—
WHEN GREY HAD left Ethan that morning, he’d looked half dead; now she was shocked at how chipper he seemed. He was nursing a glass of bourbon as they dressed, bombarding her with questions: the gray shirt or the blue? Tie or no tie? Did his glasses make him look smart, or just old? But there was a desperation behind the questions that unsettled her. He’d plastered on a hundred-watt smile for her like they were in front of the cameras already. At least it seemed like a good sign that the screening would go smoothly.
Grey dressed simply, in jeans and a silk camisole, both black. Tonight wasn’t about her. She was just here to support him, the woman behind the man. Smiling by his side like everything was fine.
She watched him knock back the rest of his glass, then refill it. As he buttoned and unbuttoned his top button in front of the mirror, she came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. Though the gesture was meant to comfort him, she felt him tense up. She held on awkwardly for a few more frozen seconds before releasing him, then coming to stand beside him in the mirror. He glanced at her.
“You look good.”
“So do you.” She reached over to smooth one of his jacket cuffs, then slid her hand up to the back of his neck. “I love you.”
He looked down at her and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah. Love you, too.”
* * *
—
THE SCREENING, AS they’d expected, was standing room only. The guests of honor were seated upstairs, in a roped-off section with the festival coordinator and the moderator of the Q and A. Grey found it impossible to concentrate on the movie; she was focused only on Ethan. After the first fifteen minutes, he slipped out of his seat. When he returned several minutes later, she could smell the bourbon on his breath, even as he tried to angle his face away.
She lost track of how many times he left his seat—it seemed like he was out of it more than he was in it. She debated saying something to him, but she didn’t want to be a scold. He was a grown man, he didn’t need her to police him. That would be the beginning of the end for them.
She’d seen Dirtbags two or three times, but not in years. Making fun of his bad teen movie together in their hotel room was one thing, but this was on another level. Where What’s Your Deal? had been glossy and overprocessed, Dirtbags was larger than life and achingly raw. It sometimes felt like Perry had left the camera rolling without telling the actors, capturing their most candid moments: the lived-in camaraderie of Ethan and Sam, the spark of chemistry igniting between Ethan and Nora. The experience was uncomfortable enough for Grey that she could only imagine what it was like for Ethan. She felt like sneaking out for a drink herself.
As the credits rolled, Nora, Perry, and Ethan were herded through a side door, making their way to the stage. Grey reached over to squeeze Ethan’s hand in a last-minute gesture of support, but he was already out of his seat, walking away from her without a backward glance.
When the applause died down, the moderator, a film critic from The New Yorker, introduced the three of them, one by one. Ethan walked onstage last, to rapturous cheers. He squinted against the bright lights, waving vaguely, before taking a seat next to Nora. When the panel started, Grey heard nothing but her heart pounding in her ears.
Ethan seemed alert at first, but it wasn’t long before he began to slouch lower in his chair, his head lolling to one side. He answered the moderator’s questions about where he and Sam had gotten the idea for the screenplay in short sentences that were only slightly slurred.
The moderator shuffled her cards.
“Now, Perry. Tell us a little bit about how you got involved with this project.”
“They wouldn’t let me direct it,” Ethan interrupted with a hollow laugh. There were a few uncomfortable titters in the audience. Perry glanced at Ethan before clearing his throat.
“Unfortunately, it’s not a very interesting story. I got a call from the producers that they had this great screenplay, these two talented young guys, and would I meet with them and see what I thought.”
The moderator leaned forward, bangles jingling on her wrists as she moved.
“And what was your first impression?”
“I loved the script, of course. And when I met them—it’s funny, I’m not sure if I ever told you this, Ethan. But I had just seen a screening of the restoration of Purple Noon the week before, and then this guy walks in the room”—he pointed at Ethan—“looking like the second coming of Alain Delon. It was so uncanny, it felt like fate. I said yes immediately.”
“Incredible,” the moderator gushed. “And, Nora, this movie was obviously huge for you, both personally and professionally. Your transition from modeling into acting, meeting the man who would eventually become your husband—”
“Ex-husband. Don’t forget about ex-husband.” Ethan’s mouth was so close to his microphone that feedback crackled through the room. The moderator laughed nervously.
“Yes. Well. Could you tell us what that experience was like?”
“The divorce? It was a fucking nightmare. But you all knew that, right?” He grinned at the audience humorlessly.
“I think she meant me,” Nora cut in smoothly. Her eyes flicked up to meet Grey’s in the balcony, only briefly revealing her unease, before launching into her answer without missing a beat.
The rest of the panel continued in this vein: Ethan was terse and surly when asked a direct question, but was more than willing to interject snide comments into the questions he hadn’t been asked. This was an Ethan she’d never seen before, sloppy and cruel; an Ethan whose very existence terrified her. Sweat soaked the armpits of her camisole as she willed each question the moderator asked to be the last.
The moderator grew more and more flustered against Ethan’s onslaught. She dropped her cards on the ground, scrambling to put them back in place. She looked down at a card, inhaling deeply as if to ask a question, then hesitated, flipping to the next card.
“Actually, never mind. So tell me, Nora—”
“What was that?” Ethan interjected. The moderator blinked several times, a deer in the headlights.
“Sorry?”
“That card. That question you were about to ask. Please, we’re all on the edge of our seats.”
The moderator looked offstage for support. “I don’t think—”
“No, no, let’s hear it.” It was clear that Ethan wasn’t going to let it go. To her credit, the moderator straightened her posture and regained her composure. She took a deep breath before speaking.
“Now, there’s obviously an important person missing here tonight.”
“Really? Who?” Grey felt like she was going to vomit. She shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Ethan’s face, hardened and sarcastic, eyebrows raised cartoonishly high. The moderator pressed on like she hadn’t heard anything.
“What is it like being up here together, talking about this movie, without Sam?”
Grey’s eyes shot open.
The room was deathly quiet. One person in the audience tried to stifle a cough. Though the question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, neither Perry nor Nora made any attempt to answer, their microphones forgotten and limp in their laps, their attention fixed on Ethan. Ethan was frozen, chin resting on his chest, eyes in shadow. Finally, he brought his microphone to his lips.
“You people are fucking ghouls, you know that?” No one said anything. He rubbed his hand over his face, muttering as if to himself. “What am I even doing here?” He looked out at the audience. “You can all stop gawking now. I hope you had your fucking fun. I hope you got what you wanted.”