But no. It’s not right. They usually chase me three or four days of the week. And now, nothing?
Something is not right.
But I don’t have time for it because I have a scene with Valencia this afternoon and I’m needed back on set in twenty minutes. I jump in my 911 and pull out onto Ventura so I can make it back in time.
My mind is racing all the way there. Grace. Marjorie. A party no movie star in Hollywood wants to be invited to. The absence of paparazzi. The past.
That’s what this is adding up to. The past. My past this time. Not Grace’s.
God, just thinking about Grace makes me agitated. I check my messages as I pull into the studio and navigate my way through the lot. Maybe she called to let me know where she was going while I was driving through the hills? Like a dead zone. We have a few of those on the way to and from the studio.
But no. There’s a few missed calls on there, but I purposefully ignored those.
Grace never called. She took off to Colorado and never called.
What the hell?
I pull into my parking spot and shut the car off so I can sit in silence for a few moments. A knock on the window startles me out of my funk and Valencia laughs at me from the other side of the window.
“What are you doing?” she yells through the glass. “Let’s go, hot stuff. We’ve got a love scene to practice for.”
I open the door and get out. “Are you excited about that?”
“Hell, yes. Do you know,” she says, looping her arm in mine as we walk to the studio doors, “it’s been fifteen years since I really kissed you?”
“I kiss you all the time, V.” Suddenly calling her V surprises me. Her too, from the look on her face. But then that shock is gone and happiness replaces it. That’s who we were back in our teens. She was my first girlfriend. They called us V Squared.
“Air kisses. Cheek kisses. Those are not kisses, V. And those kisses back when holding hands was considered a love scene… well, that’s not what this is and you know it.”
I hold the door open for her and wave her forward. “It’s acting, Valencia. I’ve kissed dozens of actresses for movies. Don’t get too excited.”
She stops and turns her head a little, just enough to give me a wink and a smirk. “I won’t be acting.”
And then she walks off towards her people who receive her and hustle her deeper into the darkness of the studio set.
Chapter Eight
#ThisIsNotTheSpankingYoureLookingFor
IT was hard to say goodbye to Bebe after our day trip into the past. Bebe knew coming out here to see my ex-family would be a mistake, but she came with me anyway. She took off work, showed up at the airport, and drove hundreds of miles with me just so I could see it for myself.And maybe not all my family out in eastern Colorado hates me. I mean, I have cousins and shit. But whatever. They’re done with me and I’m done with them. You can’t choose your family.
Well, some of us can.
I smile big at that. I chose Bebe’s family. And I got to choose my name and remake myself at the age of fifteen. If I look at it that way, maybe I was lucky.
I mean, obviously, having your family murdered is not lucky. But everything that came after… that was good luck.
I should feel grateful. And I am grateful. There’s just a lot of unanswered questions rolling around in my head.
“We’re about to land, Mrs. Asher. Please put your seat belt on.”
I nod at the flight attendant. She looks as exhausted as I feel. It’s almost nine o’clock California time. And the drive home will probably take me an hour. Going anywhere in LA seems to take an hour. So I definitely missed dinner with Vaughn.
But he never called. He has to know where I am. Otherwise he’d be crazy with worry. Maybe he just wanted to give me space to do this on my own?
I watch the lights out my window as we land, taxi, and then finally come to a stop.
“I hope you enjoyed your flight, Mrs. Asher,” the attendant says as I exit the plane.
I give her a small thank you back. She looks pissed off, actually. I kept them waiting all day. I’m not sure what the protocol is for that kind of thing. Maybe I was supposed to call?
I walk quickly to my car, buckle myself in, start it up, and press home on my GPS so it can guide me.
Home.
Sorta.
I mean, Denver feels like home. When I’m in Colorado, I know where I am. I don’t need the GPS system to get me from place to place. But here, I dunno. LA is so big. So many freeways. So many neighborhoods. It just seems to go on forever.
I head out and weave my way through traffic. Even at ten at night, there’s congestion. An accident clogging up the flow of traffic. When I finally make it back up into the hills, it’s nearly ten thirty.
The house is dark. Not a light on in the place. Not even the porch light.
I press the button for the garage and pull in alongside Vaughn’s 911. He’s here. But why is it so dark?
I get out of the car and look around the garage, my heart beating like crazy. “Vaughn?” Nothing. Do I really expect him to be hanging out in the garage?
“Vaughn?” I call again, because it’s freaking me out. What if someone broke in? What if he’s hurt inside?
I walk quickly towards the door that leads inside and turn the handle. It opens without sound. “Vaughn,” I say again. But this time I whisper. I step inside and close the door behind me, and then tiptoe as quietly as I can towards the living room.
The moon is shining through the back window, illuminating the fact that the place is a complete mess. We don’t have a maid and I’ve been sorta useless as a wife since I moved in. And it shows. Even in the dark I can make out shadows of dirty dishes and papers.