“Bastian—”
“Gotta go mom. I need breakfast before things get started here. Time is money.”
“All right. Be safe, darling. And try to work responsibly. You want people to know you’ve changed, don’t you?”
“Of course.”Not really.
“Bye, dear. I hope you know I lo—”
I disconnected the call.
“I should call her about money?” Molly guessed.
“Yes, but do it through Dad. He loves playing the heavy.”
“Your family is so fucked up.” Molly might not act like a UCLA graduate with a master’s degree with distinction in psychology but that’s what made her so good at her job.
“Is that your professional opinion?” I asked.
She simply smiled. “Want breakfast outside?”
“That’d be nice. Thanks.”
“Be out in a second.”
I stepped from the coach into the blue light of an achingly beautiful morning. The fog had begun to burn off, but the air was still palpably damp and cool against my skin. The trees dripped dew. With the rising sun, all of nature wanted to come to life. The flap of moths’ wings gave way to the hum of bees. Squirrels scrabbled in tree branches and birds sang. The air held coastal fragrances—seaweed, iodine, and where my RV had been parked, the subtle fragrance of redwood trees. They were St. Nacho’s scents. They reminded me of home.
I felt at peace, and safe, and deeply happy. I closed my eyes to listen to the waves breaking against the bluffs in the distance. Somewhere nearby, dogs barked. Or it might have been the wolfdog hybrids I’d seen that morning; their excited voices drifting on the wind.
As a kid, I was sure I’d be a veterinarian, but that was before my first fateful encounter with a camera, or rather, it was before my mother’s first fateful encounter with the money I could bring in as a model. After that, there was always another bill, another emergency, another reason for me to stand in front of another camera.
First it was modeling. Then came acting classes and the endless rounds of auditions, rejections, and callbacks that led to bit parts and speaking roles and finally, as they said, “overnight” success.
I spent season after season playing kids much younger than me until now—at twenty-five and having survived a childhood onscreen—I was set to play the smoldering freshman vampire in a supernatural high school series wildly popular with teens all over the world.
“Here you go.” Molly stepped out of the coach carrying a tray of eggs, oatmeal, fresh fruit, juice, and hot coffee. “I didn’t know if you wanted blueberries or raspberries, so I brought both.”
“Thank you.”
She eyed me. “Your mom got to you, didn’t she?”
“Nah.” I poured cream into my oatmeal and stirred in some berries.
“What goes on inside your head after you talk to her?”
“Just stuff. Nothing new.”
Molly sat across from me. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” Molly once told me she worked as a PA because she wanted to solve people’s problems, not just listen to them. But she wanted to listen too. That was her nature.
“Because you know what I think?” she asked. “Having learned to use your perceived weaknesses to manipulate the people who want to play you, you deal with her just fine now. It’s a pretty neat trick.”
“You wouldn’t exactly say it’s healthy, would you?”
“Not really, but it’s a start.” She dug into her oatmeal. “I for one am going to enjoy it here.”
“I’m surprised we’re not shooting someplace with better tax laws and fewer environmental regulations. It’s expensive to work in California.”
