Method(99)

“I’m relieved.”

He smirks. “Why, because you’re done babysitting?”

“It’s not that, man. It’s just so much easier when you find someone that understands you.”

Blake is already nodding. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’ve been honest enough with Mila about my past life.”

Blake’s eyes train on a seagull. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve told her some about the conditions but not all. The circumstances of when I was young. When she asks for more, I shut her down. I save it for film. And in a way, I feel like she doesn’t need to know.”

“Then don’t. You don’t want her pity. You don’t have to always put a voice to the shit that hurt you. Therapy is a fucking joke. Especially for actors, when we get enough of it every day. We get to work through our own shit. That’s the beauty of it, we get to hide in plain sight.”

“I’ve never looked at it that way.”

“No, because you do it every day already.” He swallows. “Just don’t let the therapy spill into your real life too much. Save the rage for the stage.”

“Nice,” I say, tipping my head toward him as we clank bottles.

“That’s a West original, you can borrow it.”

“I just might.”

Another minute of waves and seagulls lulls us into where we are, a piece of paradise.

I broach the subject that’s been bothering me for years. “It may be a West original, but you don’t follow it.”

He takes a sip. “That’s true.”

“Why do you let yourself spill over so much?”

The breeze drifts over us, grabbing the hair away from his forehead as he stares down at his bottle. “I think the better question is: why haven’t I ever heard my internal director?”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, mine has never once yelled cut.”

Frowning, I go to speak when we’re bombarded by two soaking wet beauties. I fight to reach Blake, to grab his attention, but he wrestles his wife into his lap before he looks back at me with a million-watt smile. It’s one of the only times I’ve ever seen him smile like that, so at peace. “It’s a good life,” he mouths as he trails his fingers down Amanda’s bare skin. My questions fall away as Mila throws a leg over me and lays her head on my chest. Seconds later, we fall asleep next to the soothing sound of waves.

I’m being dragged by my collar into the garage. The gravel digging into my skin beneath my suit.

“He’s too fucked up to know what’s happening.”

“Orders are orders. Tonight’s the night.”

“Five minutes earlier, we would have got him sober.”

“Fuck, he stinks.”

“That’s because he shit himself. Screw this, I’m taking more of a cut on this if I have to be the one to get him in the car.”

“I’m not touching him.”

“What a waste. This is Nikki Rayo, huh?”

“Have respect, he’s the reason I got in the game.”

“Then maybe you should do the honors.”

“I think I will.”

Seconds later, I’m tossed into the back of the Rolls.

“This isn’t much of a payback, should we wait for him to snap out of it?”

“He’s got so much H running through his system, he’s fucking smiling. Just get it over with.”

I feel the pressure at my neck until the blood pours out. Blake’s smile on that beach is the last thing I see before I hear the words, “Cut. That’s a wrap.”





Mila



Nova: We wrapped an hour ago.



Putting away the rest of my dishes I muster up my courage when I see Lucas’s Land Rover pull up. Standing in the hall, I hear the telling jiggle of his keys and the metal click into place, but the bolt doesn’t budge.

I hear an irritated, “What the hell?” before a sharp knock sounds at the door. “Mila.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s just as odd of a feeling that he’s finally back, as it was when he returned from Egypt, except this time I don’t want to fling open the door and fly into his arms. The fact that he thinks it’s as simple as him coming home has my blood boiling.

“Mila,” he says again, knocking in succession.

“I had them changed.” The knocking stops. “I don’t want you here.”

“Baby, I’m so tired, so tired. I need to lay eyes on you. I know how upset you are, but it’s over. Please open the door.”

“You’re right, it is over, at least for the moment. You need to leave.”

“I can—”

“Explain? Surely you can think of a better line than that, actor.”

“Mila—”

“Can you explain the kiss?” I hiss.

His tone goes defensive. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I can. It had nothing to do with her.”

“This should be good.”

“Mila, it meant nothing.”

“How original.”

It takes every bit of strength I have not to open the door just to slap him. But with one look, I’d be manipulated into letting him in, and he would try to smooth things over, and I’m not having it.