The next day, it was my turn to come barging through the door in a huff. Trip was in the den, listening to his Guns N’ Roses CD and reading… shit. My book. I was flattered by that, but I was too riled up to acknowledge it right at that moment.
However, I was not going to come at him guns blazing the way he had with me the day before. I was simply going to present an opportunity to engage in a conversation about what was bothering me. This would be good. A big, mature step in our communication.
I took a deep breath and slapped a copy of The Backlot down on the coffee table (a little harder than I’d intended), causing him to look up from his reading. He peeked over the book and saw what I had placed at his feet. “What’s that piece of crap doing in my house?”
“Did you see the picture on the cover?”
He lifted the book in front of his face again as he answered, “I’m really not interested in seeing a picture of myself on that birdcage liner.”
“It’s not just a picture of you,” I swiped the magazine off the table and held it up toward him. “It’s a picture of you with Jenna.”
He ignored me, so I flipped in a couple pages and read from the article. “Trip Wiley and Jenna Barnes together again! The estranged pair were recently seen leaving the St. James hotel, where a source confirmed the tumultuous twosome are plotting to work on a new movie together. Does this mean a possible reunion is in the works for the star-crossed couple?”
I was fuming about the whole situation, but that last line really twisted the knife in my side. They were not the star-crossed couple. I’d been through way more with Trip than that witch.
“You know not to believe anything in those rags. Why start now?”
“Is it true? Is this why you’ve been growling around this house like a bear, crabby and stressed out?”
He finally put the book down and swiped the magazine from my hands. “Did you really look at the picture, Lay? Yes, it’s the two of us out front of the hotel, but it’s two separate photos. They just doctored it up to make it look like we were there together, when in fact, we just happened to be in the same place at different times.”
I’d been so disgusted at the sight of them together that I hadn’t looked at the photo for more than two seconds. But okay, yeah, on closer inspection, he was right. The photo was totally ‘shopped.
“Fine. But is it true?” I asked again.
He ran a hand through his hair and lurched to his feet. “She wasn’t even there! I made sure she wouldn’t be there when I went to meet with Bert.”
“You knew? You knew she was going to be hired for this movie before that meeting?” I was astonished at his admission. He may as well have kicked me in the spleen. Oh, this “conversation” was gearing up to turn into an all-out brawl.
“I knew it was a possibility, yes.”
“And you didn’t bother to tell me about it?”
“Kind of like how you never told me that your first book was supposed to be about me?”
He was grasping at straws and he knew it. “Really, Trip?”
His posture deflated as he conceded, “I didn’t think it was worth upsetting you when it wasn’t set in stone. I’m still hoping she won’t be cast.”
I couldn’t even respond to that. I had my arms crossed over my chest, unspeaking, waiting for him to explain himself.
He put his hands over his face and growled into them before throwing his arms out to the side. “Look. It’s just a job! I’m not the boss here, okay? I didn’t pick her for the part. There are producers and who-you-know and anyone she’s ever promised a blowjob to, including the director who’s had a hard-on for her for years and he‘d be a full-time pervert if it weren’t for the fact that he’s a filmmaking genius!”
I was aware of the man’s pervy side. I’d experienced it for myself on Oscar night. But why did he have to perv over Jenna Barnes? Of all the people!
I was positively stewing about the blonde whore from hell.
Amongst others.
All those women from his past. I couldn’t take it. My prior resolve to handle things maturely got thrown out the window. “Who’s Marcy?”
Trip stopped pacing, caught off guard by my change of subject. “Who?”
“Oh, you don’t even remember her name?”
“Who’s name?”
“Marcy… Something! According to The Bimbo Twins at the read-through, you used to fuck her.”
He braced his hands on the back of the wing chair and stared me down. “I used to fuck a lot of women, Lay. A lot of them. Is that what you want to hear? How I spent years going to bed with every hot blonde in the city? Do you really need to hear this? Do you really want to go down this road?”
No. No, I most certainly did not. But the fact was, he was the one that took a road trip down the Whorey Highway, not me. If he hadn’t, there’d be nothing to discuss.
“That was then. This?” he motioned his fingers in the gaping space between the two of us, “This is now. And right now, this is all that matters to me.”
“Right now.”
“If you want the truth, it was all that mattered to me then, too. But I couldn’t… You weren’t…”