“Oh my god, don’t ask.” Fiona smiles, clapping an embarrassed hand over her face. “I got discovered,” she admits, peeking out from between two fingers.
“Shut up.” Sam laughs. “You did not.”
Fiona nods. “I did. I was like, what, thirteen? I was hanging around at the print shop being a fucking ham when Caroline camein to pick up some bridal shower invitations—she was still an assistant at LGP back then, she was probably younger than I am now. She asked my parents if she could take a video of me on her phone, and here I am.”
“Here you are,” Sam says, trailing a finger over the thin, sensitive skin on the inside of her arm. “Did you want to do it?”
“What, acting? I mean, sure,” Fiona says with a shrug. “Or... I guess I kind of didn’t think about it as a choice at the time, more like. And then by the time I got it together enough to have an opinion...” She trails off. “Anyway. What about you?” she asks, spearing the last of the broccoli from her picked-over noodles and setting the bowl aside. “Did you come out of the womb, immediately hand over your headshot, and deliver a monologue from an Aaron Sorkin movie?”
“Pretty much,” Sam says, flopping down beside her. “I’m sure this will come as a shock to you, but I liked the attention.”
“You?” she asks, feeling her lips quirk. There’s a little bit of stubble on his chest and she strokes it absently with one finger—liking the soft porcupine-y bristle of it, how weirdly intimate it is. She tries not to think about the look on his face at the club earlier tonight, that cold flash of panic in his eyes like he’d suddenly realized he was in over his head and needed to get away from her as soon as humanly possible. She can feel his heart tapping away underneath his skin. “I’d never have guessed.”
Sam looks down, watching her. “I go to a Hungarian woman named Renate,” he confesses, covering her hand with his. “Thefirst couple of times I screamed like that scene inThe 40-Year-Old Virgin,but now I’m very stoic about the whole thing.”
Fiona props herself on one elbow. “Does Renate give you a lollipop at the end and tell you what a brave young man you’ve been?”
“That is the kind of positive reinforcement I require, yes.”
“I thought so,” Fiona says with a smile, and climbs on top of him one more time.
“Did you know that Eartha Kitt had a threesome with Marlon Brando and James Dean?” Claudia asks on Saturday morning. They’re sitting on Estelle’s screened-in patio doing foot masks, which Estelle bought on Amazon and which promise to slough layers of dead skin off and leave their heels as soft as a baby’s.
Fiona raises her eyebrows. “Where did you hear that?” she asks, at the same time as Estelle says, “She wasn’t the only one.”
Fiona and Claudia look at her, then at each other. “Say more aboutthat,” Claudia instructs Estelle, as Fiona ducks her head back over the thank-you card she’s writing. Across the yard and inside her house a beautiful orchid is sitting on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, alongside a note from Thandie that says she hopes Fiona is taking good care of herself. She didn’t mention the video—Thandie wouldn’t—but still Fiona has been working on her reply for the better part of an hour, trying to strike the right balance of gratitude andactually this was completely unnecessary, as I’m extremely fine and sane.The whole thing is mortifying, eventhough she knows Thandie meant it sincerely. It’s mortifying, even though she knows Thandie’s just being a good friend.
“Okay,” Fiona says finally, bending down and sliding the disposable cotton booties off her feet, which are slimy with some kind of gel. She actually has no idea what’s in this mask, though the package had a bold-print warning against using it if she was pregnant or nursing. “On that note, I’ve gotta get ready for rehearsal.”
“Are you coming home tonight?” Claudia asks. “Or are you sleeping at Sam’s?”
That gets Estelle’s attention. “How often is she sleeping at Sam’s?” she asks, crossing her elegant ankles and eyeing Fiona with interest.
“Three nights this week,” Claudia reports.
Fiona’s mouth drops open. “Claudia!”
“Well, you are.” Claudia shrugs.
“Good for Fiona,” Estelle says, toasting her with a coupe glass full of V8. “And as for you,principessa”—she turns to Claudia—“you know Brando and I are always happy for company if you find yourself getting lonely over there.”
Fiona frowns. “Are you?” she asks. She’s been worrying about this, her sister alone in the house with only their dad for company, even though Claudia has been very clear that she’s graduating in a couple of months and certainly doesn’t need babysitting. “Getting lonely?”
“Desperately,” Claudia says, her fox-like face going serious. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I think I’m going down a bad path. Some other latchkey kids at school got me hooked on huffing whipped cream and I feel like it’s probably only a matter of time until I’m creeping into your room at night and stealing your Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Award to hock for Reddi-wip money.”
Fiona snorts. “All right,” she says, wiping her sticky feet with a towel and standing up. “You’ve made your point.”
“I like Sam,” Estelle announces, taking a sip of her V8—which, upon closer examination, seems to be mostly vodka. “He seemsextremelyvirile.”
Fiona manages to keep a straight face, but barely. “I’ll be sure to let him know you think so.”
“Has he said anything else about the show?” Claudia asks.
Fiona shakes her head. “He hasn’t,” she admits, a little grudgingly. “He said he wouldn’t, and he hasn’t.”
“Almost like he just wants to spend time with you because he likes spending time with you,” Estelle says pointedly.
Fiona feels herself prickle, though she isn’t entirely sure why. “Almost like,” she agrees.
