“I’m in some deep shit.”
She sat next to him on the sofa and waited for him to continue.
“They gave me a urine test,” he said.
“Who? The Shopping Channel?”
“My parole officer. Thanks to whatever Marks told him, he tested me for drugs.”
That bastard, she thought. He may have been generous enough to give her back the joint, but he went ahead and fucked Lorenzo over. She was working up a full steam of hate for the guy.
“Have you done any drugs besides that one toke on the roof?” she asked. She tried to picture him in his own place, sitting in a haze of smoke, a giant bong by his side. Or maybe a handful of pills. Or worse—a needle and bent spoon. She hoped that wasn’t true.
He let out a breath. “Nope.”
She studied his face, which looked sincere. Those Lin-Manuel Miranda eyes. She exhaled, relieved. “So what are you worried about?”
“It could show up.”
“One toke? Seriously?”
“It’s fifty-fifty, Dana. And if it comes back positive, I’m fucked.”
“They would send you back to jail for that? For just—”
“In a heartbeat.”
Dana felt so sick she had to lower her head to keep from getting dizzy. This was a nightmare. “Is there something I can do?”
He shook his head. “Not your fault.”
“Of course it’s my fault.”
“Dana, I’m an adult. I could have said no.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I knew I was subject to random drug tests. I took a chance. My parole officer likes me, so I figured he’d never test me. Dumb assumption. I knew better.”
“You couldn’t have anticipated you’d get wrapped up in a murder investigation.”
“But shit happens. All the time. I’ve seen it.” He paused. “I’ve lived it.”
Dana leaned back and closed her eyes. She was done blaming herself. This was Marks’s fault. She finished her wine and poured another glass.
“You know the worst part?” he said. “I’ve got one month left on parole. That’s it. Thirty days and I’m like any ordinary citizen. I don’t even have to stay in New York. I can move to Wyoming. Or China.”
“Is that what you want?” she asked. “To travel?”
He shook his head. “I just want to be free. That’s the point. But if I get busted...” He trailed off, and she could tell he was playing the worst-case scenario in his head.
Dana held the wine bottle toward him. “You sure you don’t want some?” she asked.
He looked tempted, then shook his head. “I have to leave soon.”
“You have something to get home for?”
It was the kind of question she hoped he would shrug off with a light response. Not at all, I’m just tired. Or I forgot to DVR the Mets game. But the silence that followed was as heavy as a falling tree. He turned the face towel over on his lap and stared at it, as if he might find an answer there.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I do.”
And here it comes, she thought, sitting back down on the couch. “What’s the big mystery?”
He stood. “You know what?” he said. “I will have a glass of wine. Unless you have beer?”
“Sorry,” she said, and pointed at the bottle to indicate that he should help himself to the wine, which he did.
Lorenzo took a few sips before turning back to her. He let out a long breath.
“Sophia,” he said.
Sophia?
He had pronounced it clearly, to be sure she heard, and the word rang like a song—the melody to his harmony. Sophia. A symphony in syllables. Not like Dana, which was two beats on a toy drum. She pictured a raven-haired beauty with soft curves and full lips.
“You could have told me,” she said. “I wouldn’t have—”
“She’s my kid.”
“What?”
“She’s four.”
Stunned, Dana put down her wineglass. Lorenzo had a kid?
“And her mom?” She swallowed hard, wondering if there was a happy little family he had neglected to mention.
“Evelyn,” he said. “Not in the picture. Never was, really.”
“I see,” Dana said, wondering if it was about a thousand times more complicated than “not in the picture.”
He shook his head, as if she didn’t see. “Evie’s in the joint,” he said.
“She’s in jail?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. Sophia lives with me.” He paused. “Right now, a neighbor is watching her. A nice lady who lives upstairs. But Sophia—she’s my whole world, Dana.”
A chill prickled her flesh. Lorenzo was a single father. It touched the depth of her heart. He was caring for a tiny girl. Brushing her hair in the morning. Pouring cereal into a bowl. Holding her small warm hand while they walked on the street. Shopping for clothes and toys. Scheduling doctor appointments and playdates and making sure she was cared for while he was at work.
And now, he could be going to jail. Dana shook off the terrible thought that her own recklessness was partly to blame. No, it wasn’t her fault. It was Marks who had done this.
Dana unclenched her fists and picked up her wine. She took a long sip, trying to put out the fire of rage that was burning inside, but it was no use. She stood and paced the apartment.
“Hey,” he said. “You all right?”
“That fucking Marks,” she said.
Lorenzo approached and wrapped her in a hug. “It’s okay,” he said.
“It’s not okay.” She wanted to cry.
He backed up just enough to look at her face. “I’ll deal with it,” he said, and moved a lock of hair from her eyes. Something in her stirred. It was such a tender gesture.
“You shouldn’t be comforting me,” she said. “You have enough to worry about.”
He pulled her tighter. “How about if we comfort each other?” he whispered in her ear.
