Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- A note on the Author
I saw him every day for the next week. But he never saw me again. He said hello, eyes on cobweb, at floor, on hands clenched tight at his sides. He wasn’t unpleasant. But he was afraid, protective. He was a good person and he struggled valiantly not to be one of those boys who screws a girl and then ignores her. He didn’t ignore the girl because he didn’t screw the girl because he didn’t try. He would be thrown out of L.A. forever and ever. At the end of the week he was done on the film, but I had to stay an extra three days. For some reason I expected him to ring at the end of them and ask how it had gone or, at the very least, turn up at our small and poorly catered wrap party. But he didn’t.
“You’ll see him soon enough,” soothed Sean when I confided how much I liked him. “After all, you’ll be doing all the film festivals together.”
“Fat chance,” I thought, convinced, with each day that had passed, post-kiss, that CAA had been right to ignore Mean People Suck.
“Why don’t you just call him?” asked Sean, and thus encouraged, I made him stand beside me when I finally did.
“Hey, Aslan. It’s Ruby. What’s up?” Breezy, light, happy fun girl, kiss me, no darkness in me.
“I’m watching the television.”
“Oh. What’s on?” GIGGLE. NO DARKNESS IN ME. Fucking help me out here.
“Nothing. I’m just watching the television.” Silence.
“Do you want some company? Can I come over and watch the television with you?”
“Um … no.”
He didn’t answer quick enough for me to think there was a girl there. His response wasn’t the quick-draw response that precurses a lie. He answered slow because he was prepared to tell the truth.
“So, Aslan,” laugh small, darkness in me big, seeping from my cunt into the receiver, down the telephone line, “do you just want to be left alone?”
“Yes,” his words curled up at either end, “I do.”
I left Sean standing there, and went home, where I crawled into bed, crushed. Appalled at his honesty. When I woke up at six-thirty A.M., drowning in the waves of shame washing across the sheets, I determined that I would not be going back to sleep and headed out for a bagel. Still in my pajamas, I pulled a fleecy coat across my shoulders and stumbled up Bleecker to the 24-hour diner. The diner was packed with flush-faced gay boys winding down after a night’s clubbing. I took a corner booth across from two men with matching peroxide buzz cuts and black lycra T-shirts. They glanced at me, disheveled and spilling jelly on my wrist, and shot each other excited “minor celebrity gossip” looks.