by Virna DePaul
But as the anger leaves me and exhaustion replaces it, the darker thoughts come creeping in. Fuck the role. That’s not what this is about. This is about me, never being worthy enough for Marissa, never being more than a guttersnipe. This is about two pieces from different puzzles. Pieces that will never fit together.
I think about how Janelle described me in that interview. Much of it wasn’t true, but when she’d said that Simon Dale doesn’t do relationships, I found myself agreeing. I don’t do relationships. Not long term, anyway. I grew up in a home my mom hated so much she took off, and where my dad hated me and my sister so much he’d get drunk and beat the shit out of me. I don’t know how to commit to anyone, let alone a woman. I know this about myself. It’s not pretty and I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is. That’s why I made it clear to Marissa that this arrangement could never go beyond just that: an arrangement.
Marissa had been hurt enough by the likes of Brian Hall. I couldn’t hurt her again.
I have to let Marissa go. I have to. She deserves better.
17
Simon
The next day, I feel like shit when I see Declan just before the big meeting. I haven’t been sleeping or eating. I’m sure Marissa is wondering why I haven’t texted, but I’d promised her mother I wouldn’t. And I shouldn’t. She deserves better than me, although I know she also deserves a better break-up than my silence. Fuck. I swipe a hand over my face and realize I haven’t even shaved. This morning, I could barely get my ass out of bed to take a shower. Marissa once said I have a face for the ages, one that simply can’t look bad, and I hope she’s right, because I have a feeling this is D-Day.
Marissa. Why can’t I stop thinking about her?
And why the fuck does D-Day have to come now?
“You know what an iron is?” Declan asks me, his brown eyes wide as he takes in my rumpled clothing. “For fuck’s sake man, did you sleep in a dumpster?”
I grit my teeth. He’s right. I need to get it together. This is what I’ve been dreaming of all my life. Not some girl. The part of a lifetime. And if I get it, Marissa won’t matter. I will have everything I’ve ever wanted.
At least, that’s my hope.
I run my hands through my hair and wipe a little bit of sleep from my eyes, then open myself up to Declan’s inspection. “Okay?”
He still looks at me with a half-sneer, like I’m a leftover sandwich on a tray, then adjusts my collar and tie. “Still shitty, but it’ll do.”
I take a deep breath. “Game on. Let’s be calm. You know Noble can smell fear, right?”
“Sometimes I’m not sure that guy is human.”
“I don’t care if he’s an alien from planet BORG. I need this part.” It’s all I have now.
Declan tugs at his tie. “You don’t have to tell me that, buddy.”
We head to the front of the office. Spires and Noble have just arrived, and we all shake hands like usual. I gaze at Noble, trying to see if I can get any read on him, but he just stares at me like usual. That man could work for the CIA and never crack, I’m sure of it. Spires is jovial and boisterous, talking about how great the ball was and how fantastic everyone looked.
We go to our conference room. “Thank you for meeting with us this afternoon,” Noble says in his smooth, careful voice, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Declan gives me a look, like he thinks this will go well. My stomach twists. I’m not so sure. When I went over to smooth things over after the Janelle incident, neither of the men said anything. But I could see them both eyeing me, assessing me. Noble asked a question about how I knew Janelle, while Spires drank his champagne in silent judgment. The entire exchange had been awkward and I’d felt like I’d been asked to see the principal as I stood there.
Now, Spires and Noble are looking at us both with calm expressions. Even Spires. His usual boisterousness is absent now, and that scares me the most.
It must be bad news. It has to be. They’re going to say they don’t want me after all.
“You know we have to do what’s best for our investors in this picture, to guarantee its success,” Noble begins, setting his forearms on the table. “I must tell you, we had many discussions about you, Dale. At the beginning, we were unsure.”
“We knew you were a loose cannon and you’d never been tested on serious work before, even though we were impressed by your screen test with Dakota. You knocked that out of the park. But we still didn’t know if you were able to commit,” Spires says bluntly. “We’d insinuated as much, I know, but we can’t work with actors who aren’t serious.”
