Breaking Character

by Lee Winter

  Elizabeth relaxed as they drove, absorbing the views. She hadn’t really seen much at all of LA since she’d been here. That was her own fault. Even when she wasn’t busy, she hadn’t had much interest in it. Just like with Summer, she’d made assumptions about the omnipresence of LA’s shallow, shiny, fakeness. But today she’d discovered it also contained hidden pockets of elegance, quirkiness, charm, and garishness—all intriguing in their own way.

  What was it about Summer, forever challenging her assumptions? It’d be weird not seeing her around so often when her contract wrapped up. Picturing never seeing Summer again beyond an occasional party night suddenly seemed the worst thing. Already, just being in the woman’s slipstream for half a day, doing what Summer wanted to do, had changed her perspective on LA. What would it be like being with her for a week, a month. A year? What else would she open Elizabeth’s eyes to?

  How interesting would that be?

  Summer led Elizabeth into the diner with its bright orange spaceship exterior. A red and white checked floor greeted them, with matching cherry-red booths. Summer bit her lip. She loved the warmth and cheesiness, but it could be a little full-on. What if Elizabeth hated it?

  A waitress showed them to a table.

  “Right,” Summer said after they were seated, “I know this might be a little over the top on the Americana, but they do great food and it has a real charm to it.” She pointed to the blackboard with specials listed. “And the salads are listed over…”

  “A burger.” Plucking a laminated menu from the table, Elizabeth smiled at Summer, whose mouth fell open. “When in Rome and so forth. I’d like to try a traditional American burger.”

  “Right…we’re doing the whole experience?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then,” Summer grinned back in delight. “I recommend the Blastoff Burger. Really worth it.”

  “So after all that salad talk, you’re secretly a fan of their burgers?” Elizabeth asked in amusement, then dipped her gaze over Summer’s form. “Not that anyone could tell.”

  “I work out lots, trust me. Otherwise my burger habit would be obvious to everyone.”

  Elizabeth merely smiled.

  Their burgers arrived twenty minutes later, and it was all Summer could do not to blush as she watched the way Elizabeth enjoyed hers. She ate in small bites, delicate and dainty, which was impressive. Juices dribbled down fingers and were licked away by Elizabeth’s darting tongue.

  “You’re not eating?” Elizabeth asked. “It’s quite good. You were right.”

  “Oh. Um… yep.” Too distracted. Her blush was telling, she was sure, but Elizabeth merely resumed eating in that slow, delicious, appreciative way of hers.

  They talked, of anything and everything. Summer was amazed to learn Elizabeth’s first career had not been acting at all.

  “Law,” Elizabeth said as she reached for her chilled water. “I know, I know. I can’t picture it either.”

  “But why? Your parents’ choice?”

  “Oh no. It just made sense to me. I was good at speaking and thinking on my feet, and could spin a good argument. I quite liked the idea of defending the unjustly accused, and so on. But it wasn’t to be.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Brian. He induced me into his acting cult with a series of hilarious mimes in the university cafeteria one lunchtime. When I first set foot in the Footlights’ theater, it was like coming home.” She shook her head. “My parents were in shock for about a year.”

  “Not fans of you being an actress?”

  “No, but then, they thought the idea of putting oneself out there for any reason was deeply troubling. Come to think of it, it’s a miracle they were capable of romancing each other. My father especially. He’s more of an introvert than me.”

  “How did they even meet then?”

  “At a play. My mother was beside him in the audience, doing a muttered, occasional commentary under her breath. Dad started murmuring retorts back. When the lights came up, they looked at each other. And she said ‘Well, I’ve seen worse’. And he admitted, ‘Well, I’ve written worse’. And that was it.”

  “God, that’s so cute.”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth eyes crinkled. “So, what about you? Were you always destined for acting?”