His warm breath sent a shiver down her neck and throughout her body. He moved his hips forward. Or maybe she did. She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew was that he kissed her deeply and she didn’t want it to end.
“I thought you had to leave,” she said.
“Not right away.”
“Are you sure?”
His dark eyes grew even blacker as they traveled down her body and back to her face. And of course, he didn’t need to say anything, because his answer was in that look, and in the way his hand ran all the way down her back to pull her toward him.
He was sure.
17
The next day, Dana’s producer had some good news for her: they had hired three models for her segment, which would focus on a new line of Bastina cap-sleeve mixed-lace tunics and ballet flats. That was a big deal. Unlike its larger competitors, the Shopping Channel didn’t often hire models for shows outside prime time. But the station was investing money in her program. Dana loved the idea of gushing over the models as they sashayed out in the tunics, accessorized to illustrate versatility. It gave her so much to work with.
When Adam finally wrapped up, she thanked him and he started for the door. Then he stopped and turned to her. “By the way, Sherry wants to see you after the show today.”
“She does?” As far as Dana knew, Megan had spoken to Sherry and smoothed everything over. She was even given a pass on the spreadsheets.
“She asked me to tell you.”
“But why?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
Easy for him to say, she thought after he left. Sherry hadn’t targeted him as nemesis number one. And he didn’t have a secret rehearsal to rush to right after airtime.
She called Megan.
“He could be right,” she said. “It might be no big deal. Still
, I want to come with you. What time are you going to see her?”
“Right after airtime.”
Megan let out a breath and told Dana she had a dentist appointment at four, but would try to get there on time.
“If I’m not,” she said, “see if you can stall.”
But by the time her segment ended, Megan still hadn’t arrived and wasn’t answering texts. Dana changed to her street clothes and paced her dressing room, imagining Megan in the dentist chair, suffering. Still, at that moment, Dana would have gladly changed places.
She checked the time again, and felt the weight of her schedule bearing down on her. Rehearsals were about to start, and there wasn’t much the rest of the cast could do if she wasn’t there.
After stalling another fifteen minutes, Dana knew she couldn’t wait any longer. She took a deep, fortifying breath and went up to see Sherry on her own.
When she arrived, Emily was standing behind her desk tidying up, as if she were getting ready to leave. Jessalyn, Dana’s talent coordinator, stood nearby waiting. Emily was decked out in a sage green raw-silk sheath and a crisp white denim jacket with the sleeves carefully rolled up. She wore a pair of Bastina ballet flats and dangly gold earrings. At first, Dana wondered if Emily and Jessalyn were heading out together for some hot double date. But then she realized Emily didn’t look date-ready; she looked camera-ready. Dana burned with curiosity. What kind of gig did this girl have?
“Sherry’s expecting you,” Emily said, nodding toward the door to indicate that she should go right in.
Dana thanked her and paused. She didn’t know if Emily would consider a compliment an intrusion, but she went for it. “You look good enough for a catwalk,” she said.
Emily beamed. “You think?” she said earnestly. “One of Vanessa’s models didn’t show up and they asked me to stand in.”
“I’m bringing her right to set,” Jessalyn added.
So the gig was right here. That made sense. Dana nodded and smiled back at the two of them, wondering if Sherry had engineered the whole thing to get Emily on the air. Not that the girl couldn’t pull it off—except for her height, she really did look as good as any model. But clearly, Sherry was using her position to throw her assistant a bone. After all, the company had a contract with a modeling agency. One call and Sherry could have summoned another professional model. Dana almost wanted to ask Emily what her secret was. How had she managed to get on Sherry’s good side? Hell, how did she even find a good side?
Dana sighed and told Emily to break a leg, then knocked on the open door to Sherry’s office.
“You’re here,” Sherry said, glancing at her watch.
Dana smiled, pretending she missed the subtle dig about her tardiness.
“Have a seat,” Sherry said.
Dana lowered herself into one of the chairs across from Sherry’s desk. “Emily looks terrific. She’s rocking that cotton bomber jacket.”
She hoped the comment would soften Sherry’s demeanor, but after the briefest flicker of appreciation, her countenance turned serious. She squinted at the monitors mounted on the wall. “We have eight thousand units to move. She’d better rock it. Vanessa, too.” She looked back at her desk and rearranged some papers.
“Adam said you wanted to see me.” Dana studied Sherry, trying to get a read on her expression. “Is everything okay? I understand my numbers were pretty strong today.”
“There’s no problem with your numbers.”
“Oh, good!” Dana gushed, pretending the conversation was a dream come true, as if there was no place in the world she would rather be than right here in Sherry’s office. But it was like trying to charm a Rubik’s cube. She just sat there, obstinately unsolvable.
Sherry laced her fingers and stared Dana down. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“What do you mean?” Dana asked.
“I’ve been hearing certain rumors.”