Noble smiles. “We may have had prior bad experiences, is what my partner is saying.”
I nod tightly. “Declan and I appreciate that you’ve considered me at all.”
“Regardless, after the ball, Noble and I discussed this at length. Ultimately, we had to assess if putting our faith in a new face like yours would be worth the risk. You have the skills, you have the charisma. That is not up for debate. But would you be able to carry this picture as a leading man?” Spires asks.
“Let me assure you two that I would.” I lean forward, refusing to let him give up on us yet. “I’ve made youthful missteps before, I concede. But I’m dedicated now. Know that I will give everything I have to this performance.”
Noble nods, but Spires just studies my face. I have to restrain myself from squirming. Is he about to tell us no?
God above, please don’t let this be the end!
“So, here’s the deal. We’ve made our decision.” Noble looks to Spires, who nods. “We’ve decided to give you the part.”
I gape at them. “That is—thank you. Thank you so much.”
I look at Declan, who’s got his game face on.
“Many congratulations to you both,” Spires says. He stands up, and we all do the same. “I’ll have my assistant send over the nitty gritty details.” He holds out his hand, which I shake vigorously. I shake Noble’s, too, and then they’re both out the door.
At the front of the office, Declan and I stand there, staring at nothing.
Then Declan says, “I can’t fucking believe it!”
I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. I pull Declan into a bear hug, and we slap each other’s shoulders. We’re swearing and laughing and rummaging around in the office kitchen for a celebratory drink. We end up sharing an old bottle of champagne that’s rather flat, but we don’t care. We drink out of paper cups, toasting and laughing and celebrating.
We get tolerably buzzed, although there’s not enough champagne left to do much damage. By the time we’ve finished it, though, I get a text from Marissa that stops me in my tracks.
Have you heard anything yet?
I stare at my phone. Suddenly the celebration seems pointless. I got the part, yes, but the deal I made yesterday with Mrs. Woodcrest is still hanging in my mind. And now I can’t even respond to Marissa’s text. What the fuck did I agree to that for?
“Bad news?” Declan peeks over my shoulder.
“No, but I have to run.”
He makes a face. “Okay, but dinner tomorrow to celebrate?”
I don’t care at this point. I’m nodding and saying goodbye, leaving him to celebrate however much he wants to.
I’m still looking at my phone as I go downstairs and get in the car. When the car goes nowhere, the driver, Greg, looks back at me and asks, “Where to, boss?”
I want to see Marissa. But I know I can’t. This thing is over between us. She’s not a part of my life anymore. I’ve gotten what I always wanted. I’m going to have this new life, now. Everything different.
So why don’t I feel happy about that?
I tell Greg to take me home. I don’t know where else to go.
Once home, I call my sister Dana and tell her the good news. When she senses that I’m not as happy as I should be, I say that I’m just tired. She makes that noise—something between “uh-huh” and “yeah right”—and I know I’m in for it.
&nbs
p; “Is this about Marissa?”
I sit on my couch, nursing a bottle of beer. “Why would this be about her?”
“Don’t be daft, Simon. I saw the way you looked at her that first night in the restaurant. I’m assuming things have been going well—or should I say coming?”
“Dana.”
“I’m sorry, I won’t joke about it. But seriously, you never call or text me anymore so I figured you must be with her all the time.”
I sip my beer. How do I explain to my sister that I don’t know what I’m feeling now?
Dana huffs into the phone. “Hello? Hey, did you even tell her you got the part?”
“No, and I won’t. We’re over.” I make my voice hard as steel.
“What? You’re an idiot, older brother.”
“What did you expect? It was a deal. I got the part. And now she and I are…” I swallow the bile in my throat. “Over.”
“You are heartless. Not even telling her you got the part when she helped you get it?”
“And as always, it’s a pleasure talking to you. I’ll see you soon.”
