film—intimate but ambitious. She talks about tone, pacing, and how she envisions the camera almost breathing with the characters. It’s clear she’s given it a lot of careful thought, but she keeps it broad, more about atmosphere and emotion than details.
It very much sounds like a movie I would love to be a part of.
“Will you think about it?” she asks, her kind gaze pinned on me. “Talk to your people. I’ll send you all the information you need.”
“Thank you so much, Mimi, for thinking of me for your movie.”
“Thank you for coming over and considering it.” Mimi is nothing if not convincing. “You’re my first, second, and third choice.”
I have to laugh. That is very Hollywood of her.
“And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, both in life and in this business, it’s that real connection is precious.” She tilts her head. “When you find it, don’t waste time worrying about what it looks like to other people.”
As I get out of my chair, I think that Mimi St. James just got me to do her next movie.