METHOD

by Kate Stewart

  “I don’t think you even know who you are anymore.” I’m crying again, and I hate it, but I’m fighting for the love of my life, and he’s lost in some oblivion I have no map for. He’s the only one with the clues. “I miss you so much.”

  He runs his hands along the solid white stone wall of our terrace. “You didn’t like the necklace?”

  “What the fuck are you even saying?” I sniff and avert my eyes. “That’s not even you.”

  “This job is over soon,” he says matter-of-fact, as he turns back to me weighing my response as if my hurt doesn’t faze him. If it’s Lucas finally speaking up, it’s not enough.

  “Yeah, well, I’m all out of faith,” I say, standing. “And make sure you do a good job because that might be all you have left when you come home.”

  I dress, get in my car, and leave.

  “All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never notice how broken you really are.”—Robin Williams

  Lucas

  Walking toward the Chateau Marmont where Blake’s been holed up the last six months, I stop short when I see him and Amanda just inside the entrance. He’s holding her tightly to him, whispering words of comfort while she crumbles in his arms. It’s painful to see. A few years ago, they were the picture of happiness. Blake still hasn’t been forthright about the reasons behind their divorce, and it irks me. If I were a betting man, I would have placed my money on the two of them. They’d been a good influence on me in finding my other half to complete my own picture. I’d envied their effortless connection as I’d watched them come together. In the front row, I’d witnessed their linking as it flowered and stood at Blake’s side at their wedding while they tearfully pledged themselves to each other. It was easily the most romantic wedding I’d ever attended and not because of the setting, but because their love for each other was tangible. They made me want for something more and taught me not to settle. I’d tried my first hand at a relationship with Laura. The night of their wedding, I’d made us official. Thinking back, I knew it was due to the sentiment of the day. But when it had turned out to be nothing more than convenience, we called it off. I waited for Mila, and it turned out to be the best decision of my life. Somewhere inside, I knew the choice Blake made to end his marriage wasn’t about love lost.

  Blake has calmed Amanda to the point he could get her into the car as the valet pulls up. I stare on as he shoves his hands in his jeans and watches her drive away. He hadn’t asked me to be there, but he’d told me they’d be signing papers today and I’ve shown up just in time to witness the soul-crushing end of it. Blake wipes his face repeatedly, looking the way the car had left long after it was out of sight. He spots me as I walk toward his car which the valet had already parked. Briefly, he pauses when he sees me approaching.

  “Come to get me drunk, bro? Amazing suggestion. Your blessed universe couldn’t have delivered a better friend today. What’s your poison? I’m thinking tequila.”

  “This is a mistake,” I say without apology.

  Without a response, he walks around the side of the car, and I climb in before he has a chance to protest. In the driver’s seat, he sits idle collecting himself. He’s on the edge of breaking, and I can feel it in the dense cabin of his Ferrari.

  I speak first. “This is a mistake.”

  “I know,” he says. “But I can’t be married to her anymore.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? You don’t love that woman any less than you did when you married her.”

  “You’re right. I love her more, that’s why I had to set her free. I’m not what she needs.”

  “Isn’t that for her to decide?”

  He swallows hard, his eyes glazing over. “Things got bad behind closed doors. Six months ago, I got blackout drunk and destroyed almost everything in our house.”

  “Did you hurt her?”

  “She says I didn’t.” He turns to me. “But do you think she deserves that? You know Amanda, she couldn’t hurt anyone like that. There’s not a menacing bone in that woman’s body. She’s perfect. I can’t have a hand in destroying that. And I fucking won’t. I love her too much.”

  “So you seek counseling, and you shrink it down to manageable, you don’t divorce a woman you’re still in love with.”

  He laughs sarcastically. “There’s no cure for being me. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  I scoff. “Guess not, I’m still here. What makes you think she wouldn’t be?”

