“I don’t.” She shook her head, her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “I honestly do not know how it is.”
“Well, this is how it is. On and on.” I stared at my last whiskey, still untouched. “Now that I explain it out loud, you’re right. It sounds twisted.”
“I didn’t say it sounded twisted.”
“But it’s crazy, right?”
She took another sip of her second whiskey, saying nothing, her expression giving nothing of her thoughts away.
My brain felt warm, fuzzy, which made me inclined to add, “It’s like we’re playing these roles for the public. And I didn’t mind at first. I mean, it’s just like playing another part, right? But that means my personal life has become another acting job.”
“Rae—”
“And I should be fine with that, as long as it gets me to where I want to be in my career.”
“Where exactly are you wanting to go with your career? You’re already at the top.”
“You’re right. My career has never been better since we’ve done this.” I smacked the table. “And I’m considered for roles I wouldn’t usually be considered for, even though I’m tempted to turn them down.”
“I find this hard to believe. Last I heard, you’re considered for every role.”
“Not every role.”
“Name one.”
“The new Scortez film.”
“Oh! I wanted to read that script. I heard it’s excellent.”
“Depends on which character you play. I think the male part is great, strong.”
“But yours isn’t?”
“It’s. . .” I made a face. “See, the whole angle is that I, Raquel Ezra, actual woman scorned by the ‘love of my life’ Harrison Copeland—” more air quotes “—am pouring my heart and real feelings of betrayal into the role, leaving a man who is no good for me, only to come full circle and have an affair with said cheater at the end. Like, we can’t escape who we are, we can’t escape our destiny, even if our destiny is bad for us. It’s a whole tragic the heart wants what it wants theme.”
“And you’re taking the role?” She eyed me over the rim of her shot glass. “Or are you retiring?”
“I have no idea. I’m just—my agent wants me to take it, so does Harrison.”
“What do you want?”
“It would be good for my career.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked what do you want.”
“I have no idea. God, I’m a mess.” I released a tremendous breath, Sienna blurring in my vision.
If I were being honest, I didn’t actually want the Scortez part. Yes, it was more serious and artier than my usual projects, but nothing about the role felt new or interesting to me. I used to enjoy the work I was offered, grateful for any chance to improve my craft. Making an actual paycheck from acting felt like hitting the lottery.
And yet, after playing the victim of circumstances and/or bad choices over and over again, just once I wanted to be someone who made their own destiny and knew exactly who they were—good, bad, didn’t matter. My heart twisted, lodging itself in my throat as I released an aggrieved sigh.
I’d actually found the perfect part six months ago. Over the objections and concerns of my agent and basically my entire team, I’d signed on to an indie film that paid peanuts with a location shoot in Cuba!
I couldn’t wait. I was excited about a role for the first time in ages just to have the part taken away from me at the last minute and recast with my best friend—scratch that, FORMER best friend.
Sienna and I sat quietly for a long moment and my mind went blank, which might’ve been why when I broke the silence, random thoughts gushed forth. “I feel like I don’t have anything real in my life. My relationship with Harrison is fake. Obviously my LA friendships are fake. My career is real. But then again, it’s not. I play the same part over and over, and it’s not what I want anymore. Plus, how am I helping people? What am I doing that’s making any kind of difference? And I need a new bra. This one itches.”
“Let me ask you this.” Sienna patted the table, as though to get my attention. She waited until I gave her my gaze before continuing, “If you could pick one real thing that you want—just one thing—what would it be? And I don’t mean a career goal, or a part, or an award. I also don’t mean something you can buy. What is something real you want, maybe even something selfish, just for you?”
I bit and chewed on my bottom lip, staring at her and considering the question. “I guess. . .”
I have no idea.
None of the typical responses applied in my case. Not a vacation. Who would I go with? Not a spa day. In LA, I had a team of people who took care of my skin and hair, gave me massages, guided me through meditations and yoga, directed my daily workouts, dictated and prepared what I ate whether I wanted them to or not.
I was so tired of their company, of being watched, of being told what was best for me, of being surrounded by colleagues and employees and yet isolated because none of them were truly my friends. And the answers came to me all at once: Privacy. Freedom. Anonymity.
But more than all that, I wanted a real friend.
A friend who wasn’t using me—like Harrison—or one who pretended to be my friend but wasn’t—like my role-stealing ex-BFF, Lina. A person I could talk to without worrying my statements would end up in a gossip magazine, provided by “a source close to Raquel Ezra.”
“Something obtainable,” Sienna pressed, cutting into my sad thoughts. “Something you’ve wanted for a while.”
Wanting to ask Sienna to be my friend and feeling utterly pathetic at the thought, I shrugged. “I don’t know, eating a whole chocolate cake?”
She gave me a patient smile. “We can do that while you’re here, I know of an excellent bakery. But I’m trying to get at something else. Something good, something healthy.”
“Healthy,” I parroted, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms under my chest.
While I debated how to address her question without giving the real, pitiful answer, a server approached. He placed his hand on the back of a vacant chair at our table and grinned down at Sienna first and then I felt his attention move to me. “Hey ladies, how are we doing?”
I tilted my head back to look at him and found his gaze resting on the neckline of my tank top and the swells of my girls. Ah, girl power.
“Hey Damon. We could use some privacy.” Sienna’s tone sounded unmistakably wry with the barest dusting of irritation. “I’ll come get you if we need anything.”
“Sounds good.” He licked his lips, his eyes still on my chest. “Please, do not hesitate.”
I righted my head as he walked away, looking at Sienna and finding her wearing an apologetic expression. “I am so sorry about that.”
“Uffda, I’m used to it. I developed at ten. By the time I was twelve I’d learned to ignore men’s stares.” Lifting my heavy hair off my neck, I shrugged. “It’s also a good way of weeding out assholes. If a guy makes lasting eye contact, they’ve passed the first test, ya know?”