"She's been reading a lot of reviews."
"Have you?"
"Yeah."
I wait for her to say more, but she's quiet. The air is stale, immobile. It must be this quiet in her room. This motionless.
"How is that going?" I ask.
"It was an awful idea. And it was stupid. It's not like this is the first time I've been down this road. People always have their opinions. And even the people who like the show get things wrong, or have inane interpretations. I thought I learned my lesson on Together. Or Mahogany. Jesus. That one was brutal."
"It has almost ninety percent on Rotten Tomatoes."
"Yeah, ninety percent liked the movie. They didn't necessarily like my acting."
She takes a deep breath, no doubt waiting for my objection. I can't argue here. She sounds soft, like she's finally ready to talk. Like she finally needs me.
"Tell me about it," I say.
"Do you know how it feels for your stomach to do somersaults because you're so nervous you can barely keep reading the review? Cause you know it's due to mention your performance any second. And then you spend an hour poring over the two lines devoted to you. You analyze every single word. And you think about it for the rest of the night."
"Jesus. That sucks."
"I knew better, but Laurie was obsessing so much. I was curious."
"I should get you out of there," I say.
"I should have more self-control." She sighs.
I hear her shifting. Getting on her bed, probably. Getting comfortable.
It's almost like we're together. Both of us in bed, in our empty rooms, our attention only on the phone.
"If I was there, I could distract you," I say.
"Luke..."
I slide back on the bed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing... Just. I wish you had been here."
"I'll be back soon."
"I know, but I miss you. It feels so far away. I feel like I'm... I don't know. It sounds pathetic, but I feel like I'm unraveling. I forgot how hard all this is. The production is one thing. It's stressful, but I love it. I love being there in the scene, even if the director is a tyrant or one of the other actors is an asshole. But the rejections, and the reviews, and the meetings. Jesus, the meetings are miserable."
"Have you had any problems?"
"No one has been direct, but I get this sense from so many of these people. I can see the rejection in their eyes the second they introduce themselves. I see them looking at me thinking no, she's not the right kind of woman. And then... I read the comments on this review. And a lot of them were about me. About my body."
God, I should have been there to distract her. Alyssa needs me and I'm not there. What is wrong with me?
"Don't listen to those idiots. Your body is to die for."
She sighs. "I should have known better."
My head aches again. I need to be with Alyssa, to whisk her away from all this. I have to do whatever it takes to pry her away from all the awful thoughts in her head.
But there's not much I can do from here.
I press the phone into my ear. "It's understandable."
She sighs, lowering her voice to a whisper. "After I read the first one, I couldn't stop. It was just like the reviews. Then, before I knew it, I was sitting in front of the computer crying. I had to blast my music so Laurie wouldn't hear, so I wouldn't have to deal with her."
"When was this?"
"Earlier today."
I rub my temples. "Ally, why didn't you call me? You know you can call anytime."
"I know." There's accusation in her voice. Why should she call if I'm not going to be there?
"I would have come straight there."
"It would have taken you four hours with traffic."
"So I'd drive through four hours of traffic," I say.
She takes a deep breath. Like she's calming her nerves. "I don't need you running over here to rescue me every time I'm upset."
My heart sinks. "So you'd rather cry by yourself?"
"You can't shield me from the world. People are going to start threads about how I'm too fat to play a sexy character no matter how close you are to me."
"You're supposed to call me when you feel overwhelmed. That's our deal."
She's quiet for a moment, only breathing. "Okay. Fine. I'll call next time I'm overwhelmed."
"Promise."
"I promise." Her breath is strained. She shifts again. "Never mind. I want to talk, okay? Can I just talk?"
"Of course."
"It's not like I believe these people. They're just idiots on the Internet. I mean, I wish I had the self-control to ignore them. I swore off the Internet for my first three months out of treatment. It was boring, but it was also kind of peaceful." She takes a deep breath. "This would be easier if you were here."
"You'd just jump me."
She laughs. "True. But after the first three or four times, I'd need a break."
She sounds so warm. So sweet. So okay. I should be there. I could leave now, but I'd be stuck in traffic for hours. I'd arrive at ten p.m. and need to leave by four a.m. if I wanted to get back to Samantha's place before she started freaking out.
"When are you going to be back?" she asks.
I take a deep breath. There's no way to soften this blow. "Monday."
"Monday?" Her voice is squeaky.
"I'd rather leave tomorrow, but her parents are going out of town and she's afraid to be alone."
"Oh."
"I can come for the day tomorrow. I'll leave in a few hours. I'll spend all of Friday with you, and I'll drive back here for the weekend."
"I'd rather you come home with your hands clean of this." There's more confidence in her voice, but there's still an unease. An apprehension. "Wait. Her parents are out of town?"
"Yeah."
"And where will you be?"
"She asked me to stay at the house."
Alyssa raises her voice. "She asked you?"
"It's not like that. She wants company."
