Things We Do in the Dark(63)

“Seven years ago, when he hit rock bottom, I didn’t think he’d make it out of that.” Zoe’s voice is soft. “He was in such a dark place, lashing out at anybody who tried to help him. It was like he was determined to burn every bridge he had, and he almost succeeded. Everybody bailed. His manager quit, his agency dropped him, even Elsie stopped taking his calls for a chunk of time. Nobody could do it anymore, and I didn’t blame them. But I stuck around. I was scared to leave him alone. He finally got clean, announced his retirement, and I helped him move back here to Seattle. And then I just … stayed.”

It occurs to Paris then that this is the first time she’s heard Zoe’s backstory. She was so busy judging the other woman that she’d never bothered to try to know her. Just like people used to do to her. The thought makes Paris feel ashamed.

“When Jimmy met you, he came back to life.” Zoe offers her a small smile. “And when he started telling jokes again, it was like he had finally become the version of himself he always wanted to be—sober and funny. When Quan called, I admit, I wanted him to do it. His material was so good, so relevant, it deserved to be out there. I should have known, though, that the pressure of it all would make him start using again. It’s all my fault.”

“So you knew?” Paris says, incredulous.

Zoe nods, and slumps.

“You know how I found out he was using again?” Paris’s voice is hot. “When Elsie told me what was on the toxicology report. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Zoe’s face crumples. “I only saw him do it once, in the dressing room, right before his last performance of the second special. He promised me it was a one-time thing, just a bump to get him through the next hour. He asked me not to tell you. And then he went out onstage and absolutely killed it. I don’t think he’s ever been funnier. I never saw him use again.” She looks away. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t.”

Paris was there that night, in the audience. Under the spotlights of the Austin City Limits stage, he was transformed, his comic genius on full display. There is nothing more exhilarating than watching a person do what they do best, better than anyone else.

But the demons were lurking beneath the surface. Paris knew that, and she was getting more and more worried. His memory lapses were becoming more frequent, and no matter what she said, Jimmy refused to go to the doctor. Any time she brought it up, they would argue.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about this, but when you were at the yoga conference, Jimmy had that charity gig,” Zoe says. “He went into it sober, I made sure of it. His jokes were funny, but he was off with the delivery, and at the very end, he blew the punch line. Afterward, he was so upset, and all he wanted to do was go home and practice. I probably should have stuck around, but he was so angry, yelling at me about little things, like why didn’t I order more cassette tapes, why can’t I just do my fucking job…”

Zoe completely falls apart, her shoulders shaking as she sobs. Paris pushes over the Kleenex box.

She understands what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Jimmy’s anger, the kind that comes from someone who’s having a hard time accepting that he might have a disease for which there’s no cure, the same disease that killed his mother slowly, bit by agonizing bit, until there was nothing left but a shell of the woman she used to be. Early in their marriage, he had told Paris about his mother’s Alzheimer’s, and she had seen the horror and grief in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” Jimmy had said. “It’s absolutely fucking brutal.”

It’s time to tell Zoe.

“Listen to me,” Paris says. “Jimmy was having trouble with his memory. There was no official diagnosis because he wouldn’t go to the doctor, but I noticed early signs of dementia. He didn’t want to blow the Quan deal, so he made me promise not to tell anyone. But even if he wasn’t sick, Zoe, you are not responsible for his drug use. It was not your job to save his life.”

Zoe’s eyes well with tears again.

“I’m sorry I fired you the way I did,” Paris says quietly. “Truthfully, I’m not even sure I can fire you. You worked for him, not me.”

“I worked for Peralta Productions. Which I’m pretty sure belongs to you now.” Zoe takes a breath. “Paris … I swear I didn’t know anything about the inheritance. I never thought Jimmy would leave me anything. He had already paid me a bonus when he signed with Quan, and honestly, I felt guilty for taking it. They came to him, and I helped facilitate the discussions and find an entertainment lawyer in LA to help with the contracts. But other than that, everything else I did was just regular assistant stuff—scheduling, travel bookings, emails. I was shocked when I heard how much he’d left me.”

“I believe you,” Paris says, and she does.

“Have you heard from Elsie?” Zoe asks.

Paris shakes her head. “Not since she dropped me off at the hotel. Right now, I’m not even sure I have a lawyer.”

“The last time I heard from her was when she asked me to get you some stuff for your hotel stay. I did reach out after that, but she never got back to me. She doesn’t like me, either.” Zoe lets out a small laugh. “But I can help you find a new lawyer, if you want. I can make some calls.”