  “Everyone assumes Brock and Skye were evil stage parents. But it wasn’t like that. They didn’t care what I chose. When I was eleven, I met a director at one of their parties who had been trying to find a young girl for her children’s movie. She thought I looked perfect for it. I auditioned and got it. I didn’t mind acting. I liked not having to be in school during filming. Being tutored suited my brain, because of how it jumps around so much.”

  “So you didn’t love acting?” Elizabeth asked. “You just fell into it?”

  “Pretty much. I probably wouldn’t have stayed an actress if I hadn’t seen your Shakespeare play. I understood then. The power of it. It could have substance. I don’t have enough words for how much you blew me away that first day. Suddenly all I wanted was to know everything about Shakespeare. And…” she reddened, “you.”

  “I’m sure I made for dull research material. But at least I gave you an appreciation for good tea.”

  “I don’t think ‘dull’ was ever a word for you,” Summer laughed. “Besides, there wasn’t much to be found beyond your taste in teas, books, and plays. Anyway, after that I decided I’d be a great Shakespearean actress. I know, I know. The fifteen-year-old American who would reinvent the Bard.”

  “Ambitious.” Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “So how’d that work out?”

  “Oh, about what you’d expect. I contacted all the Shakespearean theater companies that were looking for interns or actors, including the Royal Shakespeare Company.”

  “Starting at the top,” Elizabeth teased. “Impressive.”

  “Hey! You should talk; you interned there.”

  “I did. But only after completing my drama degree and doing a number of plays did I dare apply.” Her eyes were dancing now. “So what did all these companies say?”

  “All but two ignored me entirely. I got a stuffy email back from the RSC, saying a firm thanks but no thanks.”

  “And the other?”

  “The Royal Bard Theatre Troupe. I really liked their shows.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “The RBTT is very traditional, though. You’d have been hard-pressed to ever get a yes from them.”

  “I know. But at least my rejection letter was personalized. Handwritten. It told me to try my luck in America. It was snooty, but I thought, ‘Okay, well, some interaction is better than none’. I replied that I could try that, but America doesn’t do Shakespeare like the RBTT does. And this woman, Margaret, replied, ‘Thank God they don’t; it’d be appalling to watch the language mangling’.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Yeah. After that we got into a pretty blunt but amusing exchange of letters until I headed home three years later. Her farewell letter wished me well in getting work in ‘that intellectually shallow American swill that passes as drama’. So, that was the closest I came to my dream—being insulted for my nationality regularly.” She laughed.

  “So after your vitriolic penpal…was that the end of your Shakespearean dreams?”

  “Oh yeah. When you’re a kid, you don’t know where the limits are. Who the hell did I think I was? I was so arrogant. No experience, qualifications, training, cultural understanding, just wide-eyed optimism and huge ambition. No wonder Margaret laughed at me.”

  “You, wide-eyed?” Elizabeth’s lips quivered with suppressed laughter. “I just can’t picture it.”

  “I know, right?”

  “So doing Shakespeare in England isn’t anything you want now?”

  “Let’s just say I’m all grown up and a realist now. I’m better at sticking to my niche.”

  “What do you see
as your niche?”

  “Becoming the best American actress I can be. And hopefully not being stuck in girl-next-door roles for too long.”

  “Well, you’re on your way now, thanks to Eight Little Pieces.”

  Their waitress interrupted to ask if they needed anything else.

  Summer gave her a bright smile and reached into her bag for her phone, which she unlocked and slid across the table. “Could you take a pic of us?” Then she slid an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder. “This place is the coolest backdrop.”

  Shooting Summer a faintly surprised look, Elizabeth tensed briefly, but then relaxed into her arm.

  The woman took the photo. “Done. You guys look so great, by the way. Hunter rocks. Especially the chief.” She winked, slid the phone back to Summer, and moved on to the next table.

  “Hunter rocks, huh?” Summer laughed, returning her phone to her bag. “And look at you, finally getting some fan love. About damned time.”

  Elizabeth regarded her for a moment, then an expression of mischief crossed her face. “I have an idea. Can you send me a copy of that?”

