“Well, it’s dark,” Ralph mumbles. “So I wasn’t sure.”
It is dark, but there are some lights on the beach, and the glow of moonlight reveals a middle-aged woman with silver hair. I can’t make out the color of her eyes, but I know that as they flick between Canon and me, they are curious.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asks Canon.
“Sure,” Canon says, his voice terse. “Sylvia and Ralph Miller, this is Neevah Saint. Neevah, Ralph and Sylvia.” He doesn’t elaborate and beneath the beard, the angle of his jaw goes stony.
“Uh, hi.”
I accept the hands they proffer, forcing a smile. I have no idea who they are, and running into anyone we know would be bad, but the tension their presence introduced tells me they are especially unwelcome.
“Oh, yes.” Sylvia’s eyes round and she looks like she just charted the route to Mars. “That’s where I know you from. I saw the announcement. Canon, you’ll have to share your new star with the world sooner or later, though I can see why you like keeping her to yourself.”
“In due time,” Canon says, his expression falling into familiar lines of inscrutability. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. We better get back.”
“Staying nearby, are you?” she probes. “We love our place here. Such a great escape from LA.”
“Right.” Canon takes my hand and starts walking away. “Good seeing you.”
It obviously was anythingbutgood seeing them. Canon sighs heavily and shakes his head.
“Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, looking out over the ocean.
“You better not be talking to me,” I tease, tugging his hand. He doesn’t quite smile, but he does pull me into the crook of his arm, into his side as we walk. “Who was that?”
“One of the biggest mouths in Hollywood,” he says grimly. “Camille’s publicist.”
FORTY-ONE
Neevah
“Chile, you glowing, and I haven’t even put on your makeup yet.”
I meet Takira’s eyes in the mirror and suppress a grin.
“I do drink a lot of water,” I tell her, sipping from my ever-handy bottle. “That helps.”
“Hmmm. I got your water right here. You been mighty quiet about that trip to Santa Barbara.”
Even though we’re alone in my trailer, I’m a little uncomfortable discussing our trip while I’m on set. Seeing Camille’s publicist obviously irritated Canon and underscored the need for discretion.
“In my defense,” I say, “you got back long after I was asleep and we were both nodding off in the back seat when the driver picked us up this morning, so we haven’t really talked.”
“True. That was a nice few days off, but I’m ready to get back at it. Hard to believe we only have two months left, and then we can go home.”
I fiddle with a pile of hairpins in my lap. Two months before I put thousands of miles between Canon and me.
“You just did one of them woe-is-me sighs when I mentioned going home,” Takira says, brushing my hair and prepping for the Dessi wig. “What’s that all about?”
“No. I just… I don’t have my next thing lined up yet. My agent has a new Broadway production she’d like me to audition for, but that would be committing to a show. And I might want to be more flexible.” I hazard a glance up at her in the mirror. “Maybe even stay out here in LA for a few months to see what happens.”
Takira lets her hands drop from my hair and puts them on her hips. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“That Canon. He inserted his dick directly into your heart, didn’t he?”
I scrunch my expression. “Maybe a little bit?”
