Chapter 30 I see an acute attack of incurable leprosy in my near future.
I see an acute attack of incurable leprosy in my near future.
Josie
I DUCK BEHIND a trio of hairdressers.
Did Miguel see me?
With what I hope is a discreet peek, I confirm that my childhood friend is not craning his neck trying to get a look at me, so that’s a good sign.
Sean is right—I don’t look like that skinny blond teenager on the show anymore.
Plus, Miguel thinks I’m still in Florida.
There’s no way he’d expect to find me here.
Cognitive dissonance alone may be enough to save me.
But what am I going to do? Get the heck out of here, for a start.
Miles dismisses us, thank God, and I bolt for the back door.
I make a beeline down the curving hallway toward the makeup room, but the area is already clogging up with people exiting through the front door of the bridge.
I whirl on a heel and am struck by a second deluge of people pouring from my exit.
I shift and turn and flatten myself, working my way through the maze of bodies, but it’s kind of like kayaking upstream.
I peek over my shoulder, and Miguel is right there, literally three people away!
He turns his head, and I whip my face around and zero in on the red EXIT sign at the end of the hallway.
I’ve never used this back door before, but far be it for me to shy away from new experiences.
I clear the crowd, legs pumping like a power walker, and heave the silver bar open.
I’m greeted by a smelly back lot alley housing a herd of rusty green dumpsters. Across the way, two men lean against another studio building, smoking cigarettes. I let the door fall shut with a bang and sag against the wall beside it.
How is Miguel here? Sean said the Lost Star cast was going to Mexico, not the other way around!
I pull out my phone and open the most recent message from my friend.
Miguel: Ok, Sheet, I can tell you my news now. They’re sending me to the Lost Star studio to tape some crossover episodes! I’m going to Hollywood! Today!
The message is followed by a string of emojis as long as the Pandora line at Disney. Had I read it earlier, I might have avoided a nasty cortisol dump as well as an accidental run-in. I need to be better about checking my phone.
I rock my head against the concrete block wall to face the door. Should I open it? I have no idea where Miguel is, so I can’t be certain to avoid him. But my next client is probably sitting in my chair right now wondering where I am.
I take a deep breath of smoke-and-garbage-tinged air. It’s hardly cleansing, but I won’t be ruled by fear. I grab the handle and pull. It doesn’t budge.
?Maldita sea! I’m locked out.
I know how physics works, but there’s something about today that makes anything seem possible, so I grab the handle with both hands and yank again.
It’s locked tight. Great, now I’ll have to go around the front, which means even more exposure.
The smokers across the way gesture at me and chuckle to one another.
“Lung cancer’s not a conspiracy theory!” I shout in their direction just as the door in front of me explodes open. My heart launches into my throat, but it’s just Chelsea.
“They’re looking for you inside.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
I peer past her shoulder. No sign of Miguel. Everyone else is back to work. I should be, too. But I don’t move.
It’s not just that I don’t want Miguel to discover my secret.
It’s more than that. We’re supposed to be friends, and, just like with Emmy, I’ve been a terrible one.
I’ve been using him to stay connected to my old life, but it hasn’t been a fair trade because everything I’ve shared with Miguel has been hidden behind a firewall of lies.
It seemed like a necessary precaution, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t right.
How am I going to face him when he finds out?
“You coming?” Chelsea asks, her sneaker propping the door.
“Give her a minute.”
The voice comes from behind me followed by a long exhale of smoke. I whirl, and there he is, hair longer than I remember, taller, more muscled—a man, even though his face hasn’t changed: Miguel.
He puts the cigarette to his lips and takes another puff, leaving it pinched there. “Sábana. What the hell? How are you here?” He comes at me with arms wide.
My heart pinballs inside my body as I step into his embrace. We didn’t hug a lot as teens, so this is doubly awkward. He holds on too long. It’s going to make me cry. I pat his back, peering at the cigarette still pinched between his lips.
“Okay, okay. You’re gonna set my hair on fire, wey.” I swipe at my eyes before he can see them watering.
“?Qué pasa?” he asks. “This is freaky. Did you come here to surprise me? I only told you about it this morning.”
“It’s a long story.” I wave at the cigarette. “You still doing that?”
“It’s the only way I can cope with living without you.” He snort-chuckles, and it gets me laughing, too. Even though I’m all tied up inside, something else loosens. Miguel is here! I wasn’t sure we’d ever see each other again.
“Listen, Migui, there are some things you should know. I don’t go by Savannah Bateman anymore. You have to call me Josie.”
He drops his cigarette and grinds it into the asphalt with the toe of his boot. “Why was that woman calling you back inside like you work here or something?”
I cringe. “I do work here.”
Miguel was always that kid who could take a hit. A punch, an insult, a bad mood. He could let them all roll off, but the way his face twitches now, I can tell this one hurts. “For how long?”
“A couple of years.”
“What do you do?”
