Dave finishes his beer and drops his cigarette into the empty bottle. He still isn’t looking at Simon. “I drove up here a week ago, left the fucking charger at home, and figured nobody would miss me for two weeks.”
“I’m sure Charlie texts you more often than once every two weeks. When we went to your house, I think he was worried he might find yourbody. Do you understand what you put him through?”
“He went inside?” Dave asks.
“Don’t worry, he didn’t eat any of your food,” Simon snaps.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, that was Krista’s rule, not mine. She didn’t want to freeload, and Charlie always ate like a horse.”
Dave takes two more bottles of beer from the cooler at his feet and hands one to Simon. Simon doesn’t like beer and he doesn’t like driving when he’s had anything at all to drink, but he knows a crucial prop when he sees one, so he takes the bottle.
“How is he?” Dave asks, passing Simon the bottle opener.
“You know, if you asked him that, you’d make his day.”
“You think Charlie would give me a straight answer? He didn’t even tell me about rehab until it was over and done with. You wantto talk about someone not answering his phone, imagine what the fuck went through my head that month.”
Simon tips the bottle back and drinks about a third of a teaspoon of beer. It’s Heineken, which is the Devereaux family beer of choice for occasions that involve coolers filled with beer rather than caterers with trays of champagne flutes. It’s the beer uncles drink while talking about fantasy football. Simon has an experience like a dolly zoom, a dizzying shift in perspective. He’s the fantasy football uncle right now, having a man-to-man talk with another fantasy football uncle. The casting director really fucked this one up.
Simon gets to his feet. “Find a phone. Call him.”
Back inside, Simon puts his bottle in the sink, then gives Mike Charlie’s phone number and takes Mike’s number to give to Charlie. If Dave pulls another disappearing act, Charlie has at least one person to contact.
Simon doesn’t know if coming here was a mistake, but he doesn’t think it made anything worse. Back at the motel, he’ll come clean. If Charlie’s upset, Simon will just have to deal with it.
At the bottom of the hill, Simon pulls over onto the same shoulder as a few hours earlier. His hands are sweaty on the steering wheel. He can’t stop thinking about Dave saying that he didn’t think anyone would notice if he was gone for two weeks.
When Simon isn’t shootingOut There, he could absolutely disappear without anybody but Jamie noticing. His parents wouldn’t be too surprised not to hear from him for a while. Nora would probably just think he was ignoring her. Everyone would think he was ignoring them, because that’s exactly what he usually does.
Simon doesn’t want to be the kind of person who pushes awayeveryone who cares about him. He doesn’t want to be able to disappear for a week and not have that matter to someone. He doesn’t want anyone who cares about him to think they’ve thrown their feelings into a trash can.
He texts Jamie, asking if this is an okay time for a phone call. His phone rings fifteen seconds later.
“Everything okay?” Jamie asks.
“Yeah. I’m good. Promise. I’m leavingOut There.”
Jamie doesn’t say anything, and Simon hates himself for not having done this a few days ago, when they could have talked face-to-face.
“Okay,” Jamie says. “This makes you happy?”
Simon opens his mouth to sayyes, but he doesn’t know. What if he only gets cast as variations on the theme of uptight doctor on a spaceship? What if his plan—which isn’t even a plan so much as it is quitting his job and hoping for the best—doesn’t work?
“I want something more challenging,” Simon says, because that’s true, at least.
“When did you decide?” Jamie asks.
“A month ago.”
More silence. “Who else knows?”
Simon winces. “Lian and the producers. My agent. Someone told Alex. Alex told Charlie. I don’t think anyone else.”
“Wow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What do you think you’re apologizing for?”
