Chapter Twenty-Two
The news anchor’s mouth moved rapidly, but Dimple heard only static.
A picture of Insomnia’s cast was displayed beside the reporter’s head.
The one they’d taken at the wrap party. She could still feel the heat of Chris Porter’s arm around her shoulders like the press of an iron.
Nobody had ever picked up on her discomfort before. Nobody except for Saffi.
Saffi, who was attempting to speak to her.
“—do anything stupid. It’ll be better for both of us if you remain calm,” she said. Even now she sounded matter-of-fact.
It was odd, seeing herself on television in this context.
When she was a child, she’d never imagined that being on-screen could instill anything but pride in a person.
She’d always told herself that if she made it, she’d have to completely reinvent herself first. That she’d be remembered as the best possible version of herself for all of time.
The only role models she’d had were the actors on her black-and-white VHS tapes.
But now, as Dimple watched the full-color photograph of the Insomnia cast displayed on the big screen, she could only see that scared little girl.
Could Saffi see her as well? Was that how she’d uncovered so much of Dimple’s past?
Dimple had never sunk this low before. To be caught now when she hadn’t been as a child was beyond insulting.
She worked through every step she’d taken before this point, wracking her memory for mistakes.
Had she not deleted all of Isaac Klossner’s evidence?
Had she left behind some traceable piece of her—a drop of blood or an eyelash?
“—We have an update!” the reporter suddenly exclaimed. Both she and Saffi snapped to attention. “Police have finally caught up to him—Chris Porter is now in custody. Fans are in an absolute uproar—”
Chris Porter.
Chris Porter, as in her co-lead Chris Porter.
She felt her whole world spinning, much like it did the one and only time she’d gotten drunk, and that was nearly enough to send her into another panic.
The television screen flashed black for a split second before going to a commercial break, but it was enough time for Dimple to catch a glimpse of herself.
Her curls coming undone, her lipstick smudged.
She wiped the excess from the corner of her mouth, looking down at the red stain across her hand.
Saffi read out loud from her computer, “Chris Porter has been charged with gross vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated after a party last weekend.”
Distantly, she marveled at the odds that both Insomnia leads were killers themselves.
She’d never liked him and liked even less that production had leaned into the dating rumors circulating since principal photography—but to think he was a killer.
As the relief began to dissipate, anxiety took over.
Would all this scrutiny on him put a spotlight on her as well?
Ever since the casting announcement, Dimple and Chris’s names had always been mentioned in conjunction with each other.
Julie had claimed that it would boost her popularity.
If only Dimple could see her expression now.
A wordless understanding passed between them over Saffi’s desk.
It should have—and would have—been terrifying if Dimple had been in any other state of mind, but as of now she only felt resigned.
Her reaction to the news had given her away, there was no getting around that.
Not only had Saffi seen her reaction, she now knew Dimple’s history as well.
She wondered how vulnerable she must look to Saffi in this state—even more so than when she’d laid broken atop a hospital bed.
Most people would be smug. Saffi seemed angry.
Dimple’s hands were freezing when she set the candle down. As she crossed to the other side of the desk, reading the article over Saffi’s shoulder, the door to the office burst open and Atlas and Eli erupted inside. Saffi stepped in front of Dimple, half obscuring her from view.
How would Saffi have reacted had Dimple really been the one on the news? Now Dimple was almost certain she’d imagined her anger. Because why would she be anything but glad to see her behind bars? Wasn’t that the point of this all?
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it to be false. The point of this, whatever performance they were putting on, couldn’t be so simple.
“Good, you already know,” Eli said, looking up at the news. “They’ve got him in custody.”
“Don’t bother looking into it,” Atlas added. “Chris Porter has alibis for both parties; I had the interns check weeks ago.”
“He’s done,” Dimple said softly. “His career’s over.”
A whole childhood’s worth of work culminating in nothing. If Saffi had it her way, it would be Dimple in his shoes. The thought left her lightheaded. But then again, when Dimple looked up, it was Saffi’s broad shoulders that were shielding her from the rest of the world.
