Page 45 of Over & Out
“You sure? It’s on his bill. You don’t need to book any services. We’ve got plunge pools, a steam room, an aromatherapy sauna…”
“It’s fine. I didn’t bring my suit,” Chris says, looking like she wants to walk out and never look back. I’d get that. It would be for the best. I can handle my shit on my own. Go back to that old therapist Mabel said we could trust.
“There’s no one else here,” Manaia tells her. “You don’t need a suit.”
“Or if you prefer, we can give you one of these,” the receptionist pipes up to say. She points to a rack full of skimpy bikinis.
“No,” Chris says sharply. Then, seeming to sense the intensity of her tone, says, “I mean, I don’t wear those. But honestly, I’m fine with my book, thank you. Hopper, I’ll meet you at the car in?—”
“An hour and a half,” Manaia says. “Shall we, love?” she asks me.
Manaia opens the door. I should follow her there, to get my back broken and put back together again. But Chris’s fists are clenched at her sides, her knuckles white. I have the sudden urge to go over there, to drop to my knees and beg her to forgive me for being me.
Instead, I tilt my chin down. “Let’s go,” I tell Manaia. Ever the uncaring asshole.
Chapter 14
Chris
Just like the ride home from Swan River, the week goes by with Hopper and I barely speaking. In person, I say the bare minimum to get the job done. If we’re in a room together, I leave. And if actual long-form information needs to be conveyed, I text. It feels very, very shitty. Worse than when I hated him and didn’t know him. I’m very,verytempted to leave. I would in a heartbeat, except Tru’s only a week out from her due date. More than that, she finally seems to be stress-free and happy, if her texts are any indication. The only good thing these days is that Cindi’s started filling the fruit bowl in the kitchen with mandarins. I love mandarin oranges.
“It’s because you were starting to like him,” Dolly told me at the Bean Scene on Sunday night.
“I was not!” I’d taken an indignant bite of muffin.
Dolly raised an eyebrow as she wiped the table next to me.
“Okay,fine,” I relented. “I was just beginning not to hate himas much.”
But that’s a bald-faced lie.
Stupid. I’m so stupid for being fooled. But three days later, I still can’t shake the hurt from what happened at the hotel. I keep thinkingwhat about that rule? The one that demands you be straight with me?The thing is, do I really want to know the answer? What if it was something I did?
I peel a mandarin as I sit down for this morning’s video call.
That thought’s not helpful. It brings me right back to those nights when Dad fell off the wagon. Multiple times. As an adult, I knew it wasn’t my fault he couldn’t get his shit together. As a kid? I did mental gymnastics trying to figure out what I could do differently to make him my regular dad again. I’m not doing that with Hopper. This was a good reminder, that’s all, that the man is not to be trusted. He’s not of my world. He’s a hot-tempered, spoiled actor who thinks other people need to cater to his emotions.
The meeting today is with Adrian, Mabel, and a guy from the PR firm Hopper works with. For the last few days, Hopper’s been on set, so I’ve been mercifully spared having to see much of him. But today’s a gym day, so he’s only a hundred feet from me. Today’s meeting is accompanied by the clanking of weights and Aziz’s commands.
“Lift! Squat! Two more! Get your head in the game, Hop! Eyes on me!”
Unlike before, I don’t need to look over at him. I’m focused on work and work alone.
“So he’d need to lose all the muscle mass for the indie project,” Adrian’s saying on screen.
I grimace. I don’t think I could stomach being in this industry full time. There’s so much emphasis on bodies and looks. I press my hand to my stomach, feeling self-conscious even though I’m not the one they’re talking about.
“I’m still not convinced that project is right for his career,” Mabel argues.
The two of them have been at odds for a good portion of this call, with me and the PR rep mostly quiet. Though the PR rep appears to be mostly disengaged, while I’m fascinated by this discussion, despite my feelings regarding Hopper at the moment. According to an email exchange Tru shared with me before she left, Hopper’s been wanting to do more serious roles. Independent art house projects. In the email, Mabel said this could go one of two ways: a new chapter as a more serious artist, or career suicide. And she’s betting on the latter.
This is all coming to a head in this meeting. Mabel and Adrian are in a stalemate about holding a meeting with this independent filmmaker versus one with a big-name producer with a vastly different type of project.
“What do you think, Chris?” Hopper asks.
I jump nearly out of my skin.
How long has he been standing there behind me? Not that long, judging by the sweat that rolls down his temples as he mops the back of his neck with a towel.Music still thumps loudly in the gym, so they must be on a break.