“Rumors about what?” Dana was perplexed. Her encounter with Lorenzo was still fresh in her mind, so she wondered if somehow people in the office were gossiping about it. But that seemed impossible. Lorenzo wouldn’t have told anyone. She was sure of that. And she had certainly not spoken about it, except for a whispered cell phone conversation with Chelsea as she walked to work.
“You tell me,” Sherry said.
Dana shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Sherry took her glasses off and laid them on the desk. “Dana, are you in breach of contract?”
“What? No!” Even as she said it, her heart rate skittered and her mouth went dry. Had Sherry found out about Sweat City? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you performing somewhere without permission?”
“No! Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“You telling me the truth?”
“Yes,” Dana lied.
“Because if you’re involved in anything, now is the time to ask permission.”
Dana didn’t hesitate, as she knew there was no way in hell Sherry would give her permission to perform with her Sweat City group. “I’m not,” she said. “I promise.”
Sherry stared at her, and Dana felt like it was a test. If she blinked, she was dead. So she played the wide-eyed innocent, staring back in bewilderment. If all Sherry had was some uncertain gossip, she could win this.
At last, Sherry put her glasses back on. “Okay,” she said. “I guess it was just a rumor, then.”
Dana exhaled. “So we’re good?”
Sherry had already checked out of the conversation, and was staring past her at the monitors. “Just keep your numbers up,” she warned.
“Will do!” Dana chirped. She stood and rushed out the door still shaken, but determined to make good time getting downtown to rehearsal. She almost ran smack into Megan, who was dashing down the hall toward Sherry’s office. Her blouse was wrinkled, as if she’d been sitting in it for hours, and her lips were swollen.
“I’m shorry!” Megan said, her pronunciation slurred. “I came as fasht as I could.”
“Are you all right?” Dana asked.
“Jusht a little Novocain. I’ll be fine as shoon as it wearsh off. Tell me what happened.”
“I think we’re okay,” Dana said. “But she asked if I was in breach of contract.”
“What?”
“She said there’s some kind of rumor going around that I was performing somewhere.”
There was a pause as Megan studied her face. “But you’re not, right?”
“Of course not,” Dana said, her expression even.
“Hang on a shecond,” Megan said. She pulled some cotton wads from her mouth and balled them into a tissue. She looked at Dana dubiously. “And there’s no truth to the rumors?”
“No! No truth at all. I quit Sweat City. Told them I was done.” That part, at least, was true. She had told them she was done. But of course, that all changed once she became Kayla Bean.
“Where would the rumor have come from?” Megan asked.
“Maybe from someone who wants my job?” Even as she said it, Dana realized it might be true. The office was swimming with aspiring actors. Anyone could have a connection to a member of Sweat City. They had all sworn secrecy, of course, but people talked. And maybe someone here had got wind of it and decided to use it against her.
“Do I need to talk to Sherry?” Megan asked.
“I put it to rest,” Dana said. “We’re fine.
“Good,” Megan said, though she remained pensive, maybe a little troubled. It was hard for Dana to gauge whether it was concern or pain.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dana asked.
“I could use a drink, for sure,” Megan said. “Maybe that pub on Ninth?”
“Drinks?” Dana said. She was already late, and couldn’t possibly spare the time. “I... Is it okay if I take a rain c
heck?”
“Again?” Megan said. “You have someplace to be?”
Dana paused, fumbling. She considered blurting out something about French lessons or cooking classes, but there would be too many questions to answer, lies she hadn’t yet invented.
“I...just have this major stress headache coming on.”
Megan squinted at her. “A stress headache?”
“Sherry makes me crazy,” Dana said. “And you didn’t show up and I knew I had to go see her and, well, it just came on, like a vise. Like a pounding vise.”
Megan stared as if she were trying to decide whether to believe her, and Dana regretted her metaphor. A pounding vise?
“I’m really sorry,” Dana continued. “I know you ran here from the dentist in pain and everything. I feel awful.”
“It’s okay,” Megan said, her expression softening. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll put you in a cab.”
“I can take the subway,” Dana said.
“No, I insist. My treat. In fact, I’ll ride with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Dana said.
“I want to. I’ll stop at Pete’s for a FroYo.” Icy Pete’s was an ice cream parlor two doors down from Dana’s apartment. She couldn’t very well fight her suffering friend on the idea of getting a soothing frozen dessert, and so, even though Dana had planned on taking the subway directly downtown to the theater, they headed off to catch a cab to the East Side.
When the taxi reached Dana’s apartment building, the two women argued over who would pay and Dana won, swiping her credit card faster than Megan could scrounge through her cavernous purse for her wallet. It did little to soothe her guilt over the lie.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” Megan mumbled.
“I love you, too,” Dana said.
The two women parted. Megan headed for Icy Pete’s and Dana entered her apartment building. She didn’t go upstairs, though. She waited in the small lobby for several anxious beats and then glanced out the door to be sure Megan wasn’t loitering in the street. When she was confident the coast was clear, Dana dashed to the subway and went downtown to the Sweat City theater.
Love Sold Separately Page 12
