Scarlett pulled her head up just enough to look over at his shoes.
“I saw it on TV, these stunt guys explaining how they do those scenes where they run out of exploding buildings. I thought I could do it by spraying hairspray over my pants and burning off the fumes. It actually worked for thirty seconds. Looked great. Except that I hadn’t worked out the plan for putting myself out. Stop, drop, and roll takes a lot longer than you’d think.”
Scarlett remembered this quite well, but couldn’t answer because a lump of something had risen in her throat so fast that it gagged her. She tried to force it back down, hold whatever was left of herself and her dignity together.
“I’m not asking for any particular reason,” he went on. “Except maybe to see if you noticed how stupid I am. You pretend not to see it, but I think you do.”
She wanted to say that he wasn’t stupid—she took all honors for that. Stupid to think she could date Eric, stupid to follow Mrs. Amberson’s advice, stupid not to listen to Spencer in the first place. She wanted to say she was sorry, but all that came out was a noise that almost sounded like a quack.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, dropping an arm over her shoulders.
Whatever was gripping her throat released it, and a torrent of tears erupted from some unknown reservoir inside. She buried her face in the folds of his jacket and sobbed huge, wheezing sobs that finally scared off the remaining birds. It was like she was draining herself dry.
It felt like they stayed like that a long time, but it was probably only a few minutes, then her tears slowed just as suddenly as they had come. She tried to make her breathing normal, but couldn’t. It staggered and fell all over the place, and she started to hiccup. She hadn’t felt like this since she was little, when she would run to Spencer when she got hurt or upset. Total regression.
He tipped her chin up to get a look at her face. She felt horrible and genuinely swollen, and the light hurt her eyes. Spencer’s jacket was soaked, and something was connecting her nose to the front of his collar. He wiped it away with his sleeve.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said thickly.
“Yeah…no you’re not.” He wiped at her face with his hand to try to dry it a bit and unstuck a curl from her cheek. “And I just punched my scene partner in the face.”
“I’m sorry…”
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “This one is all mine. But I’m going to have to go and answer for it.”
He stood, and then reached down to help her up.
“It looks like we have company,” he said.
Mrs. Amberson was waiting at the other end of the playground, flipping the cigarette case thoughtfully in her palm.
“You should probably go in,” she said to Spencer, when they reached her.
Spencer looked to Scarlett, checking on her general condition. It still wasn’t great.
“I’m not going back in there,” she said. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Okay…” he said. He didn’t seem to want to leave her there or go back inside, but he dragged himself forward.
“The plan,” Mrs. Amberson said, when he had walked off, “did not work quite as I anticipated.”
Scarlett decided that there was no need to add to this statement. It pretty much covered the situation.
“Think anyone noticed?” she croaked. Her throat was still a mess.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Actors love drama, by definition. You made their day.”
“Spencer slipped,” Scarlett said dutifully.
“Of course he did. Accidents happen. And this is just a temporary setback, O’Hara…if it’s a setback at all. Lover’s quarrels are a natural part of relationships. Making up is always the best part. Now, tell me what happened, and we’ll make a plan.”
“Please stop helping me,” Scarlett said.
“Too soon?” Mrs. Amberson said, undaunted. “Best to take the afternoon off. Here.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out some money for a cab.
“We’ll sort it out later, O’Hara,” she said, as Scarlett walked to the street. “You’ll see!”
Lola the Unstoppable was still at the desk when Scarlett returned, stamping and addressing all the brochures that she had never gotten to the other night.
“Someone left a message for you,” she said, holding up a slip of paper. “Probably something for Mrs. Amberson. Are you all right? Your eyes look kind of funny.”
“Um…allergies.” Scarlett’s voice was a bit thick still.
“Are you sure?”
Scarlett nodded and took the note.
“The woman asked you to call right away,” Lola said. “Do you even have allergies?”
“I’m fine,” Scarlett said, walking quickly toward the elevator. “I’ll call her. Thanks.”