27. Anna
ANNA
I'm in the bathroom throwing up when a knock rattles through the house.
I flinch.
No intercom.
Nobody just shows up around here.
Zeke is already barking, claws skidding across the floor as he charges the door.
I follow him.
Delia stands on the other side of the glass.
I open the door.
"Hey?"
"Hi, how are you doing?"
I lean against the frame.
She's dressed like she's all business.
"Came by to check up on me?"
"I did."
Three months ago she didn't know my name. Now she cares.
"Checking on my investment."
"I'm fine. That commercial went great."
"I heard, they like you."
The strange part is I spent years wanting to hear that.
Now that it's happening, it doesn't land the way I thought it would.
Because the thing I want isn't a commercial.
And standing here, looking at Delia, I have a feeling she already knows it.
We sit at the kitchen counter.
"Did you meet with Priya?"
"Last week."
"I told her you were great."
"I'm sure you did." Delia sets her cup down. "I passed."
"Why?"
She looks at me the way she looks at things she's choosing her words around. "I've been in this business a long time. I know who's climbing and I know what they're willing to step on to get there." She holds my eye. "Be careful with that one."
"Priya?"
She picks up her cup again. "I call them as I see 'em."
I don't say anything.
She studies me for a moment. The way she does when she's reading something she can't quite make out.
"You okay?" she says.
"I'm good, Delia. I'm keeping busy."
She looks at me a beat longer than necessary.
"Okay," she says.
She finishes her coffee. She tells me about the Thursday audition, what she knows about the casting director, what they're looking for. She leaves me her notes.
At the door she stops.
"There's worse things, you know? Than being trapped in a fabulous house?"
"Like what?"
"Ask all your unemployed actor friends, they'll tell you."
I close the door behind her.
I call Priya.
She tells me the meeting with Delia went great. But something was off. She doesn't know if Delia is the right manager for her. Didn't feel a connection. Didn't feel understood. I get it. In this town, everyone talks about relationships. Chemistry. Trust.
Most of the time, they're just talking about instincts.
"Come to a party tonight," she says. "Up in the hills."
The last thing I want is a crowded house full of actors pretending they're not desperate.
But sitting here alone doesn't sound much better.
"Jade's coming," she says.
I tell her I'll be there.
The party is in one of those houses that exists specifically to be filled with people like this on nights like this — dark and loud and expensive, every room another version of the same conversation.
Priya and Jade are already there when I arrive. Priya has a drink in each hand and gives me one before I can say anything.
"I'm good," I say.
"It's just champagne."
"I know. I'm good."
She looks at me. Looks at the glass. Shrugs and keeps it for herself.
The night moves the way these nights move. Music. Faces I half recognize. Conversations that start in the middle and end without finishing.
Priya is in a good mood. The best mood. She has that energy she gets when she's decided tonight is going to be something.
"You like Delia?" she says.
"Yeah, why?"
"She passed on me. Can you believe that?" She says it lightly but I can hear the edge underneath. "I don't know what her problem is. She's a bitch."
"That's not?—"
"I'm just saying. You should think about whether she's actually working for you or working for herself." She leans in. "I think you can do a lot better. I should introduce you to my manager."
"Yeah, maybe," I say.
"Why aren't you drinking? Even champagne, it's like no calories," Jade says.
I grab a glass and take a fake sip.
Two guys appear. Friends of someone. They fold into our group the way people do at these parties, easy and assuming, like they were always part of the conversation.
One of them has his phone out showing something to Jade.
Jade looks at it. Looks at me.
"What?" I say.
She hesitates.
Priya takes the phone.
It's a video. Morocco set. Luke and Rebecca between takes, close together, laughing about something, her hand on his chest. Comfortable. Easy.
I look at it for exactly as long as I need to.
I hand it back.
"You okay?" Jade says.
"I'm fine."
"What?" the guy says.
"She's Luke's girlfriend, so watch what you say," Jade says.
"My bad. Luke Wolfe is badass. Hard to be mad at 'em."
"She's not mad," Priya says. "She's realistic. Right Anna? Six months in Morocco with Rebecca Anderson." She raises her glass. "Come on. Let's be real."
"Luke's not like that," I say.
"Honey." Priya's voice goes gentle in the way that isn't gentle. "They're all like that."
The guy with the phone says something to Jade that makes her laugh.
Priya touches my arm and steers me toward a hallway off the main room. Quieter. Just the two of us and the noise of the party behind us.
She opens her clutch.
"Here." She holds out a small folded paper with coke. "It'll help. Trust me."
I look at it.
My stomach drops.
I wasn't ready for this. Not from her. Not tonight.
"I'm good," I say. My voice comes out smaller than I want it to.
"Anna. Come on. You're hurting, I can see it. Just?—"
"No." Harder this time. "I'm… No."
She looks at me for a moment. Something shifts in her face — not quite hurt, not quite judgment. She puts it away.
"Suit yourself," she says, and walks back into the party like nothing happened.
I stand in the hallway alone.
My heart is going too fast.
I don't say goodbye to anyone. I get out of there.
Zeke is whining at the door when I get home.
There's a big old turd in the living room.
I forgot to walk him before I left. I let him out back.
I clean it up. And gag.
I press my hand against my stomach.
I call my mother.
She picks up on the fourth ring.
"Anna? It's late. Is everything alright."
"No it's not." The tears burst out. I can barely speak.
"What's wrong? Anna, what happened?"
"Mom." It comes out jagged and hysterical. "I'm... preg… nant."
Silence.
"No."
"I am. I'm sorry."
"Okay. Okay. It's okay." Her voice is shaking.
"How far along?"
"About ten weeks."
"Is it Luke’s?"
"Yes."
"Does he know?"
"No. I can't tell him. I tried… so many times… and I can't."
That's when she breaks. Not loud. Just a small sound, like something giving way.
"Anna." Her voice is wet now.
"He just left for Morocco. It's the role of his career. I didn't want to?—"
"Anna."
"I'm going to lose him."
We're both quiet. Both of us knowing what we're not saying. The same story thirty years apart.
"I'm sorry, honey." Barely above a whisper. "Shhhhhh."
Zeke presses closer. I hold him.
"I'm coming to get you," she says.
"Mom—"
"I'll fly out tomorrow. We'll get your things and?—"
"Don't do that."
"I'm coming."
"Don't, really. There's nothing for you to do. I just wanted you to know. I wanted to talk to you."
"Anna—"
"I'm okay. I promise. I just needed to tell you."
A long pause.
"Are you eating?"
"Yes."
"Are you seeing a doctor?"
"Yes."
She exhales. The careful exhale of a woman trying not to say everything she wants to say.
"Come home," she says quietly.
"I can't right now."
"Anna, listen to me. You need to come home. You're going to start showing soon. People are going to know. You can't hide this in Los Angeles — everyone is watching you. Come home. I'll take care of you. You can think. You can breathe. Nobody cares here. It's just life."
"Mom—"
"I mean it. You can't do this alone out there."
We stay on the phone for a long time after that.
When we hang up, I sit on the kitchen floor for a long time.
Zeke looks up at me.
I have to talk to Luke.