24 Elena
Elena
Early-morning light heaves through the naked window.
Phillip Granger lies next to Elena on his back, blond furry legs tangled in silvery sheets, dehydration crusting the corners of his lips. She slips out of bed, praying he doesn’t wake.
Last night, after she spoke of Quinn to a room full of strangers, Elena felt herself check out.
She tried to refocus, keeping Phil interested in her with her questions about his favorite topic.
Himself. She even mentioned the word genius and nearly gagged.
By then, she still hadn’t mentioned her demo reel.
More whiskey was poured. Fuck it, she thought.
If there was ever a night to get drunk and see what happened, this was it.
She texted Gael to make sure he was okay and Barbara to apologize.
Stay, Barbara wrote back. Enjoy. Gael and I are fine.
She checks her phone now, grateful she doesn’t see any where are you texts from her son.
Joey and Sophie messaged the group thread, though, both saying they have something they want to talk about and agreeing to meet at the coffee shop.
Elena punches out a reply. She needs to see Gael and shower before she goes anywhere.
It takes her a minute to find her underwear, which is tucked beneath a pillow.
The rest of her clothes are in a pile by the door.
She tugs them on quickly, wincing at the sudden throbbing in her head.
Way too much whiskey. She fishes through her purse and plucks out two Advil.
Extra strength. She gags but gets them down eventually.
She would kill for some water right now.
She pads out of the room and closes the door silently behind her. Daylight crashes through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
In the kitchen, she fills a glass from the tap all the way to the top and drinks it in one go.
Her stomach sloshes, but after a minute, she feels an ounce better.
She fills it up again, taking her time with this one, confident Phillip Granger will not be waking up, offering to make her breakfast. She remembers snippets from the night.
His woolly hands on her waist, his wet lips, the way he pulled her hair a little too hard.
He was clumsy and overconfident, the worst combination.
Nausea moves through her, and she takes a steadying breath.
Glass in hand, she wanders over to the bookshelf near the leather couch.
Her finger traces the spines of old books.
Some look like first editions. She’s not very literary, so she doesn’t recognize any titles, but these old books are out of place in a room that could otherwise be a contemporary art museum.
She finds the glass sculpture she saw last night and admires it again.
Three peaks. It really is beautiful, she decides, the cloudy pastel colors like mountains cast in the glow of sunrise.
That’s when she realizes it’s not made of glass but crystals. Quartz, topaz, maybe aquamarine too.
“Good morning.”
Elena turns. Cal Pierce stands behind her, leaning on a barstool. His cool blond highlights and pale blue T-shirt give him a good-boy look that she would normally roll her eyes at, but right now, he’s an angel because he’s not Phillip Granger. She smiles weakly and brings her glass to the sink.
“Let me get that,” he says, taking it from her and sticking it in the dishwasher.
It’s a bit unexpected, this act of domestic gallantry, and she wonders briefly why she set her aim at an egotistical director when she could have focused on someone who might actually be willing to help her.
She tells herself she will make her move as soon as she sees Phillip Granger on set.
Right now, though, she is suddenly ravished with hunger, feeling an urgent need for Barbara’s blackberry pancakes.
She hopes she can still get back before Gael wakes up.
“See you,” she says, pulling her purse over her shoulder.
“Can I give you a ride?” He gestures to her footwear.
“It’s fine,” she says. “They’re hiking grade.” She doesn’t even know if that’s a term. The Advil is working its magic, and her headache has dulled enough for her to think straight.
He clears his throat as she is about to turn toward the front door. “Hey, I wanted to say…I’m really sorry about your friend. Who died.”
Elena stares at his hands resting on the kitchen island. Her heart thrums. She was hoping they had all forgotten. “How did you know she was my friend?”
His smile looks like an apology. “I lost someone too. Just recognized something in the way you said it.” He examines her face as he begins to turn pink. “But now I can clearly see that I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, I—”
“No, it’s fine.” Elena swallows, longing for a shower to clean the lingering shame off her.
“It’s just…” He flicks his eyes toward the staircase. “Well, it’s probably not my place, but there are some people I wouldn’t trust with things that are personal to you. I would hate for your pain to become someone else’s next big film, if you know what I mean. Just saying, it’s happened before.”
Elena’s insides curdle as she follows his gaze upstairs. Another reason she shouldn’t have said anything. What kind of a person exploits their friend’s death mere hours after seeing evidence that she was actually murdered? Elena has no idea where her loyalties lie.
“Thanks for the heads-up.” She swallows down a spasm of nausea.
“Anytime,” he says. A self-conscious laugh escapes.
There’s a sound from upstairs, a door opening.
The last thing she wants is any awkward morning-after conversation with Phillip Granger.
She checks her phone. Joey is on her way to the coffee shop.
Sophie has asked if Elena is good to meet there in an hour.
“I have to go,” she says. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You’re taking an Uber though, right?”
She shakes her head. “Walking.”
He juts his chin out in shock. “I’m more than happy to give you a ride.”
She glances again toward the stairs, considering his offer. But no, she just needs to get out of here. “Truthfully, I would rather walk.”
He puts up two palms in resignation. “See you on set then.” Elena hesitates, a little surprised that he remembered she’s a background actor in the film.
She thinks about asking him if he has any idea which day they’ll need her on set, but she says nothing.
Hunger, and a desire to see Gael, drive her out the door and down the hill.
One foot then the other, over a branch, avoiding a rock to the right, to the left, taking care not to twist an ankle in these shoes.
She estimates it will take her forty-five minutes to get home, though she really doesn’t know.
That will be just enough time to punish herself properly.
Amazing how one night can make you feel so fucking low.