  Curiosity piqued, Summer texted over the photo. She was about to ask what the idea was, when Elizabeth interrupted, her voice so soft and sultry it blanked Summer’s brain.

  “Dessert?” she asked. “Or should we bail now before the calories catch up to us?”

  Starting her VW with a playful rev, Summer grinned. “Okay, let me get you home. I’m sure you’ve had quite enough of the American dream for one day.”

  “On the contrary, it’s been excellent.”

  As they pulled out into traffic, Elizabeth pulled up the photo the waitress had taken of them on her phone.

  “What are you going to do with it?” Summer’s gaze flicked to her, then back to the road.

  “An insurance policy.” Elizabeth tapped a few buttons. “I’m going to post it on Twitter.”

  Summer made a choking sound.

  Elizabeth paused what she was doing and glanced over in surprise. Summer’s fingers were curled tight around the steering wheel. “What’s wrong?”

  “Um, won’t Delvine and Rachel have a meltdown?”

  “Possibly.” Elizabeth tried to remember her Twitter password. Beatrice? Imogen? Ophelia? Desdemona? It had been awhile. Delvine’s assistants usually posted for her about upcoming projects. “They’ll probably all have a meltdown.” Ooh. Rosalind. Great, she was in!

  Hold on. Twenty-three thousand new followers? Where on earth had they come from? Surely not all from this Hunter thing?

  She glanced up to find Summer had resumed driving at a much slower pace, fingers grimly curled around the steering wheel.

  “Look, you heard Lenton blackmailing me,” Elizabeth said reasonably. “He implied they’ll spread rumors about how much I hate you if we put a foot out of line. I don’t like being threatened, so I’d like to get in first. We’re friends. Friends post photos when they go out to dinner. Lenton can’t spread that lie if we’ve already established we socialize together.”

  “Bess, won’t some people assume we’re more than friends because we’re playing a couple? Isn’t that what Delvine said after the Jean-Claude lunch? Won’t this photo just add fuel to that fire?”

  With a frown, Elizabeth hesitated. It might.

  “Add a hashtag,” Summer said.

  “What?”

  “Write ‘#Hunter’, if you’re worried. That’ll give the more cynical people, the ones who stir up crap online, a reason to think it’s all just a publicity stunt. That we’re only promoting our popular new fan ship. They’ll be so busy debating whether the friendship’s real or not that they’ll forget to debate whether we’re more than that. And the less cynical fans will take the picture at face value—that we’re just hanging out as friends. Lenton is screwed if he tries to pretend anything else later.”

  Elizabeth gave her an impressed look. “You really are wily when you want to be.”

  “Just because I’m not climbing over people to get ahead doesn’t mean I don’t know how the game works. I have seen more marketing stunts than you’ve had hot teas. You should hear the outrageous crap studios get up to in order to promote a film. One PR stunt involved fake-kidnapping an actor off the street. That went downhill fast when a witness called 9-1-1.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Yeah. Most of this stuff is. It’s a Pandora’s box if you let it go too far.”

  Elizabeth added #Hunter and hovered her thumb over the post button. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”

  Summer eyed her. “I’m not bothered at all. I’m just really surprised you’re considering it.”

  Placing her phone in her lap, Elizabeth gazed out the window. “Some days it’s harder than others. I do get tired of being the villain. It’s nice for once to be seen as normal. Human. Just out, enjoying company with friends, not sacrificing babies or whatever else people think about Hunt.”

  “You’re doing this for Hunt?” Summer asked. “To protect your character?”

  “Not Hunt—me. I’m tired of being her off-screen, too. The names I get called on the street… Attila the Hunt, Chief Cunt, the British Bitch… and those aren’t even the worst. But I detest being threatened by ego-stuffed bastards like Lenton most of all. I won’t tolerate that.”

  Summer smiled. “Remind me never to cross you.”

  Elizabeth picked up her phone again. “It is a spectacularly good picture of you, by the way. I should have mentioned that first.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Playing on my vanity, huh?” Summer grinned. “You’ll go far.”

