It feels like a cloud lifts off my shoulders. “That’s going to be really awesome, Mom. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She’s smiling. “Do you know what show you want to see?”
“No idea,” I shake my head. “I’ll have to look and see.”
I pick up my phone but mom reaches out her hand. “There’s time for that later. I don’t want you to be distracted before your interview. We can check out the shows tonight in the hotel room.”
“That’s fair,” I say.
“Who knows, maybe we’ll be able to see two.”
I take a deep breath, and it feels easier than the ones I’ve been taking lately. Maybe walking around the city this weekend I’ll see if I can actually fit in here. I never pictured myself as a New York City girl, but I don’t really have a lot of choice, so I need to get used to it. I just need to find places in the city that I love, so that I can make it a home.
That way I can pretend that I didn’t leave my heart in Los Angeles.
The city gets bigger in front of us, and finally we’re so close that the buildings are sparkling, and we drive down into the tunnel under the East River to cross into Manhattan.
For the first time on this whole trip, I feel a sliver of excitement run through me. I’m here. I can do this. We come out of the tunnel and everything looks impossibly large and full of possibility. So many people everywhere, each trying to make it in a city that doesn’t make it easy.
I’m going to be one of those people—I decide right now.
Closing my eyes, I visualize again. I’m going to be accepted, and I’m going to thrive. Circumstances suck, and I’m going to make sure that they don’t suck my future away.
One more time, I go over exactly what I need to say in the interview. By the time I finished, I open my eyes, and we’re already there.
2
Amber
Present
It’s been two days, just a weekend, and yet it feels like these two days have taken years to pass. I can’t believe that I did this. Panic. That’s what happened. I was panicking about everything and I let him walk away. I made him feel like garbage and I can’t believe that I let myself lose it like that.
I pick up the script that he threw away for the hundredth time and run my hands over it. The cover of it is creased now from the amount of time I’ve spent worrying it.
The amount of times that I’ve called Peter’s phone makes me look like a bona fide crazy person, but I can’t help it. He hasn’t answered at all. We’re supposed to shoot tomorrow, and even if I can’t fix what I broke between us, I need to know that he’ll be there. I need to know that I didn’t destroy my career.
It would be ironic, though. In my panic over my career being ruined by being discovered with Peter, I may have destroyed it by making him quit. Fuck. This is such a mess. I’ve barely slept, and I don’t dare look at myself in the mirror, afraid of what I look like.
It crosses my mind that this probably isn’t good for my heart, but the pacemaker is just as steady as it always is. It can survive. I will survive. I have to believe that, even if this ends up with the worst outcome. I lost him once. I could probably do it again.
Maybe.
I call him again and listen to the now very familiar ring. And the very familiar voicemail. I don’t bother listening all the way through to leave a message. I’ve already left him too many and he hasn’t called me back. I don’t think leaving another message is going to make a difference. Either he’s going to pick up one of these times, or he isn’t.
Shit. I have so much to do and I can’t focus. I need to get a jump on tomorrow’s scenes, work through my process. But I also can’t imagine sitting down to do that when I don’t even know if Peter is going to walk onto set tomorrow.
I have to sit down.
My legs practically collapse underneath me and I put my head between my knees. It helps a little. Whatever methods I had of calming my anxiety before Peter came back into my life seem to be gone completely. I can’t remember them and I can’t get a grip.
I try a pep talk: Okay, Amber, you can do this. You need to take a shower. You need to sit down at your table and do your work, not matter what happens tomorrow. You’re a professional and you need to do your job. You’ve worked hard for this, and even if this is your fault, you can’t control everything. Peter is going to show up tomorrow, or he isn’t. You can’t change it.
I head into my bedroom and pull of the clothes I’ve been wearing since he left. I never thought I was the kind of woman that would fall apart this much after sleeping with a guy.
But even I can’t ignore the whispers in my head telling me it’s not just sex. This isn’t a one-night-stand that I found in some bar. This is Peter. Possibly the love of my life, and the resolution to a story that’s been writing itself for ten years. If that’s not worth falling apart over, then I’m not sure what is.
The hot water feels good. Clarifying.
Bless the first person to come up with a hot shower. For the minutes that you’re in there it seems like nothing is wrong in the world. It’s a steamy, muscle relaxing perfect little bubble.
My problems are still there when I step out, but at least it feels easier to face them when I’m clean. I pull on fresh clothes and retrieve my phone from the kitchen. No missed calls, and I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest as I dial his number again. No answer.
I dial another number, even though I wish I didn’t have to. He answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Michael? This is Amber Dwyer.”
“What can I do for you, Amber?” he says, getting right to the point.
I swallow. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been trying to get a hold of Peter for a couple days, and he hasn’t answered my calls. I wanted to make sure everything’s okay for shooting tomorrow. If something’s wrong and I need to change the shooting schedule, I need to know.”
There's silence on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
Michael clears his throat. "What do you mean you haven't heard from him?"
"I mean that I've been calling him all weekend so I can talk to him about some of the stuff from the edited script." That's not really true, but I don't think Michael needs to know that. "I left him a couple of voicemails too, he hasn't returned anything. Figured I could check in with you just to make sure that everything is okay, you know?"
"Of course," he says, his voice snapping back into his normal agent mode. "I apologize for any inconvenience this has coursed you, and I hope this doesn't damage the partnership that we were hoping to form with you."
"No," I say. "I'm still game if Peter is, but I need to know if he's okay or if I need to rearrange the shoot for tomorrow."
I'm not sure if I imagine the edge of panic in Michael's voice or if I'm just projecting my own panic. "I'm going to call him right away and find out what's up. I'll get back to you, okay? Peter is a pro, and easily one of the best actors that I've worked with. I'm sure he wouldn't miss your calls without a good reason. I'll call you back!"