“Fine. But you should really—”
I hang up. I finish my beer and get another one from the fridge. I avoid my bedroom, since it’ll only make me think of Marissa and what we did in there. I end up falling asleep on the couch, dreaming some weird dream about Noble and Marissa falling in love and eloping.
When I wake up, my phone is ringing. It’s Marissa. I groan and pick up my phone but don’t answer. Not even a text, was what I told Mrs. Woodcrest. Besides, what would I even say to her? I turn the phone on silent with a wince.
I’m so sorry, I think, but I just don’t know what to do.
I know what I want. I want her in my bed and I want her in my life. But I had to let her go, for her sake.
18
Marissa
It’s Friday and I’m at lunch with my parents and Larissa, nervous as all get-out with what I’m about to tell them. And what I’m about to share has nothing to do with Simon, mostly because he’d dodged my calls and my texts since this weekend. Given his request that we keep seeing each other, I’m not sure what’s happening, but in his ensuing absence, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about him and our situation, and about what we last talked about.
Past mistakes.
His and mine.
Simon is still haunted by his mistakes. I saw that when he’d talked about his scar. And obviously, I am still haunted by mine.
But I don’t want to be anymore.
I want to at least try to begin the process of getting over what happened with Brian Hall. Tackling my relationship with my mom, that isn’t something I’m ready for. So I decided to start with something else. Something far easier.
My career.
After all, Simon is doing his level best to make his dreams come true. Why can’t I try to do the same?
I decided to leave my current position and starting my own marketing company. I have the skills, the experience, and with my trust fund, I have enough start-up capital to begin my own venture. I’ll start out by myself as a sole proprietor and freelancer. It’s a huge step. When I think about it, it makes me giddy.
I gave my two-week notice to my boss earlier today. Now I just have to break it to my family.
I look around the table at them, already sweating. Larissa looks smug, like she knows some secret and is dying to spill it. Anxiety churns in my stomach. Does she know I quit my job?
We all order, although I know I won’t be able to eat a bite. Mom is giving me narrow-eyed looks while Dad seems intent on not looking at any of us. While Mom lives for conflict, Dad prefers to keep his nose to the grindstone and stay out of drama. How he and Mom ever got together, I have no idea.
“So, Rissy, how’s the boyfriend?” Larissa sips her water, wrinkling her perfect little nose a bit.
I have no idea how to take her tone. “He’s great,” I say slowly. “We attended a ball last weekend, and it was fun.” With the exception of Charles showing up, and Janelle, and now Simon won’t talk to me…
Mom sniffs. I’m about to ask her what her problem is when our waiter begins setting our plates in front of us. Seeing the salad in front of me, I remember how I ate breakfast with Simon in bed. That was the last time I saw him.
Dad is just starting on his salad when Mom says in a stern voice, “Marissa, we know all about Simon Dale.”
I almost drop my fork.
Simon Dale, she’d said.
They know? Had Charles told them?
I look at Larissa, who’s smiling, and then to Dad, who’s put down his fork and is frowning at Mom.
I try to act cool. “What do you know about him, exactly?”
Instead of answering me, Mom turns to Dad. “Simon Richards is Simon Dale. He’s not some blueblood, related to Prince Harry. He’s an actor in a cheesy soap opera. He plays an alien, Raul.”
Mom turns to glare daggers at me. “He lied to us all. He’s nothing but trash—a B-level actor. That television show he’s in is nothing short of pornographic! Not only that, but his mother took off and his dad is a drunkard. A drunkard from London’s East End!” Mom clutches at her napkin.
My heart sinks into my toes. Except for that one conversation about his scar, Simon hadn’t shared anything about his past. Now my family is telling me he basically grew up in the gutter. His roots make him less of a man in their eyes, but I don’t care one wit. I am so sick of them always acting better than everyone when the truth is the Woodcrest family is as dysfunctional as it gets. How can someone like Charles win their approval when he’s a lowdown cheat who always made me feel bad about myself, and yet Simon, who always made me feel like I was worth a goldmine, is not good enough?