"Yeah, if you were visiting me, I'd want company too." She exhales. "You can afford to drop four hundred dollars on a hotel for the weekend. Hell, I've seen your bank statements. You can afford a lot more than that."
"Snoop."
"You leave them on the kitchen table on purpose."
There has to be some way I can explain this to Alyssa. Samantha and I are like brother and sister. It doesn't mean anything. "She just needs someone nearby. That's all."
"Yeah, someone disgustingly hot near her fucking bed."
"We don't feel like that anymore."
"You don't." Her voice is high. She's upset. "But she must feel something for you. You're helping her, and I'm sure she remembers how good it felt to fuck you. What if she begs you to comfort her physically?"
"She won't."
Alyssa practically squeaks. "How do you know?"
Because I know. Because Samantha rejected my advances several dozen times, because she'd rather sleep with my father, because she still chases me off before she pulls me in.
I keep my voice calm. "I know."
Alyssa says nothing, but I can hear her breath over the phone. It's strained.
"If I'm not there she might try something. I can't let that happen," I say.
Alyssa sighs, but still she says nothing.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. It's fine. But I should probably go." There's so much hurt in her voice.
"It's only this weekend," I say.
"Yeah, until the next time she does it."
"There isn't going to be a next time."
Alyssa sighs. She sounds miserable. Desperate. "I hope not."
"How about I come home Sunday night? You can stay at my place so we don't wake up Laurie."
"Maybe."
"Ally..."
She takes a deep breath. "Do you have to stay?"
I rack my brain for reasons to leave. I'd so much rather be with Alyssa, but I need to stay. I need to make sure
Samantha is okay.
I run my fingers over the edge of the phone. "It will be over before you know it. We'll be back together. And we can do your food challenge next week."
"No, I think I'll do it on my own."
"Are you sure?"
She swallows. "Yeah. I don't want to wait anymore."
I bite my lip. There's no way I can talk her out of this. I can tell. But I can't let her do it all alone. "Why don't you call me during it? So at least I'll be on the phone."
A little cheer returns to her voice. "Okay."
"Name a time, even if it's three in the morning."
"In the afternoon. I'll call you. Okay?"
"Perfect."
It's not perfect, but I really hope it's enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I have no choice but to help Samantha.
She's in this situation because of me.
Everything she said about us is true. We met in law school. I pursued her, and hard, and I wouldn't let go once I had her.
I thought I was in love with her. Now, I'm not so sure. It was puppy love, admiration, something much less deep and true than what I have with Alyssa.
But back then it felt real. And I held on to it tightly, even after we graduated law school, even after she started to pull away.
I knew something was going on. I didn't know what it was, but I knew something was different. She stayed at work late. She spent weekends with girlfriends she hadn't seen in years. She made excuses about why she didn't want to have sex.
She was having an affair with my father. Edward Lawrence. He was her boss. Senior partner at the firm.
I got her the job, more or less.
I put her right in his path.
She spent the better part of a year having this affair, lying to me, getting more and more obvious.
And then one day she broke down in tears. She told me what was going on. Not to beg for forgiveness, but to explain why she was breaking up with me.
She was in love with him.
But, asshole that he was Edward rejected her. It wouldn't look right. She wasn't even mad at him for it. She understood completely. I guess they always had that in common, that obsession with how things look.
I know. I should have walked away. I should have wiped my hands clean of both of them and moved on with my life.
But I didn't.
Instead, I begged Samantha to take me back. To give me another chance. I promised I'd treat her better, love her more, give her everything he did.
But I didn't.
I was too hurt, too angry, and I ignored her. We went on like that for a few months, until Edward dropped dead. It was a heart attack. Over in the blink of an eye. No one got a chance to say goodbye.
Samantha was heartbroken.
I should have been there for her. I should have done something to help her. Gotten her into therapy at least. But I did nothing. I ignored her. I was too angry at him, at them, at the whole fucking world.
She sunk into depression.
I knew how miserable she was, but I didn't do anything about it.
Then she swallowed my bottle of sleeping pills.
I left my prescription on the bedside table for weeks, right there, right in her face. It's not like I did it on purpose. It's not like it was any secret I took them.
It's not like I was trying to tempt her. I didn't want her to take the pills.
But I knew it was a possibility. I knew she was miserable. I knew she was desperate. I knew she'd prefer anything to living with the shame of her dirty secret becoming public, the pain of losing the lover who didn't even want her.
Maybe I did want her to take them. Maybe I wanted her to put us both out of our misery.
I still remember the first night I left them there. I had that thought--what if she's thinking of ending things?--but I ignored it. I told myself it was impossible. Samantha wouldn't do that.
A few weeks later, she was in the ER with her stomach being pumped, a suicide note tucked under the bottle.
I'd promised to help her. I'd promised to be her boyfriend again, but I ignored her. I insulted her. I tried so hard to forgive her, to be there for her, to hold her when she cried, but I couldn't. I knew she was crying over that bastard Edward and his stupid fucking death.