  “I don’t want that woman to ever hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  He glances my way. “Yeah you do, a little. You resent me for the messes I’ve made. It was only a matter of time before she realized she wasted her youth, her beauty, on a piece of shit incapable of being who she wanted. I’m tired, Lucas. It was more exhausting being her husband than any other job. She’s the only woman I’ve ever had to answer to, and I couldn’t hack it anymore.”

  “So, this martyring you think you’re doing is all about the asshole?”

  “It’s freedom,” he says, turning the ignition, “to be exactly who I am without constantly having to apologize for it.”

  “You honestly think you’re that toxic? This isn’t healthy.”

  “Never said it was.” He pulls a cigarette from a pack on his dash and lights it up.

  “So you divorced her to protect her? This is bullshit, man. She could help you.”

  He shakes his head impatiently and glares at me. “All right, you want the skeletons? Here they come,” he says, taking a long drag of his cigarette before looking at me pointedly. “The day after I destroyed our house, I went on a coke bender and snorted lines off a whore for two days while I fucked her bareback. So, you tell me, Boy Scout. Is that a good enough reason to set her free?”

  “Jesus Christ, Blake.” I’m sick thinking about it.

  “Thought so,” he says, tearing out of the parking lot. He makes a hard right, and the rev of the engine draws heads our way. Paparazzi who were ready at the curb manage to get a few shots in. Blake is oblivious as he glances my way. “You love me with the same blind fucking eyes, Lucas. I’m never going to change, no matter how much I need to. She couldn’t change me either, that’s why I’m divorced,” he says, wiping at his face trying to hide the hurt that’s leaking from his every pore.

  “This is destroying you, man. You just shot off your own fucking foot.”

  “Whiskey…I think this is a whiskey kind of day,” he mutters before speeding down Sunset. It’s a different dynamic now than what it was for us years ago. We used to use our looks to try to charm our way into A-list places, and now we reign over them. Despite Blake’s bad boy rep, he’s still invited regularly to the old hot spots to further desecrate his image in the public. The street is a wasteland now in that respect, at least for me. The irony strikes me that while my life had completely changed, Blake is still working the same circuit, hanging with the same people.

  A few minutes of silence ensue before he speaks up, his voice thick with a mix of guilt and hurt before tossing his cigarette and reaching for another, but the pack falls to the floorboard. “You don’t have to agree with me, bro, that’s the beauty of it. But you do have to drink with me, to her freedom.”

  “Blake, if you need help—”

  “I’m not using, and I haven’t since then.”

  “Then why?”

  His voice is gravel with his next admission. “Because it was just a phase,” he says, swallowing thickly. “I’m just a phase,” he adds darkly, “a phase everyone in my life eventually outgrows.”

  “Bullshit. Come stay with us for a couple of months. It would be good to have you around.”

  He shakes his head. “Your wife isn’t a fan of mine. I’m good, I’m covered.”

  “We can—”

  “It’s done,” he cuts me off, resigned. “Let’s outgrow this conversation and catch up.” He leans over and roughly runs knuckles through my hair. “It’s been a while.�
�

  Rolling my eyes, I slap his hand away. “If that’s what you need.” He ignores the grudge in my voice.

  “Yeah, it’s exactly what I need. Thanks, man.”

  “Anytime,” I say, pulling the pack from the floorboard, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it for him. He takes it, and we exchange a look that expresses our clear difference of opinion but garners no more conversation. It’s an understanding that passes between us. And as usual, I give him the last word.

  Looking back, it’s the one time I wish I wouldn’t have. From there everything went downhill. He was in the process of making nice with his demons, letting them take over and having more fun while destroying what was left of himself. The conversations that followed—after Mila had to drag me from his hotel room that night after berating us both—had been few and far between. Our phone calls felt like an obligation on both our parts. I couldn’t be where he was, and he’d tossed me collectively into a group of people he’d have to answer to. Whether it was concern or his need to be able to act out without the voice of reason or consequence, either way, he’d dealt my sentence.

