Alex stared at me for a long minute, and then he got to his feet and unrolled his sleeves. He pulled on his dinner jacket and walked me outside the tent. The twin torches flaming at the entrance to the set painted the earth in shades of red that shimmered and started and burned. “I told John I’d drive you back,” Alex said quietly. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t want to put you out,” I said, but even as I did I knew there was no alternative. I would have been terrified to drive to the lodge myself this late at night; and it wasn’t as if I could simply call a taxi.
Alex helped me into the jeep and swung into the driver’s side. He lit a cigarette, and that surprised me—I hadn’t expected him to be the type to smoke. But he only took a few drags, and then he threw it out the window, so I was left without its glowing crimson tip to make out the lines of his face.
He didn’t say a word the entire way back to the lodge. I knew I had offended him, and I tried to rewind the evening in my mind, but other than our original argument, the only thing that might have been misconstrued was pulling my hand away from his. I just didn’t want to make a mistake, that’s all. I didn’t know how to play the kind of casual games someone like Alex Rivers did.He’ll get over it, I told myself.He’s just not used to someone saying no.
When he pulled the jeep to a stop in the parking lot of the lodge and opened my door, I tried to think of the most gracious way I could say goodnight without running the moment my feet touched the grass.
Then I laughed. He was just a man. An actor. What was I so afraid of?
Myself. I knew the answer even before Alex closed the car door, trapping me in between his arms. I had been afraid of what else he could do to me ever since I’d watched him act out my own dreams on film that afternoon. I took a step backward, pressing up against the side of the jeep. Alex stared at me, but he was standing in the shadows and all I could see was the remarkable silver of his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
I turned away. “Don’t lie,” I said. “Don’t act.” I had heard myself described as intelligent, ambitious—but no one in my entire life had ever told me I was beautiful. I always thought that Connor might have, but he hadn’t had the chance.
I was angry all over again, as angry as I had been when the night started, because Alex Rivers had ruined a perfectly good evening. Before he’d opened his mouth, I could have looked back on this and smiled, remembering the time I’d dined by candlelight on the Serengeti. I could have gone to bed that night and closed my eyes and padded my recollections with sparkling conversation and the finest traces of romance, until it played just the way I’d wanted it to. But Alex had crossed the line with a blatant lie, and suddenly the whole night seemed like one big joke at my expense.
Alex grabbed my shoulders. “I’m not lying,” he said. “I’m certainly not acting.” He shook me gently. “What is the matter with saying you’re beautiful?”
“Because I’m not,” I said as easily as I could, hoping that might make it hurt a little less. “Look around you. Look at Janet what’s-hername, or any other actress you’ve worked with.”
He held my face between his hands. “You bring a sexy black dress to the middle of nowhere. You listen to me so carefully when I’m talking, you’d think I’m telling you the secrets of the universe. You’re not afraid to tell me I’m an asshole when I’m being an asshole. And,”
he said, “you talk about picking blueberries like you were just doing it a few hours ago, so all I can see is that stain on your fingers and your lips. Cassie, if that isn’t beauty, I don’t know what is.”
He started to lean toward me, and I kept my eyes wide open when he kissed me because I wanted to see if I affected him the way he affected me. I could feel the heavy white moon at my shoulders, pushing me closer to Alex. I heard the steady beat of his heart and the soft whir of the fans in the lodge nearby and I started to believe that this was real.
When he pulled away from me, his fingers were still resting on my throat, and they were shaking. I smiled at him. “I never said anything about a stain on my lips,” I said.
Alex put his arm around my waist. “I’m beginning to think this is the best film I’ll ever make,” he said. He helped me up the steps outside the lodge and into the main hallway. It was pitch dark, most of the other members of the cast and crew having gone to bed in anticipation of an early makeup call. He walked up the stairs beside me and led me to my door. With every step I could feel him pulling away. By the time he stood in front of my room, I wondered if I had imagined everything.
Alex turned toward me, as if he meant to kiss me again, but instead he started speaking in a fast, furious whisper. “My father wasn’t a doctor,” he said. I noticed his voice was deeper, guttural; that his eyes burned the way they had earlier when he’d spoken of failure and fear.
“The closest he ever came to a doctor’s office was when he shot himself in the foot after drinking a fifth of scotch. I was his biggest disappointment because I turned out nothing like the son of a bitch, and he used to beat me up every now and again just to remind me how much better he was. Mymamancouldn’t tell the difference between a hothouse flower and a plastic centerpiece. I came into this world bringing her pain and she never let me forget it. I spent my whole childhood hiding from the two of them and losing myself by pretending I was someone else. And the house I built in L.A. does exist in N’Orleans—but the nearest I ever came to it was spying from a tree in the woods out front, watching the little girls who lived there turning somersaults on the lawn and flipping up their skirts in the process.” He took a deep breath. “That shit I told you over dinner is the story my PR woman wrote when I told her I needed a history. But I won’t lie to you, and I won’t act.”
My mouth dropped open. I wanted him to know that I liked this—
the black truth—much more than his alter ego.
I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him now about my mother, about my family.
I touched my hands to the soft hair curling at his temples. Twice this night he had trusted me with the truth, and for this, I would help him. I was more qualified than he ever could have imagined. He whispered my name, and I leaned against him, running my hands down his back and marveling at how comfortably we fit together. The last thought I had before his lips touched mine was that Alex Rivers was a much better actor than anyone could guess.
CHAPTERTWELVE
A week after I started to spend all my free time with Alex Rivers, I began to dream about Connor at night. I had the same dream over and over. In it, Connor and I were both adults, but we were lying on our backs on one of the floating docks of Moosehead Lake. Connor kept pointing to the sky, outlining the patterns of the clouds. “What do you think?” he asked, several times, but to me every formation took the shape of Alex—his profile, his windblown hair, his sculpted jaw. I told this to Connor, going so far as to gesture, my palm pale against the bright summer blue. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get Connor to see.
I had spent six days watching Alex acting as Rob, unearthing his skeleton and coming to a crisis of faith. He realizes that human evolution is following the same path as the evolution of this alien species he’s found: a meteoric rush toward extinction. He decides to bury what he knows, rather than rewriting history.
It surprised me that filming wasn’t done in order, although I could certainly see the monetary advantages to shooting all the scenes in a given location at once. “How do you do it?” I had asked him. “How can you build up to the emotion you need in that last scene, and then go back and pretend it never happened?” And Alex had just smiled, and told me it was what he was paid to do.
Hedidget emotionally involved; in spite of what he said he couldn’t help it. It leaked out at night when he was just being himself. One evening we’d sat at the edge of Olduvai Gorge and Alex told me about the time he was fourteen, when his father had coaxed him back and forth across the living room, swatting at his face and his side in an effort to make Alex land a punch. When Alex finally did, knocking out several of his father’s teeth, Andrew Riveaux had smiled through the blood.
Boy, he’d said,that’s the way a man fights.
After a long silence, Alex lifted his eyes to mine. “Sometimes I think that if I held a press conference tomorrow and told the world that Alex Rivers had a deadbeat drunk father and a mother who was off the wall, no one would bother to print it anyway. They’ve all got this image of me, and they’re not about to change it, and the funny thing is, I think the man they’ve made in their minds is going to outlive me.”
I reached for his hand, because I didn’t know what I should say, but he gently pushed me away. “That’s why I liked the script of this movie,”
