"Like what?" Deborah asked.
"Lots of things," River said. "Family. Friendship. Love."
Deborah was more shrewd than she appeared. Her eyes lit up and she leaned in closer. For the kill, I thought. "You were linked to someone when you were in Colorado," she said.
River pursed her lips. I didn't know what the hell she was thinking, but I felt myself hanging on what she was about to say.
"I was," she said.
"A military veteran," Deborah said, looking down at a notecard. "Bomb disposal. Injured in Iraq."
"Afghanistan," River corrected. "Injured in Afghanistan."
"She fucking remembers a lot about you," Silas said, beside me.
"Shut up." I couldn't take my eyes off the screen.
"And?" Deborah asked. "Are you and - "
"Elias," River said.
"Elias." Deborah said. "Well, let me ask the question every single man in America wants to know. Are you still in touch with Elias? Was this the real deal, or just a rebound?"
River swallowed, looked down at her lap, then back up at Deborah. The camera panned in close, focused on her eyes. She looked directly into the camera.
She was looking directly at me.
I swallowed hard. Everything faded into the background, and I waited for her to answer.
"I thought it was the real deal," she said. "He didn't feel the same way. I was wrong."
Beside me, I heard Silas mutter under his breath. "Shit."
I thought it was the real thing.
I was wrong.
I didn't know what to say.
I didn't know what to think.
"Shit, man," Silas said.
I was still watching River on the television, but I could only see her lips move. "Dude," I said, irritated. "I'm trying to fucking hear this."
"I know," Silas said. "But I think I know why she left."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I know her," he said. "I mean, I've seen her before."
"Everyone's seen her before," I said. "She's a goddamned movie star."
"No, I mean, that day you were at the bar, you went in the bathroom and Roger and I were talking. She was standing there for a minute, then left. I didn't know who the fuck she was. She didn't look like her pictures-all those pictures in the magazines and stuff. She was blonde. I thought it was a customer."
"So?" I asked, watching River on the screen. "Who the fuck cares, man? It's over."
"No," Silas said. "You're not getting what I'm saying."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Roger and I were outside," he said. "Talking about River."
I slowly turned toward him. "What did you do?"
I listened to his explanation, his theory that River had heard him talking shit about me and had misread the situation.
I sank into the chair.
River's note.
She thought I was the one who considered this a fling.
She'd left because of me. Not because she was dumping me to run back to Hollywood.
Talk about some shitty goddamned timing.
Silas sat down beside me. "Well," he said. "You have to go after her."
"This isn't a goddamned movie, Silas," I said. "Mom's in the fucking ICU. Let it go."
And then one of the doctors walked out of the door, and shook his head.
"I'm afraid I have bad news," he said.
I folded clothes carefully, putting pieces in my suitcases.
My best friend Abby sat in the armchair in my bedroom, her long legs draped over the side, back leaning up against the other side, sipping a cocktail. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I need a change," I said. "I'm done with the movie. I have no obligations here. Why shouldn't I?"
Abby shrugged. "If you say so," she said. "Or you could, I don't know, fly to Colorado instead."
"Look," I said. "I did the interview. I said what I had to say. That's it. It's over. It wasn't even anything to begin with. He thought it was a fling, and that's what it was. Nothing more than that. It was less than two weeks. No one falls in love in two weeks."
"They do in your movies," Abby said.
I sighed. "Everyone thinks real life is like the movies, but it's not. And I was stupid to think otherwise."
Abby huffed. "I still think you're being a dumbass."
"You're just jealous," I said, balling up a shirt and tossing it across the room at her. She shrieked, angling her glass away from direction of the projectile.
"Jealous of what?" she asked. "Your boyfriend? I don't think so. You know I stay as far away from dick as possible."
"Morocco," I said. "You're jealous you're not going. You should come."
"You know I would," she said. "But I've got a show coming up. Besides, I'm not trying to commit career suicide here. I'm going to have my big break. Soon."
"You should," I said. "You're a talented artist."
"Anyway," she said, sipping her drink. "I give it six months before you're right back here, doing another movie. Tops. Not that I'm not happy for you, but, well, what the hell are you going to do without awards shows and...shit...shoes?"
I laughed. "They have shoes in Morocco, you bitch."