“Yeah,” she said, when he couldn’t finish his thought.
He stared ahead, the darkness broken only by road markings and distant taillights. How did shegethim so effortlessly? Was she like this with everyone she met? “Why don’t you get some sleep? Might be a long day.”
“I’m too wired to sleep. But I can drive if you want a nap?”
“Nah, too much adrenaline.”
A phone rang, jolting him. His phone. He reluctantly released Lana’s hand and answered on speakerphone.
“Natasha.” To Lana, he whispered, “My manager.”
“What the holy hell is going on with you?” Natasha demanded. “I just got off the phone with the head of security forGods and Mortals. Something about you getting left behind on set, and trespassers, and drugged security guards, and cops getting called, and bullet holes in a hair and makeup trailer.”
“Did the cops catch them?”
“No. Just found a couple of abandoned cars. No plates, no VIN. There’s no security footage—seems the power was out. They’re looking for prints and DNA but they’re not hopeful. You okay?”
“I’m safe. Heading back to L.A. with a friend.”
“You have a friend?”
“Very funny. A colleague.”
“Cops are asking if you can give a description.”
“Nothing beyond body shape—they wore balaclavas. Seemed like private security. Hey, can you do me a favor?”
“I live to do you favors,” she said sarcastically.
“Look up a guy for me? Find where he’s working?”
He gave Natasha the name of Vivien’s ex, and ended the call, putting his phone on silent—his publicist would surely be on at him next.
Lana pulled a case from the glove compartment. She took out a disc and slipped it into the music player.
“I haven’t seen a CD player in a car since 2005,” he said. “Wait, did you even have music, growing up? Or was it likeFootloose?”
“Like what?”
“You weren’t allowed to watchFootloose?”
“We had music. It was mostly the live streaming of the world that my folks wanted to avoid, though they called it ‘mainlining’ media, back then. It was about avoiding 24-hour news, gossip mags, consumerism, unrealistic beauty ideals, celebrity culture. No offense.”
“Why would that offend me? Celebrity culture is toxic—and that kind of media wasn’t welcome in my home either, growing up. We had the trades, big stacks of them—Hollywood Reporter,Variety—plusEntertainment Weekly,Vanity Fair,TheNew Yorker. But nothing too gossipy. ExceptPeoplemagazine, once a year.”
“Just once?”
“To see which of us was on its ‘most beautiful’ people list. Every year my parents pretend not to care and claim it’s rigged but every year it slips into the grocery order. Dad lost out to Keanu Reeves for Sexiest Man Alive in 1994 and he never recovered.”
“How many times have you won?”
Griffin grinned. “I think there’s a rule against awarding it more than twice to the same person.”
“Hashtag ‘humble brag.’”
There was another thing he liked—the way she couldn’t help but deliver a sly zinger, even when she was panicking. She had one of those brains that worked fast and never switched off. He liked people who weren’t afraid to challenge you, even when they were conscious of the potential power imbalance. And her zingers weren’t belittling—they didn’t come from a place of insecurity, designed to take you down. They were more about keeping it real, and lord knew he needed people in his life who kept things real. Not that she was in his life, or would be, beyond this one strange sequence of events.
“My point is,” he said, collecting himself, “there’s merit in the way your parents have chosen to live.”
