He was clearly going to win this skirmish, so she conjured up a sneer. “You’d better know what you’re doing.”
As it turned out, he did have the situation taken care of. A paneled plumbing van waited for them at the darkened loading dock. He tossed their suitcases inside and slipped the driver a couple of folded bills from his wallet. Afterward, he gave her an arm-up into the back, then climbed in himself and shut the door.
The interior smelled like rotten eggs. They wedged themselves into a space near the doors, drew up their knees, and set their backs against their luggage. “We’d better not be going all the way to L.A. in this,” she said.
“Were you always so whiny?”
Pretty much, she thought. At least this past year. And that was going to change. “You worry about yourself.”
The van lurched away from the loading dock, and she fell against his side. Her life had come to this. Sneaking out of Vegas in the back of a plumbing van. She rested her cheek on her bent knees and closed her eyes, trying not to think about what lay ahead.
SCOOTER
I never look up at the stars.
SKIP
Why’s that?
SCOOTER
Because they make me feel too small. Less than a speck. I’d rather stick my hand in a lion’s cage than look at stars.
SKIP
That’s crazy. Stars are beautiful.
SCOOTER
Stars are depressing. I want to do big things with my life, but how can I when the stars only remind me of how small I really am?
Eventually the van pulled off the highway and came to a stop on a bumpy dirt road. Bram dropped to the ground. She poked her head out. It was pitch-black, and they were in the middle of nowhere. She climbed down and walked gingerly around to the front of the van. The headlights picked out a wooden sign reading jean dry lake. Next to it, a tattered poster advertised some kind of rocket-launching festival. Bram was talking to the driver of a nondescript dark sedan. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, so she stayed where she was.
The van driver passed her carrying their luggage. “I really liked you inSkip and Scooter,” he said.
“Thanks.” She wished more people would say they liked her in one of her movies.
The sedan’s driver got out and put their suitcases in the trunk. Both men climbed into the van and pulled away. She and Bram stood alone, only his burnished hair shining in the moonlit darkness.
“They won’t keep quiet about this,” she said. “You know they won’t. It’s too juicy a story.”
“By the time it gets out, we’ll be long home.”
Home.She couldn’t imagine them trapped in her small rental house. She’d have to find another place quickly—something large enough so they’d never see each other. As she opened the car door, she checked her watch. It was two o’clock; only twelve hours since she’d awakened and found herself in this mess.
Bram slipped behind the wheel. He drove fast, but not recklessly. “A friend is driving my car back to L.A. in a couple of days. If we’re lucky, it’ll take that long before anybody figures out we’ve left.”
“We need a place to live,” she said. “I’ll have my real estate agent find something fast.”
“We’re moving into my place.”
“Your place? I thought you were house-sitting in Malibu.”
“I only stay out there when I want to get away.”
“Fromwhat?” She kicked off her sandals. “Wait. Didn’t Trev tell me you live in an apartment?”
“Is there something wrong with apartments?”