At the sound of her voice, the men paused, craning to find Dimple over Saffi’s shoulder. Atlas’s face did a strange thing where it turned white, then red, and then almost purple. Eli’s jaw dropped.
“Dimple—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were still here,” Eli said.
“I can leave?” she offered, but Eli shook his head.
“No, stay. I can’t imagine how shaken up you must be.”
Saffi rolled her eyes and shifted so Dimple was in full view. “She’s not the one who got arrested, she’s fine.”
“Would it kill you to not be a complete bitch all the time?” Atlas snapped.
Dimple blinked in surprise.
“It might,” Saffi replied. “I’ve never tried.”
“She’s a guest here, treat her with some respect.”
Saffi scoffed. “Just because you’re one of her fanboys doesn’t mean you have to be her white knight too.”
Atlas tensed, face flushing in what seemed to be a combination of embarrassment and righteous fury. “That’s rich, coming from you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
Sensing motion, Dimple turned to catch the interns—who’d been watching from the open doorway—being herded away by Eli. It was almost adorable until Saffi and Atlas exchanged another round of loud, scathing retorts.
This was nothing at all like the closeness in the photograph Dimple had seen on Atlas’s desk. Perhaps she hadn’t been completely off when she’d assumed that Saffi’s years away had put a strain on their relationship.
The wax candle stared at Dimple from Saffi’s desk. The flame hadn’t extended past the wick and yet warmth had spread across both of her palms. She missed it now as she hugged her arms tighter around herself, remembering Saffi’s expression as she’d said Happy Birthday.
Dimple found that she rather liked the way Saffi looked at her.
It was nothing like the way Atlas looked at her—not like she was the sun.
Nor in the way Eli did, a mix of polite intrigue and professionalism.
While the rest of the world looked at Dimple through a camera lens, Saffi was the only one who felt present. Her scene partner.
There was a beautiful shot in Insomnia of a campfire reflecting in Dimple’s eyes that she hoped made it into the movie.
Her teeth had been chattering as she warmed herself up beside it.
That was what it felt like. Saffi looked at Dimple like she was that raging fire and Saffi was frozen to the bone.
“Go, run away again,” Atlas was shouting. “At least then you can’t fuck up any more investigations!”
“Fuck you,” Saffi spat.
Saffi crossed the room in a few angry steps, slamming the door shut behind her.
But Dimple recognized the expression on her face the same as she did the one in her mirror.
A chord struck. It became clear exactly what this performance was.
Where it was all culminating. Two women weighed down by their past. One who’d faced it head-on and the other who’d run.
Like this, neither of them would be free.
“Is everything all right?” Dimple asked, startled to find that it wasn’t all that difficult to inject concern into her tone.
Atlas ran an angry hand through gelled hair. Now that Saffi was gone, he seemed to realize how out of hand their argument had gotten, judging by the way he refused to face Dimple. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
It was unclear if that was aimed at Dimple or the absent Saffi. And it was too late to ask before he too was leaving the room, right as Eli was returning. Atlas couldn’t seem to look at him either.
“Is it really all right to let them argue like that?” Dimple wondered aloud once she and Eli were left alone. She couldn’t imagine forgiving someone who’d spoken to her the same way Atlas had just done to Saffi.
“Sorry you had to see that. I didn’t mean to abandon you with them, but the interns are too nosy for their own good,” Eli replied tiredly. “Saffi and Atlas are harmless anyway. I let them fight it out because that’s the only thing that works. By tomorrow it’ll be as though nothing happened.”
Nor would the root issue be solved. Eli shot her another apologetic look before hurrying after his friends.
Part of her wanted to follow, curious to see whether he’d speak to Atlas or Saffi first, but that would be inappropriate.
And Dimple couldn’t risk not being invited back. Not when the show was just beginning.
Good thing she was perfectly capable of piecing things together on her own.