The Comeback(43)

The film was shot on location in Europe, and when Dylan agreed to go with me, I thought that I could have broken the cycle for good. I felt stronger, braver, occasionally even happy with my new husband there, and it even seemed as if Able was finally respecting my boundaries. Yes, I was half-naked for most of the shoot, but he didn’t berate me on set or make me reshoot scenes unnecessarily in the middle of the night, or make any thinly veiled comments about my inability to grasp the reality of any given situation. He didn’t praise or single me out, either, but I told myself I didn’t need him to because this time was different. I even almost believed it. I started to think about my next project, believing that if I had Dylan by my side, then perhaps I could choose it myself. There was even already talk of an Oscar nomination, something I had never allowed myself to dream of up to this point. For the first time in my life, my future seemed full of potential, like maybe I could be happy one day, or at least baseline normal.

Then, at the wrap party in a sex club in Berlin, Able pulled me aside and looked me dead in the eye as he told me that he no longer drew any inspiration from me. He thought my work on the film had been adequate, but he could tell from the dailies that I was losing something as I aged. The thing that had once set me apart from everyone else who auditioned for the first assassin movie, the thing that had compelled him to bind his entire career to mine up to that point, the light, the hunger, the talent or whatever you wanted to call it, was gone.

I was always told that the reason Able and I never signed an official contract binding us to each other was because it would have been unethical to do so, but I now know it was just so Able could control the end too. Our working relationship was effectively over, as quickly and unceremoniously as that. I was twenty-one years old, just married, at the height of my career, and still the rejection burned through me like nothing I’d felt before, worse than any other part of it, worse even than that night in his office. I had spent the past eight years living my life in relation to Able, and I didn’t know who I was without him. I had been nothing before him, so why would I be anything after him? I could just about handle hating him, but it was the shame that pulled me under, pushing on my chest and making it hard for me to catch my breath. I understood that by waiting until he dropped me, I had turned myself into the least credible of sources. Nobody would ever believe me, even if I could somehow find the words for what happened.

The summer after the film wrapped, I worked harder than ever before to forget who I was for just a second, or a night, sometimes even a week. I chased drug after drug and lied to Dylan so shamelessly that when his ignorance started to feel deliberate, I finally had something to blame someone else for. The way he looked at me used to terrify me. I felt heavy with the weight of his love.

Every so often I try to unravel it again, to see where I can remove my fingerprints, ones that Able marked from the start, but it is still too tangled.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE





I wake up late again, covered in sweat. The bedsheets are damp, and my hair has curled into salty tendrils stuck to the nape of my neck. I dreamed that I was back on the set of Lights of Berlin but the entire crew was made up of lizard people, and they were all communicating to each other in a complicated language I almost understood but didn’t. In a way, that was how it had always worked, except Able made sure that I was the alien on any film set, the only one who wasn’t allowed to understand how the magic actually worked. At the time I believed he was protecting me, but maybe he just needed me to be foreign, uncomprehending, so I depended on him that much more.

I carry my binoculars out to the porch and squint through them, adjusting the focus on the side swiftly, as I have learned to do. The house on the hill is dark, and there are no cars in the drive. Before I can change my mind, I drop the binoculars on the porch chair and walk across the sand until I reach the white wooden beach steps leading to the four houses on the bluff overlooking Coyote Sumac. I’m breathing heavily by the time I climb the last step, and sweat is dripping between my breasts.

I walk through the tall, sharp blades of grass between the back of the house and the road. The house is exactly as I remember it, a sprawling Mediterranean villa with a bright peach exterior and cream roof tiles, surrounded by beautiful, elegant gardens and shaded by palm trees. I think I wondered whether, just by being here and standing in front of it, its power over me could be lessened, but my heart is already beating fast in my chest and my breathing is labored. I know that the memories are about to start and that they’ll come in dark fragments at first and then thicker, stronger, until I feel as if I can reach out and touch them. I have already turned around, about to leave, when a car door slams behind me. I step backward, off-balance, as someone calls my name.

“Grace . . . Grace Turner. Is that you?” Emilia asks, her mouth already widening into a smile. She walks toward me and kisses me on both cheeks. “Able didn’t tell me you were back in town! He’s so thoroughly useless.”

My legs nearly give way at the mention of his name, but I recover, forcing a smile that is nearly passable.

“Hyde,” I say. “They made me change it to Turner for the films but it was always Hyde. Remember?”

“Of course it is,” Emilia says, looking disoriented for just a moment. “I never understood why they did that.”

She takes a step back and looks me up and down, smiling again. “Beautiful girl. Well, woman now. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were in Venice?”