“June—” my father begins.
“You have a lot of nerve, acting like we’re too good for Simon,” I interrupt. “He’s a kind, smart, brilliant man, and I don’t care if his parents were two circus performers from Mars!”
I’m close to telling them that he’s the first real man I’ve ever dated when my mom says, “Oh, come off it, Marissa. He told me the truth.”
I stop mid-sentence. She talked to Simon? Without me there? “Wh-what?”
She looks at me disdainfully. “He admitted that your relationship was never real. That you were using each other.”
My mouth falls open. Simon told my mother that? Why? What would he do that for, knowing what kind of hell it would rain down on me?
To my surprise my father looks almost as upset as I do. “Is that true, Marissa?”
Fighting the tears at the edge of my eyes, I swallow hard. I’m trying to explain, to say something, anything, but I can’t. Embarrassment surges through me and I toss my napkin onto the table and shoot to my feet, nearly knocking over my glass. “When did you talk to him?” I finally manage to choke out.
“A few days ago,” she says, making me bristle. I haven’t spoken to him in longer than that. I want to ask more, but I’m already too destroyed. Any more details will likely kill me.
He told her. He told her this was all a ruse.
It’s over.
“Simon told me why you did it,” she continues, wounding me further. What else did he tell her, and why? “I can’t believe you would do something so horrible. That you would lie like that.”
Suddenly, misery morphs into rage.
“Oh, you can’t believe it?” I spit out. “After what you did? Insisting I marry that asshole who would treat me like shit for the rest of my life just because you want to keep up appearances?”
“Now, Marissa,” Mom begins. “I—”
“No,” my father interrupts, raising his voice in a way I haven’t heard since I was little. “It’s true, June. You never saw how horrible Charles was for her. I meant what I said before. He didn’t deserve Marissa. Apparently, Mr. Dale doesn’t either.”
“Raul!” My mother looks shocked by my father’s words, and I can’t blame her. I’m shocked as hell.
But my father
ignores my mother and turns to me. “Tell us what you did today, Marissa.”
His voice is encouraging. Because he knows, I realize. He knew who Simon was when I introduced them. And he knows I quit my job and I’m starting my own company. He’s not exactly taking my back, but a part of him does support me. Wants me to be happy.
And that knowledge gives me the strength to say, “I’ve quit my job and am starting my own company.”
Mom looks like she’s about to have a stroke. She can’t even speak now, she’s so astonished. Larissa stares at me like I’m crazy. They all seem to think I’m crazy.
All of them except Dad.
He just nods and says, “I believe in you, Marissa. I always have even after what happened with Brian Hall. I should have told you that before. And we’ll try to do better to show you we believe in you from here on out.”
“Raul!” Mom gasps.
My dad just looks at her, his expression neither harsh nor gentle, and to my surprise, my mother sighs. “Fine. Do sit down, Marissa, so we can finish our meal.”
I shake my head, still reeling from my father’s sudden show of support. “No,” I finally say, thinking of Simon. Hating him in that moment, but also thankful for everything he’d brought back to my life. No matter what, he’d made me feel excitement again. He’d made me step out of my comfort zone and take risks again. And I wasn’t letting that go to waste. “I don’t believe I will. I have some things to attend to. I have…I have a life to live,” I say before leaving.
The only question on my mind in that moment is whether that life will include Simon. But I already know the answer. He gave it to me the moment he told my mother the truth.
I skip out on work and head home, where I consider drinking the afternoon away, but my head is pounding so hard that I take some Advil and make a large pot of tea instead. As I’m messing around online, though, my heart stops when I see an article about the new movie, Perfect Union. I hover over the link, and I see the name Simon Dale associated with it. Would they write an article about how he was considered for the part but didn’t get it? I have a hard time imagining they would, but then again, what do I know about these kinds of things?
