So it was either no relationship or relationship with ever-present fear. Or flings. I decided flings had a lot of merit; very simple, no juggling involved, no strings attached. Like that one night with Penelope; it had been fun, and the watchword had been “no commitment.” Just acting on mutual attraction. Maybe that would tide me over—till what, I didn’t know.

But as it turned out, even that was difficult. I discovered there weren’t nearly as many women out there looking for noncommittal trysts as I’d expected there to be. And it didn’t take me long to figure out that piling up a number of these encounters might come back to haunt me in the form of tattling tabloids or paternity suits, or worse, as Dianne had inadvertently taught me. So flings were eventually ruled out as well.

I was stuck. If love was the point, then I was screwed, because I couldn’t even do that right. My career wasn’t enough, I was apparently unable to have a real relationship, and those were the only two things I could possibly think of that would make it worthwhile to stick around.

Not that eighty-sixing myself was really a viable option either. My parents back in Reily would be pretty bummed, to say the least. And if I’d refused to let Dianne kill herself when her life was doomed anyway, then what right did I have to think I had a good enough reason to off myself? Unfortunately, that made it worse; I didn’t even have death as an option. I was trapped in a pointless existence.

I continued to accept movie roles, and I booked up the next year with film projects, but I stopped doing pretty much everything and anything else. I was doing my job because I was an actor, and that was really the only thing I could muster the energy to do. No more drinks with Todd, no more dates or flings, no more volunteering that required me to actually leave my apartment and be with people. I started drinking again, knowing full well that this was a very bad idea, but I was so desperate I didn’t care. I was slipping back into the hole I’d crawled into when Dianne had died. It was familiar and peaceful somehow, because I knew what to expect from it, and I knew how to do it and do it well. I didn’t think I could mess up getting messed up.

I started shooting my next project, and I managed, like I had on DC, to get through rehearsals and tapings without letting my hangovers interfere with my work. I spent breaks apart from the rest of the cast and crew and went home every night right after wrap—no hanging around and socializing for me.