  I’d never once told my brother how much I needed him. Not once had I said those words, though I was sure it wouldn’t have made a difference. But what if it had? What if I had slain just one of the demons he’d embraced and dwelled with? What if I’d just taken the time to introduce myself to a single one of them and made it harder for them to exist within him?

  What if I had told him just once that he was more than the sum of the shitty things he’d done? That he was a gifted actor and good friend. That what I saw in him wasn’t a result of blind faith, but a truth he couldn’t see for himself.

  “Lucas,” I hear Jeremy, the assistant director, mutter as he guides me through the action Wes has in mind for the next scene. “You’ll pull the gun out, and as soon as you see him roll and reach, you fire twice. Once at a distance and then again when you approach, get him point-blank, got it?”

  I nod, looking around the set.

  “You with me?” Jeremy asks unsure. “You want to repeat that back?” he says, with a hint to his voice that hits a raw nerve.

  I tug at my collar as the heat from the lights bears down on my scalp.

  “You all right?” Jeremy asks, eyeing me without a fucking ounce of genuine concern. I’m just a hired monkey.

  “Aren’t I always?” I snap, uncomfortable in the cheap polyester suit. “This suit is bullshit. This isn’t how I dress.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Nikki, that’s a wardrobe issue. Let’s get through this shot, and we can have a discussion after.”

  “What’s the fucking point if we have to re-shoot?” I snap, pulling the tie from around my neck. “Where is Wes? I need a word.”

  “Don’t be that prick,” Jeremy mutters beneath his breath.

  “What the fuck did you just say?” Narrowing my eyes, I see underlying animosity rise in his.

  “I said, don’t start the power plays today. We’re all aware you don’t agree with the fucking suits. We’re working on it. We have an exhausted crew trying to wrap up an eighteen-hour day. Thirty of those people haven’t eaten shit since lunch, thanks to the schedule you’ve fucked up. I have no doubt the union is going to hear about this. Let’s wrap the day and we can worry about re-shoot later.”

  “I think we both know this has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the fuck-me eyes your wife keeps tossing my way on set.”

  His eyes flare, but he waves a dismissive hand. “Come on, man, you can’t be this big of an asshole.”

  “I’m not, but I’m pretty sure she thinks you are.”

  He shrugs. “Look, Wes wanted you on this one. It’s no secret I’m not a fan of yours, especially now. But this is his show, and I’m just trying to give him what he wants. If that means I have to be the prick, that’s my job, not yours. I need you to focus.”

  “Focus?” I snap. “Are you fucking serious right now? You insult me then ask for a favor. Go fuck yourself. I want to speak with Wes.”

  “Wes is breaking, so you’ll have to deal with me.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Fucking figures,” he mutters. “You’re a joke, you know that? All this shit you’re putting us through is ridiculous. You know damn well when word gets around about what a little bitch—”

  My fist lands squarely where I intend it to. The bone crunch utterly satisfying as he reels back covering his nose, his eyes wide. I don’t stop there. I swing again and again until I’ve connected at least two more blows.

  “Call me a bitch again, you piece of shit,” I snap. “Please, say it again, you stupid motherfucker,” I snarl, charging toward him. “Who am I? I’m the man paying the bills! That’s who the fuck I am.” It takes me a second to realize the cinematographer is shooting every single minute of our altercation and white-hot light erupts from me as I pull the trigger and let the lava flow. I only come to when I’m in my chair and reports are being filed. Bottle in hand, I flex my fist studying the blood on my knuckles before I wipe it on the sad excuse of a shirt.

  “Get off set, Walker,” Wes orders as Jeremy glares at me from behind him, holding an ice pack to his nose. “Go get some rest.”

  The next hour is a blur of lawyer calls, set announcements, and the production team scrambling around my trailer. Odd looks are tossed my way, and I reciprocate with a wink, taking another drink. “Ah, liberating, I get it now.”

