“Sure.”
He nods, and suddenly he’s quiet as the waiter appears with the wine. I get why he’s quiet. Swann’s Lake might have a no photo restriction, but even though they hire discreet staff, you never know who talks to whom in this town. If this is something that’s not set in stone, better to just keep it between the two of us.
Once the waiter disappears, he takes a sip of the wine before he continues. “Michael thinks that it would be in both of our interests to create an informal partnership.”
“Partnership?”
“He thinks that if Undercover gets green lit for season two before the premiere of the pilot, that we’ll both be in a really good position. Possibly an even better position if we move together.”
“I’m not thinking about my next project yet,” I say honestly. “I’m still waiting to see if this one works.”
“As you should,” he says, “but Michael pitched it to me like DiCaprio and Scorsese. If we do good work together and people like it, it’s possible that being a pair would open more doors together than we would apart.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I say it’s an informal partnership—though Michael may not want it to be—because I know that not every project you take on would be right for me, and I wouldn’t want to restrict you only to projects that I could participate in. But I think that pairing up for those projects I’m right for could be really powerful.”
The way he puts it, it makes a lot of sense. “I like that it would be informal. I wouldn’t want to restrict us to projects we could only do together—that would be really stifling. But I think some of the stuff we’ve done on Undercover has been really good, and so I think that could be a really great idea, for certain projects.”
“Michael will be really pleased to hear that.”
And then we’re quiet. Because we covered in about five minutes what we were supposed to cover in an entire meal. I don’t really want to leave because now that I’m with Peter and I’ve been thinking about him for days, there’s some stuff that we need to talk about. But I don’t think that the middle of Swann’s Lake is the place to do it.
Peter seems to sense my discomfort. “You want to get out of here?”
“Yes, please.”
He doesn’t hesitate in flagging down the waiter, and as soon as he has a nod, he’s up and out of his chair and we’re heading for the door. I’m sure the food would have been amazing, and I do want to come back here, but I was prepared to have a business dinner, and not a heart-to-heart about the past. For that I need the wind in my hair and a good view. Or at least I hope that’s what I’ll get, if Peter agrees.
He helps me down the steps, noticing that I’m not exactly steady. “Ankle?”
“The shoes were a mistake,” I admit, “but it’s getting better.” He must have told the waiter to ring the valet because Peter’s car is there only moments after we descend the stairs. “In fact, I think it’s better enough that I want it to be my turn to drive you somewhere.”
“Oh? Is this the part where you take me to a deserted location and dump my body?”
I laugh. “Don’t be silly. I need you on the set. And if I ever were to kill you, there would be no body. I’m smarter than that.”
Peter nods. “I would expect nothing less.” He moves to give me the keys. “One condition.”
“What?”
“Give me the shoes.”
I make a face. “Did you develop a foot fetish in the last ten years?”
“No, I just don’t want you reinjuring your foot by trying to drive my car in four-inch heels.”
“Right.” I fight the blush that rushes to my cheeks, and I use his shoulder to balance as I slip the shoes off and hand them to him. My foot feels better immediately, damn him.
Then we’re both in the car, and I was in too much pain to notice last time, but the way his car purrs is a thing of beauty. It drives incredibly smoothly, and I almost wish I’d decided to take him on a drive up the PCH instead of where I’m actually taking him. A place he’s probably been a hundred times, but it’s still one of my favorite places in Los Angeles.
Mulholland Drive.
It’s just as pretty as in the movies, with the city laid out at your feet. The sun is sinking below the horizon as we break free of traffic and I make my way to my favorite over look, even better as the setting sun turns the city to molten glass.
“This is a classic,” Peter says as he gets out of the car. “But I’ve never been right here.”
“I like this spot,” I say. “It’s just hidden enough that it doesn’t get a lot of tourists, so most of the time I can just be by myself or with a couple other people. It’s nice.”
“Thanks for the tip,” he smiles.
“Can I use your car?” He knows what I’m talking about.
“Sure.”
I climb up onto the hood, pulling my knees to my chest and letting my skirt poof and pool around me. We got here at the perfect time to see that last blaze of light as the sun disappears, followed by the rapid draining of any light and color left in the sky.
“I dreamed of this view,” I say. “For years. It took me a while to get here though. Sometimes I thought that I wasn’t going to make it. But I did.”
There’s a silence from Peter, and I can feel him watching me. Everything between us is hanging in the air, unsaid. Finally he speaks. “I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but I have to be. “Tell me why.”
“Why?”
I swallow. “Why you did it, Peter. Why you ruined everything. Ruined us.”
18
Amber
12th Grade
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. That word is circling in my head in time with my heartbeat. My show is tomorrow. Everything that I’ve been working for, and what I will hope will be the key to my future, is tomorrow.
The lights flash on, and I start the third scene. I know everything by heart now. This is mostly just a memory exercise tonight. I’m saving everything for my full performance tomorrow.
The past few months have been an absolute whirlwind, or at least it feels that way. Every day I’ve done something to shape this show. I did everything, though Peter has been by my side every step of the way, doing anything I needed, and supporting me. Sometimes supporting me meant bringing me coffee. Sometimes it meant distracting me with kisses and sex until I calmed down about whatever problem felt insurmountable in that moment.
The rest of my rehearsal goes so quickly that I almost don’t remember it. It happens sometimes with shows that I know really well. I slip into the character so deeply that I run on autopilot. My brain was making lists, instead of paying attention. I need to make sure someone picks up the programs tomorrow morning. Send someone to get extra cups and ice for the reception after the show.
I’m walking off the stage when it happens. Suddenly I can hear my heart pounding in my ears and everything feels weak. Shit. This can’t happen now.