“You can be mad at me all you want. But you wanted to fix your image. That’s why we are here. And I am here to remind you that you are an actor.” I gulp, knowing what is on the edge of my tongue…
“You like to pretend, right? Let’s pretend like they didn’t hurt you. Let’s pretend they didn’t take away your trust and you’re better without them. Maybe—just maybe—the longer you keep pretending, you might actually believe that it’s true. Forget them?”
His eyes go wide, appalled that maybe I know too much or understand deeply that this was never about me.
“You don’t get it, do you? You’ve had ten minutes of this,” he says, and every bit of it stings. I try to keep myself detached from his words, avoiding his gaze, letting his erratic stream of consciousness flow out of him. I’ll let him have this, because as soon as we are done here—that’s it.
“You want to know why I picked on you that day?”
My eyes focus on the sets of spare light bulbs, the first-aid kit, and the cleaning supplies on the black storage rack behind him. Counting each item to myself as he pierces me with his stare.
“You had no real power. I thought I could appease my manager by going with Blackburn with you at the helm. No real change. I didn’t want any of this.”
I inhale the largest breath possible. Regulating my breathing feels like the hardest task in the world.
Disposable. Weak. Nothing more than an agenda-setter, a coffee-runner. My knees feel wobbly, and my legs are starting to give out.
He is looking at me in a way I never thought possible. I am gutted. Before I can run, cry, or do anything that involves me turning into a puddle, he digs in deeper.
I brace for impact.
His voice cracks. “You were never real. Were you?”
My dull gaze is cracking, harder to maintain. The only thing I can do is bite the inside of my cheek with so much pressure I can taste my own blood.
Holden Strauss is only a client, and nothing more.
The Portuguese chant starts up again. “A luz sabe, duas almas incompletas, uma guia a outra.”
I walk over to him and kiss him softly on the cheek to answer his question. I whisper, “Only when I was with you,” before bolting out the door.
Chapter thirty-one
The Comedown
Outside the supply closet door, it takes all my energy to separate myself from him. My chest is being pulled down by what feels like a weighted blanket. The crowd is inching closer toward the theater room, about to start the showing.
Influencers and vloggers are documenting the experience.
Little girls are standing in front of the cardboard cutout of the movie poster.
Other celebrities are huddled in little pods with their various people, probably not wanting to sit down quite yet.
My feet are firmly cemented to the purple carpeting. I’m far enough from the supply closet, but close enough to hear a few teenage girls talking.
“Sloane and Graham are going to enter the theater soon. We should wait.”
“Did you know she isn’t even dating him anymore?”
“No way. They have been together for years!”
“Yeah, I hear that she had a fling with her costar. Look—”
Craning my neck to the side to take a peek at the photo, I clear my throat and decide to wait too.
The image loads slowly, taken through cast iron metal bars blocking a driveway gate. If you squint closely, you can see what looks to be Theo Alder shoving Sloane up on the hood of his car with his left hand disappearing underneath her skirt.
As another castmate strolls into the building, the crowd disperses to take photos with them. I untether myself from this spot and bolt for the entrance toward where I arrived, seeing my purpose for sticking around right in front of me.