  Mila

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I open my eyes, sitting straight up in bed. Swiping to answer, I ask the only question there is to ask while panic races through my veins. “Lucas? What’s wrong?”

  “Mila.”

  “What happened?”

  His breathing is labored. The hairs on my neck rise. His voice is barely recognizable. “Lucas, please tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know how I got here.” Fear, it’s fear I hear cracking his voice.

  “I’m coming.”

  “Don’t. You won’t find who you’re looking for,” he says in warning.

  Throwing the covers off, I dash for my closet. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. Don’t come here.”

  That has me pausing in my closet.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ll be disappointed. Your love is conditional. You’ve never loved the bad guy.”

  “That’s not true. I love you no matter what,” I say, my voice breaking over the line. “I’m coming. Where are you now?”

  “I’m nowhere,” he says, his voice taking on an edge. The only sound I hear is ice clinking into a glass before the line goes dead.

  I stare at the phone in my hand, blinking before I register the time. It’s just before daybreak. He’s not sleeping at all. He says he’s not there, but I know damn well my husband is the one that reached out to me. I won’t let him down, I promised I wouldn’t. We’re living in a land of fiction, and it’s up to me to decipher the truths from the lies. He’s imploding. I just hope I can save him before the lies swallow us both whole.

  Getting a drink of water, I check my texts and see an incoming message from Nova a few hours prior.

  Nova: Lucas just lost his shit on the AD and broke his nose. Wes is doing his best to keep him from pressing charges. It’s a damn mess.

  I’m on my way.

  Mila

  I have to see him, to lay eyes on him. They’re set to wrap in El Paso within the week, but that doesn’t stop me from booking the first available flight. They’re far along in the movie. The desert scenes are close to last in the sequence but some of the most grueling. This part of the storyboard is where Nikki makes a power play for the throne, savagely killing over a dozen men and demanding loyalty from his wife in the most brutal of ways. These scenes are taxing, and I know his stamina is wilting. I need a purpose, a reason to believe all this sacrifice is worth it. It’s the only thing that will reel me back in from breaking at the seams. I’m overwhelmed with the change in L
ucas and completely unsure what I’m up against anymore.

  Taking my seat, I buckle my belt and stare out the window cursing Blake. If he were here, he would know just how to deal with Lucas. At this point, I can’t decipher if this is Lucas acting or if he’s using it as an excuse to act bad.

  “Mila,” Nova calls out to me from the car she’s standing next to at the terminal. She looks nervous, and I can see the fatigue in her as I approach with my carry-on.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she says, hugging me briefly before popping the trunk on the rental car.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” I say, tossing my bag in and opening the passenger door. She stands at the driver’s side, and I can hear the guilt in her words while the heat-infused wind whips the hair around her face.

  “I should have called you sooner. I’m sorry. Something isn’t right.”

  “I know.”

  Tears imminent on both our parts, we collectively get in the car and sigh. She’s the first to speak. “He’s nailing it. Really, I’ve never seen him do better. It’s unreal. But instead of being proud of him, I’m almost embarrassed at this point.”

  Though Nova and I are friends, I’ve rarely ever abused that friendship to get information…until he took this role.

  She looks me over. “How are you?”

  “Not good,” I confess honestly.

  “Can I be honest with you?”

  I frown. “You know you can.”

  “He’s on time to set every day, there’s no issue there but…”

  “But what?”

  “Okay, like normally he stays in character, and I get that, it’s his way, but he’s so, I don’t know. He’s on a rampage. I mean this guy is Nikki fucking Rayo.”

  “What is he doing?”

  She bites her lip. “He’s not talking to me. He’s not even using me. When I talk to him, it’s like he stares straight through me. He’s drinking, a lot. Partying with the crew at all hours but not saying much. And when he does, he’s constantly pissed off, destructive, and just outright fucking rude to me and to everyone who shows concern.”