Now Finn took a hold of Cam’s shirt. ‘You don’t know anything about me. I’m not a fucking addict.’
Cam stared into Finn’s eyes. His breath was stale and oppressive – morning breath laced with hour-old coffee.
‘Twenty minutes, pretty boy. And if you screw me on this, you’re fucking dead.’
***
Finn sat on the couch in his dressing room, hunched forwards, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands, occasionally pulling on his hair or lightly punching his temples. The volcanic pressure inside him was set to explode and these small acts opened the tiniest release valve, just enough to ward off the impending eruption. But he couldn’t hold out much longer.
It had been ten minutes since he dropped off the cash that he’d withdrawn from an ATM at the studio. Ten long, harrowing minutes. As he rocked back and forth on the couch with a gentle but unfailing rhythm, Finn transitioned to living-death mode. His heart still pumped, his lungs still filled with air, his neurons continued to fire, but he had brought down the curtain. Shut himself off and retreated to a coffin of mental safety; the only way he would survive this catastrophe he had orchestrated for himself.
Through the darkness and the densely packed earth above his imagined tomb, Finn heard a dull thud. Three times. A repeated knock. He stood from the couch like a man rising from a river of wet cement. Sluggish, dreamlike, detached. But relief was close. Cam was here.
Finn opened the door.
‘Hey,’ his visitor said.
Finn forced a smile. He tried to sound normal. ‘Hey, Monica. What’s up?’
‘I just wanted to see if you’re okay. Feel like you’ve been out of sorts a bit lately.’
Finn was too far underground to completely panic, but a sharp beam of concern penetrated his dark tomb. What had she noticed? Could she tell he was taking drugs? Had his acting suffered? Had they all noticed? Was he going to be fired?
Monica stepped into his dressing room.
Finn looked up and down the corridor, but Cam was nowhere to be seen.
Monica sat down where Finn had been only moments earlier.
Finn remained standing. ‘Actually, I was just about to take a shower before heading to makeup.’
‘We’ve got plenty of time,’ Monica said. ‘Come on. Sit down.’
Finn had always liked Monica. She was tall and dark haired with a short bob and commanding eyes. She was also a wonderful actress, and kind and generous with her co-stars. She wore a simple tracksuit today and without the makeup that would soon transform her into Rebecca, she was even more attractive than her character.
‘Any word since the audition?’ she asked.
Finn shook his head. ‘Nothing yet.’
‘Well, they can take a while, apparently, these big Hollywood productions. Not that I’d know.’
‘You’ll get your chance,’ Finn said.
She smiled. ‘Probably Jessica Meadows holding it up. Trying to work out how she’s going to film a movie with you without falling for you at the same time.’
Finn blushed. The compliment could have been flirtatious, but Monica delivered it with such a lack of guile that her meaning was clearer than any words she could have spoken. She was in love with him.
Finn’s belly filled with a warm, comforting sensation that was almost completely unfamiliar. This was normal life. This was people talking and sharing and falling in love. This was everything he’d never had.
There was a knock at the door.
And everything he’d never have.
‘Saved by the bell,’ Monica said.
Finn scurried to the door and opened it a fraction. Cam was standing there, his eyes darting back and forth along the corridor. He pushed himself through the opening, took one look at Monica and turned on his heel, charging away.
Finn took off in pursuit, closing the door behind him.