“Makeup.”
He nods at the ground. “You never told me you moved to Hollywood.”
God, I feel like a bag of assholes. “Come here.” I throw my arms around him again, this time meaning it. “I missed you! I’m so glad you’re here! I’m so excited for you! I want to hear all about everything. And I’ll tell you everything, too. I promise.”
He pats my arm and pulls out of the hug. “I’ve gotta go back inside. They want to do a read-through for tomorrow.” When he smiles, it’s only a little forced. “But you can take me out tonight, no? Show me LA? Skybar?” He does a ridiculous hip-rotating dance move, at least I think that’s what it is.
Good ol’ Miguel, the human whack-a-mole, and I’m grateful for that. If I didn’t have thick-skinned friends, I wouldn’t have any friends at all.
But I can’t take him out. We can’t be seen together. I’ll be recognized for sure. “Nobody cool goes to the Skybar anymore,” I say.
“Then you can take me where they do go.” He snaps his fingers, repeating that same slo-mo gyration.
“Or we can hang at my place. I can introduce you to Jason Connor and Emmy—”
“There’s something else you should know,” he cuts me off, hips ceasing in mid-roll.
Ice water sluices through my veins. “What?”
“Lupe’s coming, too. She arrives tomorrow.”
And, just like that, I see an acute attack of incurable leprosy in my near future. “Thanks for warning me.”
“I gotta get back to work.” Miguel reaches for the door handle. “And we’re going out tonight. Out. Understood? This is Hollywood, baby. You owe me that.”
“That’s lock—” I start to say but shut up when the door opens outward for him. Miguel always was a lucky SOB.
Sean’s head pops out. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t luck, just timing.
“There you are.” He’s got his serious face on, and his gaze cycles between us before finally settling on Miguel. “Conference room’s down that hall on the left.”
Miguel holds up a hand to me. “Yeehaw!”
I give him an obligatory high five. He makes Sean do the same and then disappears into the building.
“Wait, is he one of your old castmates?” Sean asks.
I nod at the ground. “Yep.”
“Sheeeyite.”
“And my nemesis-slash-stepsister is arriving tomorrow. I might as well announce right now that I’m Savannah Bateman and let the world burn.”
He props the door with his shoulder and gives me a pensive look. “It’s an option.” He sniffs the air. “Were you smoking?”
“Yes, when you’re not looking, I’m a smokestack.”
“C’mere to me, you.” With a smile, he reaches for me, but I take a step backward.
“Sean, I don’t think you realize how serious this is. If I go down, I’ll take you with me.”
He scoffs. “I’ll chance it.”
“Now that these two shows are partnering, a lot more people are going to be putting the pieces together.” I wring my hands. “I think I’ll have the flu while you guys are taping this crossover thing. Although, now that I think about it, I have enough vacation days saved up.”
“Listen, Josie”—Sean looks behind himself down the hall—“I have to go join that script reading, but my gut tells me you’re overthinking this. It’s all gonna be fine. You’ll see.”
I want to believe him. But I’ll still be taking vacation days while Lupe’s here.
He dips his chin. “Should we kiss before going back inside?”
I shuffle over to him, and we share a chaste little kiss. It’s still enough to rev my engines. When I try to squeeze past him, he purposely doesn’t move so our bodies are forced to slide against one another. I’m feeling better already.
“I love that you’re so into me,” I say over my shoulder as I head to the makeup room.
He catches my elbow right before I enter the room. “Want to see each other tonight?”
I wince. “I promised I’d hang with Miguel.”
“Oh yeah? Doing what?”
Is Sean jealous? I kind of like that. “He wants to go out and meet some celebrities, but I can’t risk us being seen together.”
“Why don’t I tag along? That way it looks like he’s my guest, not yours.”
“Actually, that’s a good idea. We need to steer clear of the paparazzi, though. Any ideas?”
“Jimmy Fallon’s in town. He’s hosting a high ropes Halloween party tonight. Invitation only.”
I hesitate. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“Alternatively, we could go to Clint Eastwood’s shirtless gun show.”
“High ropes it is.” I pause and give him a real smile. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. A smokin’ hot, ripped, everything-flavored lifesaver. Oh, and there’s a personality in there somewhere, too.”
His jaw drops. “There is not. How dare you! I’m one-hundred-percent love machine.”
I glance around to make sure no one is watching before going in for a kiss, this one not nearly as chaste. His response to it dissolves me, and I’m back in that closet again, ready to rip off all my clothes, but I hold it together because denying myself pleasure is one of my superpowers.
“So into me,” I murmur over my shoulder as I head to my station.
“A matching amount!” he calls into the room, gaze ping-ponging around our small audience of Li Jing, their client, and mine. “Hello. Nice to see you,” he says to all three of them before pointing a finger at me. “A perfectly normal amount of… what you said. One that matches yours.”
I smirk. “Whatever you say, Captain.”