“Forget the mask, suit. You messed up. You did not do as I asked and now my life is harder because of it. What will you do to fix this?”
“Fixthis?” I stare at the bastard. “I’m not fixing anything. I’m actually about to walk away and never speak to you again.”
“That’d be a shame.” He turns to the pigeons again, watching as the animals scurry around and peck at the bread. He seems completely nonplussed about the shattered mask and barely cares that I’m threatening to walk from this film. I’d be willing to bet my threat isn’t the first time a producer told him they were going to run from something he’s involved with, and I doubt it’ll be the last.
“This was a mistake.” I turn to leave, prepared to go crawling back to Drake Entertainment with my tail between my legs, when Cowan calls my name. I hesitate, try to come up with a good reason to keep going, but something makes me turn.
“I’ll sign the papers. We’ll make this movie, no more games. But you need to do something about that mask.”
“I can glue it. That’s about all I have to offer.”
“No, suit. I want you to do something.” He smiles slightly, eyes narrowed and harsh. “I want you to do somethingyou want.”
“I’m sorry, excuse me?”
“You’re scared. I think you might be the most terrified person I’ve ever met. I want you to do something you really want to do, but you’re too afraid to actually go through with it. I don’t care what it is or what it means, all I need is for you to break through your stuffy, pathetic, repressed, bourgeois life, and do something real and brave for once. Put yourself out there. Make a mistake.”
“Almost get killed by a crazy old lady?” I glare at him, trembling with rage. “You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all.”
“You’re scared even now. Admit it, suit, you’re standing there thinking about what you might do and you can barely bring yourself to consider acting. That’s what I want from you. No more thinking or worrying. I want you to act for once.”
I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. He’s right that there are a dozen things I should do, but don’t want to. Things I want but remain completely terrifying. Things I’m afraid might ruin my life.
Like tell Baptist about the baby.
“Why are you doing this? What the hell do you care what I do?”
“I’m fascinated by people who choose to break past their self-imposed restrictions. You are the most restricted of anyone I’ve met in some time, and we happen to have this little arrangement together. And so, if you want me to sign the papers and begin the film in earnest, you will act.”
“Bastard. This isn’t worth it.”
“Good.” He grins happily. “That’s the point.” He turns away and produces more crumbs from his pocket. He tosses them to the birds and the birds go wild, pecking and pushing at each other to get at the food.
I’m dismissed. I’m a passing idea now. I turn away and glance at the trash can. Inside, an ancient Roman mask is sitting in pieces. Screw it—let it stay there. It’ll rot in some dump. Maybe it’ll be unearthed in a thousand years by some far-future archeologist studying our broken present.
He wants me to act. And there are a dozen things I should act on. Desires, needs, wants. All of them pressing in on me like trash compactors.
I could call my mother and tell her off for leaving Max.
I could go to Max and have that talk with him about how he’s been feeling that I’ve been too afraid to start.
I could go to my father and tell him—well, a lot of very bad things.
Instead, I take out my phone and call Baptist.
He answers right away. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. He’s feeding the birds again.”
“Did you tell him what happened?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Meet me for a drink.” I close my eyes, hating myself so much, my fingers pressing against my belly. “We’ll discuss it.”
He’s silent for a few seconds. “Are you sure it’s appropriate to meet beyond work hours? You’ve studiously avoided that for weeks. Ever since—” He doesn’t finish that sentence. We never, ever finish that sentence.