She was crying because he didn't love her.
She was crying because he was gone.
I couldn't comfort her.
I couldn't even comfort myself. He was my father. An asshole, but still my father, and I was supposed to be comforting her about it?
If I had been there for her the way she needed me, she never would have slipped into this depression. She would have been sad, sure, but she would have been okay.
If I hadn't left that stupid bottle of sleeping pills by the bed, she wouldn't have gotten the idea to take them.
I failed her then. I can't fail her again.
***
Samantha's parents live in Montecito, the richest city in the Santa Barbara area. Their house is huge, one of those suburban mansions on a hill. It has everything--four bedrooms, a study, a long, formal dining room, a view of the California coastline.
I still know the way there from memory. I've been visiting her a while now.
It's sunset when I arrive, and there's a soft orange glow over the quiet streets. They're too quiet, like there's no life in these houses.
My shoulders tense. I'll always be Samantha's friend, but this is the last weekend of this. It has to be.
I park on the street and walk up the long stone path to the door. Samantha answers quickly. She's dressed like an actress in a movie. Not in pajamas, but in designer loungewear.
"I got takeout," she says.
We move into the dining room. It's a huge, empty room with a sturdy oak table. Once upon a time, I made a joke about having sex on this table.
She didn't find it funny.
I set the wine on the table, a bottle this time, and Samantha shrieks.
She throws her arms around my neck and presses her lips into my cheek. "Oh my God, I love you."
I swallow hard. It's a friendly I love you. That's it.
She brings her eyes to mine. "My parents are trying to convince me to stay here again."
"Will you?"
She shakes her head. "If I do, I'll do it again."
The words fall with a thud. They're so effortless as they pass her lips. It's like she mentioned the weather, or her plans to see a movie this weekend. It's not like she just said she's going to attempt suicide again.
She looks at me. I'm doing an awful job of hiding my expression of horror.
"Don't start," she says. "I'm not comforting you over it."
"You can't say things like that and not expect people to be upset."
"Fine, be upset." She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a wine cork. She shakes her head as if to ignore me, all her attention on the bottle of wine. "Sit down. You're making me uncomfortable."
"I'm making you uncomfortable?"
She pours crimson wine into one of the glasses. "You used to be the one with guts."
"You think it's funny you tried to kill yourself, fine. But I'm not going to keep coming here if you're going to joke about it."
She looks at me like I'm an idiot. Again. Shakes her head, pours another glass of wine, and passes it to me. "You used to be the one with a sense of humor."
I clench my teeth. She wants to play it like this, fine. But I'm not going to keep helping her if she's going to throw it away.
***
I text Alyssa Saturday morning to check in, but she doesn't reply. I try not to make much of it. It's early, and she likes to sleep in.
Samantha and I play cards at the dining room table for hours. She frowns every time I check my phone, but she doesn't point it out. She just taps her hands and waits for me to finish my turn.
The morning turns to afternoon. We order takeout. We trade gossip about our old law school classmates.
But Alyssa still doesn't res
pond.
It's three now. It's getting well into the afternoon, the time she chose for her food challenge. I text her again. How is everything.
I turn my phone over and play another round of rummy with Samantha. The damn phone doesn't buzz. No new calls. No messages.
Samantha looks at me with concern. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah." The screen is still empty. "It should be."
I stare at the phone. Alyssa isn't a huge fan of technology. It's possible she has her phone off, that she broke it and can't be bothered to fix it, that she's out and she just forgot it.
But I sent that first text hours ago.
My shoulders tense. I need to be there for her today, at least on the phone.
Samantha's voice cracks. "It doesn't seem okay."
I shake my head. I need to give Alyssa a little more time. "It should be."
She nods, but she keeps one eye on me as she takes her turn. "Alyssa?"
I nod.
"What is happening with Alyssa?"
I pick up my card and stare at it. "Don't worry about it." This card is not what I want. I don't know what to do with it.
Samantha frowns, but she says nothing until I finish my turn. Then she picks up a card and declares her victory.
She wins again. Truth be told, I let her win.
I ignore my phone for the next two rounds. Until it's nearly five. Until this damn phone is burning a hole in my brain.
This isn't like Alyssa.
But I pick up my card. I stare at it the way I always do, with my best poker face.
Samantha stares at me like I'm an idiot. "Just call her."
"It's fine."
"I'd like to get your attention back. Call her."
I nearly jump out of the chair. I press the phone between my palms and I make my way to the empty study. It's a dark room in warm shades of auburn and brown. The kind of room that radiates wealth and prestige.
I dial Alyssa. The phone rings. It rings again. It rings straight to voice mail.
My shoulders tense. This is no good. But I won't jump to conclusions. I try again.
But again, the phone rings straight to voice mail.
I send a text. Give me a call when you get this. I want to hear your voice.
It's probably okay. It's probably nothing. But, just in case it's not, I call Laurie.
The phone rings straight to voice mail. "You've reached Laurie House. Please leave a message."
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