Method(9)

The look of disappointment on my wife’s face exhausts me as I wipe off with a towel. I’m sure my expression matches hers for the fact she won’t even entertain the idea of a baby, which we both agreed we wanted before we got married. We’re in the perfect position to start. Where I go, my family can go as well. I’m trying to understand her holdup, but it’s grating on me. I never planned on marrying, not really against it and never really thought much about kids. My end goal was always to be a working actor, but once I met Mila, and I started getting steady jobs, my dreams changed for the better. They got bigger because of her. Never did I think myself capable, but I have more to give. And I want to share it with a piece of the both of us. She thinks it’s grief talking and maybe that’s a part of it, but not all of it, and I can’t seem to convince her otherwise due to the timing.

She matches my stare, the perfect picture of innocence. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

My arguing tongue gets silenced by the heavy chime of our doorbell, and I get to my feet. “That’s the courier with the script.”

I’m already halfway toward the stairs when she stops me. “Lucas …”

Hanging my head, I take a breath and glance back at her.

“I don’t like this.”

“I need something. I can’t just sit around here.”

“This isn’t it,” she pleads with me.

The bell rings again, and I avert my gaze and take the steps to the front door.





Mila



Dread fills me as Lucas practically leaps the stairs for the front door. Something about the timing of this script has my nerves fraying. Something about Lucas’s desperation, and the needs I’m unable to meet, instill a sort of fear. I’m beyond sore, my sex constantly pulsing with the ache of being overfilled and the unbearable emptiness of wanting more. He’s fucking me constantly, but we aren’t connecting the way I’m used to, and I’m questioning what it could mean because his silence has returned. Maybe he thinks I need the closeness for reassurance, or perhaps he does.

Everything is off, and it’s to be expected, but the unease has me reeling. Blake is gone. Lucas is searching, and I’m unsure of what direction to step in. I’m not really a doting wife. Not in the sense that I wait on my husband’s emotions hand and foot. He’s self-made and doesn’t need constant reassurance. But we’re a team. Things seemed to fall into place for us when we met, and we’ve always gotten what we needed from the other. Now I’m unsure if he would ask for it if he knew. I’m terrified what he’s looking for is in a place I can’t reach him, but it’s the place he wants to be. I’m not a superstitious or religious woman, but I find myself praying a little as the front door opens and closes while I pour him a glass of carrot juice. He stalks back into the kitchen where I wait and tosses the script on the counter. Eyeing the bound front of it, I read the title “Silver Ghost.”

“That’s a cool name.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s the name of the 1920 Rolls Royce that his body was discovered in, which is ironic because it was his first big purchase when he started making real money. Rayo reigned in the seventies and eighties but was obsessed with his predecessors.”

My curiosity is piqued. “So, you’re familiar with Rayo?”

“He’s fascinating as a character.” He takes the juice from me across our large kitchen island before taking a healthy sip. “I heard it from someone on the set of Erosion that Wes was working on a script and refused to show it to anyone.”

I’m restless where I stand because I know if the script is decent, Lucas has already made his decision.

“Can I read it?”

He eyes me over the glass as sweat trickles down his forehead. His V-neck is drenched and clings to every pronounced indentation of his chest.

He shakes his head. “After me, okay?”

I nod and move to leave when I hear him sigh.

“Will you send her something?” he asks, before swallowing down the last of his juice and washing out his glass.

“To Shannon?”

He pauses at the sink, nodding. It’s only fitting he would feel like shit after talking to her like that. Lucas rarely ever talks down to his team. It’s his own rule.

When I don’t respond, he flashes me bloodshot eyes.

It’s just a glimpse of him, but it offers some relief. “Of course, I know what she likes.”

“Thanks, baby,” he murmurs.

I leave the kitchen as he turns the first page.





“You are not marrying a goddamned movie star.” My mother’s words echo as I sit on our deck overlooking the ocean with wine in hand. “I raised you to make smart decisions, Mila, and this is not a smart decision. Marriage is hard enough without an inflated male ego playing a part in it. I promise you, actors are the weakest kind of men. They need way too much to be happy. They don’t know how to be satisfied.”

The day Lucas and I got married she was the only one crying in the front row because she wasn’t happy which I found hysterical. I still catch myself giggling when I recall how she was unable to control her snot-nosed protest when we exchanged rings. As a jaded ex-member of the Hollywood Foreign Press, my mother has never thought much of actors. When I was younger, she’d idolized old Hollywood but was very careful to keep me away from anything pertaining to it. I still remember her look of relief when I declared my major, and it had nothing to do with the movies. Still, every time she sees Lucas and me together, I see a sort of gleam in her eyes, a type of longing, as if I’m living out some fantasy for her. Though you would never know it with the way she shares a passion for my father. Their relationship was wild to witness growing up. They were openly affectionate. Most of my friends thought my parents were hippies. The truth was my father was a misplaced—as in a liberal state—right-wing conservative due to my mother’s overt involvement in the industry. He bent for her, compromising the most and often, which is the way they worked. Often times, they would openly kiss and heavy pet in front of God and everyone, and I envied that. I secretly loved the way my father lost his sensibilities when he was with her. I wanted it for myself. And I declared it so when Lucas and I got together. I never shied away from our connection in public which took some getting used to on his part. He didn’t want me to be a target. Now, there are probably thousands of pictures on the web of us exchanging affection. I’ve never paid much attention to the media where we as a couple are concerned. I’m a firm believer people interpret what’s convenient for them and their mood.