“It’s a beautiful name.”
Patrick’s voice becomes one I hardly recognize. “Diana, this is killing me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to fucking do. Help me. Please help me,” he pleads.
If I could do anything to spare him this pain, I would, and I’d kill to have that power.
But no one does.
All I can do is listen and live through this anguish with him.
Chapter 5
In the morning, I order room service. The food here is damn good and way better than usual hotel fare, so I don’t have to share a terrible review. I’ve done a few, as I’m always honest, but those sting. The Benedict with smoked salmon is killer, and the frozen coffee is beyond. Yeah, it’s not my usual cheap-eats stuff, but it’s admittedly really good. I raise my phone to capture obligatory shots and video that will please the hotel, but it’s fun doing this when I’m actually happy. After I’m full and push a cart into the hall, I grab my bag of yarn, silently giggling that I’m now a gal with a specialty knitting bag
Yes, my initial foray into knitting didn’t go well, but I joined some local classes with great instructors, who proved to be better educators than YouTube And I’ve actually become pretty skilled. It seems I have talent I couldn’t have predicted, so now I’m engulfed in sweaters and shawls. Hats and mittens have become my routine because those are always good to have on hand for people who might need them.
After heading outside and taking plenty of pics and videos of the food and the ocean, and a few selfies of me in a blue bikini lounging against rocks with my knitting needles at the ready.
It’s funny to me that these kinds of pics are ever fan favorites because I’ve never had some glam team fuss over me for a fancy photo shoot. It’s always just me looking like me. But people seemto appreciate my honest images, which are relatable. Like, yeah, I’m not some filtered freak, nor some AI lady.
As I set up for the day in a lounge chair with a view of the ocean, I debate having Megan Madonna even post those last shots, but I give her the go-ahead. Might as well show off that cute blue swimsuit. A final last hurrah of sorts. I’ll make sure her filters are normal and flattering, but not too much.
Dave shows up while I’m on a call with my agent, and it’s thirty minutes of me stressing about contracts, book deals, talking about some weird show on Netflix, and me rolling my eyes.
“You do not look happy,” he says after I hang up.
“You think?” I ask, not hiding my snark. “No, I am not.”
“Sounds like a lot of good offers, deals, whatever.”
“I suppose so.”
“But you don’t want any of them?”
“I just don’t want to be paid to lie. Like, it feels like I have to praise everything even if I don’t want to. Not every place is great. Not every meal is great.”
“So, fuck the deals. Just tell your agent the truth. Do you need the contracts? The money?” He’s asking me what I haven’t asked myself.
“No, not really,” I admit.
“It’s possible to just say no to everything, isn’t it?”
New Friend Dave is right.
“Yeah, it’s possible.”
I may not even need an agent, I realize. The deals I do for my social posts, I do on my own, with the occasional help from a lawyer. Barbara is now only involved because of the larger interests. These new moments, where I feel wonky about my career, are firsts.
I sip my drink and so desperately want to talk about something else. “Want to play a game?”
He laughs. “Maybe.”
“We loveSVU, yes? Let’s name all the guest actors, cameos.”
Dave takes a moment. “Like, people who were famous already and made cameos? But how about people who did episodes and later became famous?”
“I like it. All of ’em.”
“Oh, you’re going down,” Dave says with a wink.
