Chapter 21 #2
I took a photo too, even though it wasn’t something we’d been doing.
There was no proof that we’d been together then, and I’d thought I wouldn’t want proof this time either.
And maybe I wouldn’t, maybe as soon as she was gone I’d delete the photo, Rebecca under a streetlamp drinking a Diet Coke and looking at me like I was everything.
We were all sleepy when we got back to my house, and I let Rebecca and Rosie get into bed while I refilled Rosie’s water bowls and got my lunch bag ready for the next morning.
Rebecca was in one of my nightshirts and scrolling her phone, Rosie on my pillow next to her, when I walked in, and she looked up and smiled at me.
“What are you always doing on your phone?” I asked, instead of that this felt like coming home and I’d never felt so happy in my entire life.
“Is that an accusation?” she asked smoothly. Always so smooth!
“No,” I said. “I don’t know why I asked.”
“Here’s what I’m always doing on my phone,” she said, flipping the screen around to face me.
I could see it was her Gmail inbox. “Checking in about potential jobs, mainly. Checking my bank and credit card balances. Lying to my group chat, who bet me I’d get to LA and sleep with my ex, though they meant Carmen, so technically am I winning the bet? Hard to say.”
I got into bed next to her, though Rosie stayed on my pillow, which made me laugh. “Sorry. You can do whatever you want.”
“I can, but I’m also aware that I can reload my email all night, and there’s no producer in the world who’s going to email me at nearly three a.m. New York time.
” She set her phone on the nightstand on her side of the bed.
“I don’t have the next thing booked yet and I can tell I’m starting to spin a little. ”
“Who wouldn’t hire you?” I asked.
“Oh, should we start the list?” She lay on her side and snuggled in next to Rosie, who grunted approvingly. “I only got this gig because Geoffrey Gordan’s a monster and when they needed someone to step in, Kenneth Argyle turned it down.”
I stared at her. “Why are they so obsessed with men directing stories by women? Stories about women? I mean—I know, but—Rebecca. I had no idea. To me you’re the most sought-after director in theatre.”
“Yeah, I’m not even the second-most-sought-after director in this production’s history,” she said.
“Thank god for Neil, who rallied for me. And Sasha’s working her ass off to get me more coverage right now, and as soon as I’m back in New York I’ll take some meetings, and Liz’ll have work to float me so I can pay my bills.
I’ll be fine, sorry. I’ve been trying to hide all my panic from you. ”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Would it help Sasha to pitch us together? I mean—not together, but a story about the director and the lead—”
“The lead who happens to be a Vindicator? Yeah, I think that could do it,” she said with a laugh. “Thanks, yes, can I have her connect with your publicist? Sorry, do I sound too thirsty for this?”
“No,” I said, because I knew how it felt to be used for my fame and connections, and there was nothing about Rebecca that felt that way.
I leaned over and turned out the light. “And, no, just get it done and I can bring in Erica when it comes to scheduling. And I’m sorry about earlier. You can be on your phone all you want.”
“God, no.” She curled up behind me, and we laughed as Rosie circled for what seemed like a solid minute before lying down next to me. “Gardner, I’m aware I can be annoying. And also that we haven’t … set any parameters for … this.”
I held my breath waiting for her to continue the thought.
“Though I guess I thought you’d assume if I spent ninety percent of my nights sleeping with Rosie that matter was obvious.”
I smiled and focused on stroking Rosie’s fur and not on that matter being far from obvious at all.
On my day off, I dropped by Aisha’s arts school and spent an hour showing off stage combat basics to an auditorium full of eager kids.
I’d convinced Henry to join me, since the thought of asking a favor from Michael was laughable, and he was a great sport in front of the kids, as the journalist watched and a photographer snapped photos.
Not every man would let a woman repeatedly “beat” him in a staged fight, time after time, documented by the media, but considering how eagerly he jumped up each time for another round, I could tell Henry loved this as much as I did.
I did not—for legal reasons and also my own sanity—wear a Princess Platinum costume, but I did wear a Pantheon T-shirt and let the kids spend another hour taking selfies with me afterward.
I nudged Henry toward Aisha, because a man who’d let himself get beaten up that many times by a princess felt like a potential match for my best friend, but by the time I took my last selfie, I found Aisha waiting for me on her own, in the front row of the auditorium.
“What did you think of Henry?” I asked her. “You said you wanted to meet non-terrible men in real life.”
“An actor?” she asked. “No offense, of course.”
“None taken,” I said. “Well … maybe some taken.”
“Thanks for thinking of me, though, I guess,” she said. “How are you?”
“Good,” I said, sitting down next to her. “Rehearsals are going really well. It’s coming together in this way—well, you know. You put on shows all the time.”
“I put on shows with children,” she said with a smile. “No, of course I know what you mean. There’s that moment where you’re like, oh, this thing is a thing.”
“Yes! Exactly that. Also you put on great shows with children,” I said. “Did you know that’s actually how Rebecca got her start?”
“Oh?” Aisha asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I mean, she said so at a donor dinner,” I said quickly. “Anyway. This was really fun today. I’m sorry I fought you on it.”
Aisha sighed. “It’s fine. Well, you know. It wasn’t, but it is what it is. And maybe you’ll do this again in the spring without cameras and the press?”
“Of course,” I said, trying to convey with my voice how much I meant that.
She watched me for a moment. “Anything new with you?”
I shook my head like she was silly to even ask.
“It’s just that I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, “and I don’t believe that Yelp sent you those flowers.”
“Who else would they be from?” I asked, smoothly, like I was Rebecca.
“Tess,” she said. “I’m your best friend. What’s the worst thing that could happen if you remembered that? Or told me the truth?”
“I am telling you the truth,” I said. “Yelp loves me.”
My voice got a little tripped up on loves me because it felt like a bigger intimation than I’d intended, and before I could worry that Aisha noticed, I jumped to my feet.
She stood up, too, and squeezed me in a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, OK?”
I waved and headed out, blasting music on my short drive home instead of dwelling on the fact that the hug had felt like a goodbye.