“Oh God, before Ronnie died!” I cried out, collapsing, sobbing convulsively.

Ten minutes later when Devon finally yelled “cut,” I was so lost in the emotion I didn’t hear him. I had played out the entire eight-page monologue in one take.

Robert Verona helped me down from the stand. “Guess we still have a job,” he grinned. Taking my arm, he escorted me to our chairs.

Devon and the studio guys sucked into a huddle. Katie, Nicole, and Penny rushed over.

“Amazing, Jackie!” Penny said. “See? What’d I tell you?”

Nicole poked me in the side. “Hey! When did you learn to act?”

Katie swabbed the mascara out from under my eyes.

“Where the fuck were you two?” I snarled.

“They threw us off the set. Honestly!” Penny crossed her heart. “They said you wanted it closed.”

“We snuck back in, though, just in time,” Nicole said.

I shook my head. “They were fucking with me. Devon and the producers tried to make me quit.”

“What?” Penny and Nicole both yelled.

I motioned for them to be quiet. Steve Connigan walked toward us. “Jackie, Bob, that was great.” He turned to me, “but I want you to do something different on the next take.”

“Different? I nailed it, Steve. Is this another trick?”

“No, I swear to you. Just, this time instead of anger, be soft and sweet. Trust me. Then we’ll have it two different ways.”

I threw a look at my new pal Verona.

“What do you say, Bob?”

He shrugged. “Up to you, Jackie girl.”

Devon ran over and tapped Steve on the shoulder. “She nailed it, let’s move on. Good work, Jackie.”

“Fuck you, Devon,” I said. “Let’s do one more.”

Steve gave me a big hug and kiss. “Sweet and innocent,” he whispered. “That’s all you need to do.”

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM

NIGHT

DAY 50

Right before the graveyard shift, the day and night nurses exchange places and for a minute or so, the hubbub subsides. The hospital pauses to catch its breath, the loudspeaker’s crackle goes quiet, the carts cease their rattling, parked in empty halls until new freshly scrubbed or gloved hands come to push them along.

In the parking lot, most of the fans and paparazzi have clocked out, gone home to apartments or houses and families. A few of the diehards will remain here overnight, camped out on the slimmest hope of a late appearance by Brett.

Mercifully, I’ve had no more visitors today since Nicole. I’m drained by her excuses and pleas for absolution and frustrated by my inability to respond. No penance to pay at a coma-confessional. Nary a “Hail Mary.”

I too am between shifts. With my robot lungs I wake and sleep and wake again to the rhythm of the respirator: Inhale, exhale; each breath the same; same depth, same speed. Tempo Lento. The beat of a dirge.