  Elizabeth laughed and pressed Post. The photo jumped into her Twitter feed. “I hope so. Going far, far from Choosing Hope is my big plan.”

  The smile fell from Summer’s face. “I’ll really miss you when you leave.”

  “No you won’t,” Elizabeth pocketed her phone, “because you’ll be joining my party nights, if you recall.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten,” Summer said softly. “I’m looking forward to it.” She said nothing more until they pulled up at Elizabeth’s gates fifteen minutes later. “Back home, safe and sound, ma’am.”

  Digging through her bag, Elizabeth liberated her gate controller and hit the Open button. “Would you like to come in? For a drink? Or even dinner? The view’s really something up here at sunset.”

  Summer didn’t answer immediately. As she reached the top of the hill, she pulled to a stop, killed the ignition, and turned to face Elizabeth. “That…depends.” She hesitated. “Was this a date?”

  Oh. That thought hadn’t even entered her mind. She could see how Summer might have thought it was. Showing her around LA, taking Elizabeth to lunch…

  “Never mind. Sorry.” Summer’s cheeks rapidly turned crimson. “I may have assumed a few things. Or hoped. Because it’s been ages since you’ve even mentioned Grace, and I thought maybe you’d moved on and… Never mind, it’s totally fine. So, um, I’ll catch you at work.” Her smile was dazzling, but the disappointment in her eyes was difficult to look at.

  “I had a wonderful day,” Elizabeth tried, giving her a warm smile, “date or no date.” She leaned in to kiss Summer’s cheek, but the other woman edged away.

  Summer’s expression was pained. “Please, remember what I said about you kissing me? That if you ever do it again, you have to really mean it? I’m not strong enough to…Um. Please just don’t.”

  Damn it, Elizabeth had indeed promised that. “Summer, I’m sor—”

  “No, it’s okay. I understand.” Summer’s smile lit up, bright and fake. “Have a great night. I’ll see you at work Monday.”

  Elizabeth exited and stared vacantly at her front door. She turned, waving a jangling hand full of keys, to say goodbye, to say something else, but Summer’s car was slowly pickin
g its way back around the circular drive.

  That evening, Elizabeth lay on her deck chair, staring up at the expanse of stars—well, as much as she could see with the light pollution. It was peaceful. The infinity pool in front of her looked sleek and still, like a liquid blanket. She shivered. After so much warmth today, it was odd to feel so cold and lonely. She usually didn’t notice her isolation. The ice cubes clanged as she sipped her gin.

  She had had an amazing day. Summer was fun and smart, and their time together had been illuminating. She was, Elizabeth had come to realize, a good friend.

  Could she be more than that?

  Sliding another mouthful of gin down her throat, she mulled over Summer’s comment about how she’d stopped talking about Grace. How interesting.

  Have I moved on?

  Grace had called her just once since they’d parted ways. Elizabeth had let it go to voicemail. In that message, she heard laughter and music tinkling in the background, along with a man’s voice. Roger the producer? Grace’s apparent point: I’m happy, not pathetic, no matter what you saw that day. Grace’s subtext: I don’t need you. You have been replaced. Easily.

  She hated knowing that was probably all she’d ever been to Grace, just one admirer among many, interchangeable like a cog. Not really friendship, was it? Friendship meant you were unique and important to someone. Summer, for example, always treated Elizabeth as if she was worth knowing for herself. Summer never expected anything from her and seemed to like Elizabeth just as she was.

  Picking up her phone, Elizabeth called up the tweeted photo. Laughter creased their eyes, and their smiles were bright, enjoyment leaking from every pixel.

  How long has it been since I’ve looked that happy?

  The post had garnered mainly positive responses and been retweeted thousands of times. One retweeter’s name jumped out at her: @Summer_Hayes. Elizabeth looked at the comment.

  Nothing better than catching up with good friends. Love hanging with Bess.