After a while all was silent, and then finally Grace stated, “I think we all really need some dessert.” This lightened the mood, and after pie was distributed, the girls moved into the kitchen and Todd and I went to the deck. Todd threw back another half glass of wine—“This demands the excessive consumption of alcohol,” he’d stated after eyes had been dried and pie eaten—and asked what my plans were.

“Plans for what?”

He shrugged. “Everything. Work. Grace. Bree. HAP.”

I chuckled ruefully. “Boy, there’s an irony, eh? From HAP director to HIV statistic.”

“Irony? I’d say Divine Providence if anything. You probably had a far better understanding of the disease when you were diagnosed than most people. And the money you raised may save you.”

Todd and Zoe left early but promised to have us over soon and to pray for the talks I would have to have with the women of my past. They needed to know they were at risk, and since Hollywood’s grapevine was sure to find out the story eventually, I wanted to make sure I told them first. I asked Kate to arrange meetings with each of them individually, and the closer I got to those meetings, the more panicked I became. I was seeing more clearly every day just how far-reaching my stupid choices were. I prayed fervently that no one else’s lives would be ruined from my behavior.

Casey Greene, my ex “roommate with benefits,” was first. We met up at a bistro in Beverly Hills, where a nice chat with the maître d’ guaranteed the tables around would remain empty. I hadn’t talked to her in years, and she was naturally curious as to why I had wanted to meet. I pleaded with God to make it go well—although “well” is an awfully high expectation when you’re telling someone they might have HIV. She called me a few choice words, promised to leak the story, and left ten minutes into our meeting.

Alannah was the next meeting two days later. She beat me to the punch by telling me she had HIV. My heart stopped. I’d brought down someone else’s life. I could hardly stand to look her in the eyes—until she told me she’d contracted it from her ex-husband. Ex now because he’d failed to mention his HIV status before their Vegas wedding.

Penelope Jones was the last meeting. Of the three of them, Penelope was the only one no longer acting. She’d gotten married and dropped off the Hollywood radar to pursue motherhood. We shared baby pictures and described our spouses—she remembered Grace from the lunch where she’d run into us. Something about her set me at ease, and I didn’t feel the stress I had with the other two.