He shrugs off his jacket and hauls the chrome chair over to face me “I’ve got news,” he whispers in my ear.

I’ve got news too. Dr. Foreman came in this morning and removed the wiring from around my jaw. I wonder how long it will take Brett to notice. Like most actors, he has a kind of built-in narcissism that narrows the aperture of his attention.

Instead of roses he pulls a script from his back pocket and waves it in front of my face. “I’ve been offered the Reiner film. Isn’t that incredible? They’re replacing Eddie Jenks. The studio couldn’t get insurance on him. I heard he’s back in rehab. Penny is ecstatic.”

The Reiner film. I’d been offered the female lead right before the accident. Brett had been jealous, said he hated Reiner’s pictures. Apparently, he’s changed his mind. The irony is breathtaking. Of course he had to take it, it’s the breakout role he’s been longing for. And of course they want him. With the publicity surrounding my “suicide attempt,” Brett Haney is sizzling hot property.

“We start next week, babe. But don’t worry, I’ll come just as often. There’s one week on location in New York, but that’s not for a while. The only thing is, why would Reiner want me? I’m not very funny.”

It’s true, he’s not funny. At least not in a comedic way. Brett, however, is charismatic and beautiful. He emerged from the womb destined to be a movie star. Not me. God may have created me in His/Her image, but not up to Hollywood’s standards. I paid big bucks to be recreated.

“Oh, hey.” Brett looks at my face as if I have suddenly sprung into focus. He runs his fingers along my jaw. His touch is soft and gentle, his nails manicured. In his teens, he was a down-to-the-bloody-quick, compulsive nail-biter, but now when he has the urge to chew, he pulls out an Emory board. He touches my lips with one finger, opens my mouth. My front teeth are missing.

“God. Goddammit!” He takes a deep breath and pounds his fists against his stomach, pulls the chair closer to my bedside, and inhales several times, catching his breath.

Poor Brett. He’s not cut out for tragedy. He still has both sets of grandparents and sends them cards for every holiday. Even with his acting fears and insecurities, he’s an optimist at heart.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. D-Don’t worry, they can do stuff for that, you know. They can just implant you a whole new tooth…teeth. Can you hear me, honey? Honey? If you can hear me just give me a sign. Blink your eyes or—”

“Knock, knock?” Nurse Dani sticks her head in the door.

Brett draws himself up and adjusts his cap. “Mornin’, Dani. Come on in.”