10. Luke
LUKE
I'm dressed and downstairs by eight.
Anna comes down at eight forty-five.
I don't say anything for a moment.
"Look at you. A little hair and make-up does wonders, huh?"
"Don't be a jerk. No one likes a jerk.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. You look -”
"You don't have to say anything."
"I was going to say amazing."
"Save it for the cameras."
"You have a problem taking compliments, don't you?"
"Yeah, when it's fake."
"Just say thank you."
I pick up my jacket.
"Shall we?" I say.
We take the Maserati. I hit ninety mph a few times.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Anna instinctively faux brake for me.
"You getting another speeding ticket is not going to help your image."
I push it to a hundred.
The house is in Malibu, perched on the edge of the cliff like it dared the ocean to say something about it.
Two stories right in front of the beach. Fire pits on every terrace. A pool that appears to spill directly into the Pacific. Staff moving through the crowd with trays of things that cost more than most people's car payments.
The valet takes the Maserati before Anna has fully processed arriving.
She stands at the entrance for just a moment, taking it in.
I watch her do it.
The lights strung across the terrace. The crowd visible through the glass walls, all of it warm and golden and deliberately beautiful.
The sound of a live band somewhere below.
The smell of the ocean mixing with expensive perfume and the particular energy of a room full of people who have exactly what they wanted and are still hungry for more.
We walk in.
The crowd recalibrates the second we enter.
I've felt it a thousand times. The shift in attention, the way a room reorganizes itself around a new arrival without anyone admitting they're doing it.
Anna feels it too. I can tell by the way her chin comes up slightly.
I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her through the first wave of it.
A lot of industry here tonight. Real industry. I spot Miles Hart near the bar, deep in conversation. Claire Winslow on the terrace. Sienna Vale laughing with a group near the firepit. Zara King. Grant Keller.
Anna's hands are shaking now. I feel it when I take her hand.
"You don't get nervous at these things?" she asks.
"No."
"You don't get nervous at anything?"
"No, I never did."
"That's not normal."
I pull her close and introduce her to the first group we reach — a producer I've known for years, his wife, two actors from a cable drama.
"This is Anna," I say. "My girlfriend."
The group opens up immediately. Handshakes. Genuine smiles.
Anna shifts beside me. Not uncomfortable. Surprised. Like she expected a different reception.
I introduce her to Miles Hart.
I watch her face when he shakes her hand. "You were great in Devil Next Door… and everything."
For one second she is twenty-three years old again, standing in a conservatory hallway, believing all of this was possible.
The evening moves. I spend most of the night talking to Anna. She tells me about Montana. She was thinking about going back to be a lawyer.
A cluster of women pull Anna in about an hour into the night. Three actresses — all successful enough to be comfortable, which means old enough to be honest. I watch from across the room as Anna goes from guarded to genuinely engaged inside of five minutes.
Anna looks around the room from inside that group. The house, the view, the people, the particular electric quality of a room full of people who made it.
I'm at the bar when Camille appears.
She leans against the bar beside me.
"Hey, Luke how are you doing?"
"I’m excellent."
"I heard you beat up your director and got fired from your last job."
"I shoved him and I quit."
She laughs.
"Always Luke."
"You miss me," I say.
"And I see you're dating someone."
"Yeah, she's over there."
Camille looks at Anna. "Well, she's different."
"She is. And be nice."
"How'd you meet?"
"I'm sure you read all about it."
"I want to hear it from you."
I wave Anna over.
"Hi."
"Hi, I'm Camille."
"I know who you are. I'm Anna. I think you're great."
"Thank you," Camille says.
"Camille, believe it or not she means it."
"Camille wants to hear how we met."
"Oh, we dated in college but I wouldn't sleep with him."
Camille laughs harder than I ever heard. She excuses herself.
"Your ex?"
"Yeah. She only cares if you're talking about her."
I spot Rebecca across the room.
She's talking with Danny Rivera. He's up for a supporting role in The Sentinel.
Rebecca is laughing at something he said.
Anna orders a soda. "Go over there. She's the prize."
"I will, cool your jets."
"You're nervous."
"I need a minute to think," I say.
She looks at me with the expression she gets when she's already made a decision.
She crosses the room before I can say anything else.
I watch her walk up to Danny with easy confidence. She enters the conversation without disrupting it. She says something that makes him laugh.
Rebecca peels away casually.
I walk over.
Rebecca Anderson in person is exactly what you'd expect and nothing like what you'd expect.
