“Why not just say she’d misunderstood me, instead of making it look like I was an idiot?”
“I guarantee my father doesn’t think you’re an idiot.”
“I know, I know. But the bottom line is that she lies and probably steals, too, and now she’s dating your brother.”
“But there was never any proof Hannah took the money and bracelet or necklace or whatever it was.”
“God, Gabe, I feel like I’m trying to hold on to a wet bar of soap. Can’t you see my side of things?”
“Idosee your side of things. I just don’t want you getting all agitated about something that isn’t going to matter in the long run.”
“It might matter to Nick. Even if he only sees her for the short term, he could be vulnerable.”
“Well, if his wallet ends up missing, I promise I’ll tell him what you heard.”
“But won’t he resent us for not having warned him?”
“Nick’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
I let out a loud sigh, realizing it’s pointless to continue. “Fine. Let’s move on to a different subject, okay?”
He reaches up and rests a hand on my back. “Great idea, babe. You really shouldn’t let girls like her bother you.”
I feel myself start to bristle. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I know it’s not always easy for you to be around other actresses. But you can’t let her agitate you. You’re in a crazy, totally unfair business, you’ve always known that.”
Isoooodon’t like where he’s going with this.
“You think I’m ‘agitated’ because I’menviousof Hannah?”
“I’m not saying that, but it has to be a little tough to bein close proximity to someone doing the kind of work you want to be doing,” he says. Sensing this isn’t going well, he starts to overexplain. “But what you’re doing these days is great, I mean. And so much saner than playing the Hollywood game.”
I feel my whole mood shift, as fast as an actor dropping through a trapdoor on the stage. I have to do everything in my power not to jump down his throat.
“Gabe,” I say, rising from the couch, “I appreciate your support, I really do, but I don’t need you making judgment calls about what I should or should not be doing professionally, or whether I should be playing the Hollywood game or not. I don’t advise you on the wine business, do I?”
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I was—Where are you going?”
I’m halfway out of the room. “I need to put on some makeup before dinner.”
“Summer—”
“Please, can we finally table this? There’s really nothing more to say.”
I scurry up the stairs and shut myself in the bathroom, giving the door a forceful shove to close it. I pile my hair into a sloppy bun and dab on foundation and blush, stewing the whole time. Up until ten minutes ago, it had been such a lovely, perfect afternoon.
I’m not sure what’s pissing me off more: Gabe’s unwillingness to acknowledge that there might be something unsavory about Hannah or his hint—despite his attempt to backtrack—that he thinks I’m motivated by envy. Does hereally believe I was so undone by the notion of Hannah shooting a Netflix pilot that I’ve lost sight of what’s important?
I nearly tear off the top of the lipstick tube and swipe color across my lips. I wish now that I’d never confessed to Gabe how annoyed I was by an actress who was a fellow guest at a dinner party we attended last year. She was a college friend of one of the couple hosting the dinner, L.A. based but in town to shoot a movie, and she totally monopolized the conversation, regaling us with tales about this actor and that actor, using the nicknames they use in real life—like Jen instead of Jennifer—to let us know she was a member of their secret club.
There’s a knock at the bathroom door.
“Babe, we need to go. They want to eat early since it might rain later.”
“Fine,” I mutter.
“I’m really sorry, okay?”
