“Lex, you came!”
A shrill voice reaches my ears, and I turn to see Natalie skipping over to me in a neon-yellow party dress. When she grabs my arm, I pull away sharply.
“Sorry.” Her expression wilts. “Um, I’m really glad you could make it. Can I…get you a drink?”
I blink away from her dark-brown eyes in search of light green. She’s just a background actor in my one-man show, and this life is a piss-poor stage. I can’t muster the energy to respond. My nonreaction frazzles her, and she backs away like she’s in a scene she’s not supposed to be in.
My eyes continue to search and scan through tunnel vision as I trudge down hallways and peek into rooms. There are people everywhere, none of them her. I scratch at the back of my neck hard enough to leave angry nail marks behind.
Everything’s a blur, a smog.
I need coffee, a nap, a new life, and at least ten dozen cigarettes.
“Lex!”
“Great show!”
“Oh my God, I didn’t think you’d come.”
“You were amazing tonight.”
I scratch harder. So many voices struggle for dominance, for the barest reaction. Hands reach out, needy and intrusive. Nodding my acknowledgment at a slew of foggy faces, I shoulder through crowds and small groups, wondering if Stevie has already left. She told me she wasn’t staying long. Maybe I’m too late.
As I’m making my way back to the main living room, another hand latches on to my elbow. I think it’s her at first. A breath of fresh air before I suffocate. But when I whip around, it’s an older woman staring up at me with golden-brown eyes and a waterfall of black hair. I blink a dozen times, wondering if the insomnia has altered my reality and I’m straight-up hallucinating at this point.
She looks so much like Bianca, it steals my breath.
The woman takes my freeze-frame as a compliment, as if her beauty has captivated me. A smile hikes up her manufactured lips. “Lexington Hall.” The hand lifts in greeting, her bony fingers tipped with nails the shade of freshly spilled blood. “My daughter has spoken so highly of you.”
Daughter.
My eyes slant through the disorientation.
She looks like…Natalie.
“Uh…yeah.” Begrudgingly, I accept the limp handshake and promptly let go, then shove my hand into my pocket and scrape it along the lining of my pants to remove the itch. “Thanks.”
She steps closer. Too close.
Oxygen dwindles.
Lungs shriveling, I skate my gaze across the room, looking for an escape. Her hand reaches out again, fingertips grazing down the length of my arm.
I stiffen. Fold in half.
“Natalie, I mean,” she clarifies, oblivious to my discomfort. “You’re quite the showman. I couldn’t help but watch your television series when she told me you’d moved into town.” She chuckles under her breath, giving my bicep a squeeze as her thirsty eyes continue to undress me. “Such talent. Do you plan to return to Hollywood?”
“Hey, Lex!”
“Look. Lex is over there.”
“We should go talk to him.”
Whispers, googly eyes, flirtatious giggles.
The background noise assaults me as I blink back to the woman, only half hearing what she asked me. “I don’t know. No. Probably not.”
I need to dissociate.
