METHOD

by Kate Stewart

  “What is it?”

  It’s pointless to tell her the media lies because she knows they do. It’s pointless to reveal that I knew he was guilty, but I wasn’t sure of what. How could I have been so fucking passive? The more I think back, the more I realize just how much got swept under the rug. I was just as guilty of playing blind to his demons and only reacting to his outbursts. It was all suspect, the late-night calls that had him bounding out the door when we roomed together, the whispers in the hallways of the parties we attended. And the fighting. Blake was a ticking time bomb during those early days. What in the hell was he doing at all those parties? And why hadn’t I ever come out and asked?

  Mila slides a chair back and sits directly in front of me, in wait. She’s just as eager for answers.

  “I don’t know what he’s buried with. I don’t know, Mila.”

  She eyes my tablet with the latest article. “You mean those women?”

  “None of them have implicated him. They just keep saying he was there.”

  She wraps her hands around her coffee cup. “Maybe they blame him for not putting a stop to it?”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Amanda doesn’t either and she’s just as confused.” Her voice has a chilled edge to it. She sees my guilt and gives me a pointed look. “You don’t think he…” She widens her eyes, so I catch her meaning.

  “No way, no fucking way.” I shake my head. “He didn’t have to take, Mila. He didn’t. He was way too capable. Trust me. The truth is, I don’t know. I can’t tell you what I don’t know, beauty. I don’t have answers for them, for you, or for Amanda.”

  “She’s falling apart. She’s leaving as soon as she can.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Yeah, I called her,” she says, darting her eyes away, “yesterday.”

  “Where is she going?”

  “She didn’t say, but she’s done with LA.”

  I nod. “She should be. This will follow her everywhere.”

  Silence stretches a little while she studies me cautiously. I hate that I’ve put her so on edge, but I don’t know how to fake this.

  “Before I forget, Mom wants to have dinner soon.”

  “You should do that,” I say, passing on the invite. I can’t tolerate her mother for the moment. She’s always got my balls in a vice, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to play nice this round. Leaving my juice untouched, I stand. “I’ll be in my office.”

  “Lucas, stop. Stop avoiding me.” She stands and walks over to me, placing her hands on my chest, her eyes imploring. “Where are you?”

  I lean down and place a kiss on her perfect lips. Perfect wife, perfect life, but I’m totally fucking lost. “I’m here, Dame.”

  Unable to handle the distress in her eyes, I make my way toward my office. I barely hear her admission as I turn the corner.

  “I miss you.”

  Even with the sting of her words, I leave her there unsatisfied. I haven’t touched her in the last few days, and it’s unnatural for us. I can’t get my days or my head right, and I’m not about to fake normalcy. It’s not a part I’m willing to play. I’m not supposed to lie to my wife. Good, bad, or ugly, that’s what we vowed. Even if it hurts her, I’ll do everything in my power to keep them because aside from Blake, she’s the only real thing I’ve ever had in my world of make-believe. When I get to my office my phone lights up with a text from my assistant.

  Nova: Gabriela Parker will meet with you the first of next week.

  She’s willing to give me answers as to why she keeps bringing Blake’s name up and I’m not sure I want to know them, but I don’t have much of a choice.

  What the hell did you do, brother?

  Set it up.

  Mila

  Cradling the phone to my ear, I glance into Lucas’s office. He’s focused on his script, a large stack of books he’s ordered for research sit next to him as he scans the pages. Since his meeting with Wes, he’s spent most of his time in his office and thrown himself into preparations. He’s consumed already, and it’s just a matter of time before he flips the switch and starts to isolate more and more. I quietly pad down the hall and close our bedroom door behind me.

  “Mila, so good to hear from you.”

  “Yanni, thank you so much for the gift. It was much too generous.”

  “You’re most welcome. I was eager to get your attention,” he says with a hopeful rise to his voice. “I’m hoping we could have lunch at my Bistro, if you are interested.”

  “I’m very interested, I told Lucas last night that I was wanting to take on a project closer to home.”

  “This is good news. I’m so very happy to hear it. How about I email you the details and we can set up a date?”

  “Sounds perfect, Yanni. Thank you for thinking of me. Talk soon.”

  “Au revoir.”

  Working with a Michelin star chef to open a world-class bistro comes close to a dream for me. Whatever his reasons are for using my services, I’m grateful. Yanni is a concept chef, and instead of a traditional menu, he uses poems or haikus. It’s all very deliberate and carefully crafted for an experience. For the first time in years, I feel like I’ll be a part of something productive. The text from Amanda comes through just as I’m stepping into the shower and I message her back telling her I’ll be there as soon as I’m dressed. Submerged under the flowing water, I dread the hours to come. I can’t imagine losing Lucas twice, once to divorce, and then to death and then having to sort through the remains of the life he lived without me. Rushing my shower, I step out to see my husband waiting by the counter with the towel.

  “Hey, you,” I say, wringing out my hair before I take it from him. “I have to run out for a little while. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  He pulls me to stand in front of him, his eyes roaming appreciatively down my dripping form. “You never bother me, Dame.”

  Warmth washes over me with the way his eyes glitter. We spent last night polite enough to each other but avoiding conversation. He read his script on the opposite end of the couch until the late hours of the night. I woke in his arms as he carried me to bed. He lay me down gently, kissing me softly before drawing the covers over me. Our eyes met and held until he pulled away. It was as if he was trying to tell me something.