"Hi, I'm Luke."
"Rebecca."
She smiles. Honest amusement, not flattery.
"I'm planning on seeing your new movie this weekend."
"Would it be too weird if I watched it with you?"
"Yes, it's harder for me to judge you if you're sitting right there."
"Does that mean you're considering me for the Sentinel?"
"That's not my call. Have your people talk to Max."
"And then Max is going to ask you, what do you think about Luke Wolfe for The Sentinel."
“I’ll give my honest opinion. The movie comes first.”
We talk for twenty minutes. Not about Sentinel anymore.
About how her youngest son has suddenly become obsessed with astronomy and thinks I'm a real astronaut now, so he's had to watch Final Mission twice.
Which is why she's going to see my movie.
She's thinking about doing a play. But being in New York would take her away from the kids for too long.
I give her my full attention.
When her publicist pulls her away, she squeezes my arm once.
"I'll see you around," she says.
"Tell me what you think of the movie," I say.
On the drive home I call Delia. Tell her how it went. We plan next steps with Steven. If Rebecca Anderson wants me to read, I'm fucking reading.
"That's how it works?" Anna asks.
"That's how it works."
After a mile or two she says, "Her skin is flawless I couldn't stop looking at her."
"She's pretty spectacular."
"She was checking you out," Anna says.
"Everybody checks everybody out at these things. It's like dogs sniffing each other."
"She was checking you out."
"Good. It helps if you're actually attracted to the other person."
Anna looks out the window at the ocean going dark beside us.
Neither of us says anything else.
The house is quiet when we get back.
Zeke lifts his head from the couch, decides we're not interesting enough, and goes back to sleep.
Anna kicks off her heels in the entryway. Carries them in one hand up the stairs.
I follow her up.
Zeke follows me.
"Thanks for your help tonight," I say.
"That's what I'm here for."
At the top of the stairs she stops.
She reaches back for the zipper on her dress and can't quite get it.
"Do you need help?"
"Sadly. It's easier to put on backwards."
"Turn around."
She turns.
I find the zipper at the top of her back and pull it down slowly.
The dress opens. The line of her spine. The clasp of her bra. The small of her back, warm under my hands.
I stop at the base of the zipper.
The top lace of her underwear.
"Thank you."
She doesn't move.
She's completely still.
"Anna, don't move back to Montana. You're too good. You belong here."
Then she turns around.
The dress is barely staying up.
"I'm going to kiss you. If you're going to slap me, can you wait until I'm done?"
She pulls back.
"I have to tell you something."
“What?”
"I've only done this twice. Both times were not so good."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. I'm fine."
"You want me to stop?"
"I just thought you should know."
She lets the dress fall.
"Kiss me."
I kiss her. She kisses me back.
I pick her up. She wraps her legs around me and I carry her to my room with the city blazing through every window.
We fall onto the bed still tangled together.
I get up.
I take my jacket off. My shirt. She watches me.
I unclasp her bra. Her breasts fall out.
I take my time looking at her because she deserves to be looked at.
She starts to cover herself.
"Don't," I say.
She stops.
I run my hands from her shoulders down, slowly, watching her face. When I cup her breasts, she makes a soft sound and her eyes close. I keep going. My mouth on her neck, her collarbone, lower. Her back arches off the bed.
I pause.
"Luke. Keep going."
I get a condom from the nightstand. Put it on.
"Okay," I say against her skin.
My hands slide down her stomach, her hips, taking the last of what's between us with them. She inhales sharply when I touch her. Her thighs tense.
"Yes." Barely a word.
I take my time there too.
Her hand finds my hair. Grips it. Her hips move against my hand, and she makes a sound low in her throat that I feel through my whole body.
She reaches for me.
I go slowly.
She's been holding herself this tightly her whole life.
I take my time unwinding all of it.
When I find the right place, she grabs my arm and says my name like a question. I stay there. Keep the same rhythm. Watch her face.
She tries to pull back from it.
I hold her. She lets me now.
It builds slowly, then all at once. Her whole body arches. Her hands grip mine hard enough to hurt and I don't move, don't stop, just hold on while it rolls through her completely.
She inhales deeply. Holds it. Releases. Collapses under me.
When it's over, she makes a sound that's almost like surprise.
I hold her through the aftershocks. She laughs.
Her breathing ragged against my neck. Her hands slowly loosening their grip.
We lie there after for a long time not saying anything.
Her head on my chest.
Zeke is in the doorway.
Staring at me like I crossed a line.