Over Her Dead Body(62)

I snuck into a lot of auditions like that. I told myself I wasn’t lying, I was acting! (And isn’t that my job?) My friend and I also “acted” as each other’s managers. He gave my name and number as his, and I gave his name and number as mine. We so rarely got calls for each other, it didn’t matter. And when they came in, it was another chance to flex our acting chops!

I went on lots of auditions but hardly ever booked. I didn’t care. Not at first. I loved the game, the chase, the feeling of possibility. But then disappointment set in, and it became a grind—sitting in traffic, waiting my turn, hearing “no” over and over and over again. Eventually my actor friend quit the business to become a veterinarian, and I had to find my own auditions. That’s pretty much when they ground to a halt.

I dried my hands and steeled myself to rejoin the conversation. I was no Meryl Streep, but I was a good enough actress to pretend the buffalo wings were delicious and that I’d forgotten all about the inquisition I’d just endured. But I didn’t have to go back to the table. Because when I stepped out of the bathroom, Nathan was standing at the door waiting for me.

“Hey,” I said. And then right there in front of the ladies’ room and two drunk women staggering to get past us, he slipped a hand around my waist and pulled me into him, and we kissed like we didn’t care that the whole waitstaff was watching.

“You wanna get out of here?”

The rest of the evening was a blur. I remember Nathan’s hand on the small of my back as he guided me out of the restaurant, eager but not aggressive. I remember holding hands as he walked me to my car. I remember watching him punch my address into his phone, feeling nervous because I hadn’t done this for a long time and also excited because . . . well, I hadn’t done this for a looonnnng time.

I remember feeling relieved to get home before Nathan arrived so I could pee and brush my teeth. Then the rush of shame when I saw Jordan with that huge bouquet of flowers. I remember thinking red roses were an odd choice for an offering of friendship, and that maybe that was all they had? But then I took them from him, and he fell to one knee, and the trickle of shame became a tidal wave as I realized I had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

After sending Nathan away, I remember the minutes feeling like hours as I waited for Jordan to come home, because even though I didn’t want to marry him, he was still my best friend. And when you hurt your best friend, even by accident, you have to do anything and everything to try to make things right.

Lying in bed that night, feeling equal parts elated and horrified, I reminded myself that things happen for a reason. But, as I was about to find out, not always for the reason that we think.





CHAPTER 51




* * *



LOUISA


My alarm was set for 6:00 a.m., but I woke up two minutes before it went off. I had an uncanny ability to do that, always have. I only had four days until the real Silvia Hernandez would reappear and let the cat out of the bag, so there was not a minute to waste.

I got out of bed and went through my checklist. The will was revised and notarized. Fake Silvia’s message was edited and ready. The funeral home was on notice. My plot was chosen and paid for. The cellar was stocked with food and clean sheets and towels. I’d even tidied the house for my upcoming visitors, because I had pride and wanted them to know that even though they’d abandoned me, I still kept it all together.

I felt remarkably perky for a dead woman. Must have been the thrill of my long-gestating project finally going into production. There’s no better feeling than seeing the thing you’ve been working on for weeks or months (or in this case, years!) finally taking flight. It’s what I missed most about my job: the satisfaction of watching your hard work finally pay off. It always gave me a natural high, even better than the champagne we kept on hand to toast our successes.

I made my bed, then showered and dressed and put the kettle on for tea. I would have one last cup before I settled into my bunker to watch the show. The tea was not just for pleasure—it was also a prop. I drank about half the cup, then set it by my chair in the study, next to my book and my favorite afghan, as if I’d died in that chair. Because that’s what fake Silvia (played over texts by me) was going to text Nathan, and I wanted it to be credible.

It was almost seven now. I had to time this just right. I couldn’t risk Nathan being awake when I phoned, but I also didn’t want it to be so early that he could beat traffic and catch me in the act of not dying. If I didn’t do it today, because of my treatment schedule, I’d have to delay it for a whole week. So I waited until a few minutes before seven, then dialed his number. And voilà! It went straight to voice mail.

“This is Nathan Lake. I’m sorry I missed your call, but if you leave me a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

People often asked me if I used to be an actress. I was certainly pretty enough. And I knew what it took (ingenuity, tenacity, hard-earned connections), and I had all those things in spades. But I also had mouths to feed. An actor’s life is grueling. It requires sacrifice and late nights and long days running to auditions. Actors just starting out either have to take a low-paying day job or have a trust fund. My husband was a cabinetmaker. We couldn’t have raised a family in LA on what he was making. One of us needed a real job. And while I might have eventually broken through (and I believe I would have), without a way to support my family, I never got the chance to try.