  He turns me now to face the mirror and slides his hands around my abdomen. He doesn’t have to say a word with the longing in his eyes.

  “I really need to go.” It’s the truth, but I avert my gaze so I can’t see the disappointment in his face. It comes across in his tone instead. “Where are you going?”

  I have to lie. Have to.

  “I just want to pick up a few bottles and test them out before my meeting with Yanni.”

  That part was truthful. I hadn’t kept current with the new labels, and I had a lot of catching up to do.

  “Yanni?”

  “Yanni Renaut, he’s the one who sent the bottle. I don’t know why he wants to use me instead of trusting his palate, but I’m excited.”

  “It’s because you’re good at what you do,” he says, a pensive look on his face.

  “Yeah, well if my success is based on my husband’s taste in wine…” We share a short-lived inside grin.

  “So, why is Amanda texting you that she’s on her way?”

  Dammit.

  I look to see my phone flash with the incoming message I didn’t acknowledge when she answered me back.

  Busted and ashamed, I lower my gaze. “I’m going to help her clean out Blake’s apartment.”

  His eyes flare. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

  I lift my head, looking directly at him. He’s so beautiful, especially when he’s pissed. There’s something so supremely sexy about a man when he’s at his worst temperament, his standoff demeanor makes me want to get closer to the fire. It’s a bad habit being attracted to him this way, but Lucas is the master of angry fucking.

  Was I going to tell him? “No, I wasn’t.”
>
  “Well, that’s just fucking fantastic, wife. You know there will be cameras there. Did you really think you would be able to keep this from me?”

  “I hoped I would,” I admit honestly.

  His jaw sets, and I can’t help but take a step forward for some of that heat. He angles his head away from my touch and then steps away from me completely.

  “Lucas, I didn’t know how you would feel about it, and Amanda needs the help.”

  “Do you care how I feel about it now?” he asks, peeling off his clothes.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m fine with it,” he says with a sigh, surprising me.

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” He shrugs. “Help her. She needs it. She needs…someone.”

  “Is there anything you want?” I ask. “You know…of his things?”

  He slowly shakes his head.

  “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you would want me to go.”

  “We’re not supposed to lie to each other, Mila,” he says absently, starting the water as if lost in thought.

  “Everyone tells white lies with a good enough motive. You included, Mr. ‘I love wine.’” I smile, and this time he doesn’t return it.

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “I’ll text you on my way home. I’ll cook tonight.”

  He merely nods and steps into the shower.

  Mila

  Stuck in traffic on the Pacific Highway due to an accident, I shoot a quick text to Amanda letting her know I’m en route. It’s only a twenty-five-minute drive from our house in Santa Monica to Blake’s apartment in Venice Beach, but with the line in front of me, it will take at least twice as long.

  My cell rings and I half expect it to be Lucas with an apology of sorts, though I’m not sure why I would expect one. We’re in a strange place, but I’ll be patient. You don’t snap back from something like this and move on as if your life hasn’t been altered.

  Though I wasn’t that close with Blake, my husband loved him like family, relied on him and his opinion despite their life choices. Blake was always a variable. We never knew what condition we would see him in. I vow to myself that I’ll try harder to give him the space he’s indirectly asking for, support his project, help him get out of his head, and resurrect the career I started before I became a Hollywood wife.

  My phone buzzes again on the seat next to me and I see my mother’s name on the screen before letting the call go to voice mail. I’m not in the mood to give her a weekly report. Her idea of conversation is an interrogation. She means well, but she’s the type that offers advice whether it’s asked for or not. I’d learned over the years to just humor her, let her have her say and nod in agreement. It’s not the most constructive way to have a relationship, but it’s better than arguing. She’s eased up on her aggression as of late, and though it saddens me, I can’t help to think it’s because she’s aging. I’m still not in the mood. I’m already on edge. It’s going to take all I have in me to go into Blake’s apartment and keep Amanda calm.

  A car horn sounds behind me, the driver impatient for me to take the five feet of space that’s become available in front of me. I’m helpless in this gridlock. Amanda is probably losing her mind, and I’m stuck in at least a half an hour more of bumper-to-bumper traffic. Lana Del Ray sings “Young and Beautiful” as I pull my hair into a knot and open the sunroof on my Range Rover to soak up some sunshine. In an act of good faith, I shoot off a text to my husband.

  It’s beautiful out. Wine date later?

  It takes the better part of ten minutes for a text to come through.

  Oscar-Winning actor Lucas Walker: Sure.

  I laugh hysterically at the new handle he’s put for himself on my phone.

  Oscar winner, huh?

  Oscar-Winning actor Lucas Walker: You know the rules.

  I did. Lucas was a firm believer of manifestation. His philosophy was to put his dreams and aspirations out there and speak them aloud and frequently, not only to hope but to expect the universe to answer. He said that’s how he indirectly became a success. He often tells me it was decided when he was young and there was no wiggle room, it was expected, so that’s how it happened. The work he did in between the dream and realization was a part of it, and he doesn’t deny it was necessary. He insists it was the road between vision and completion.

  I know for a fact that the handle on my phone is a joke because Lucas cares more about the work than winning an award. He’d left his Actor statue from the SAG awards at an after party the first time he won anything.

  Then again, what actor genuinely doesn’t care about an Oscar?

  When he first told me about his theories, I was a little hesitant to buy into it. Some people just need to see to believe, and I guess I was one of them. The truth is, I’ve seen the manifestation of so much since we met, I’ve traded in my cynicism and become a believer. Lucas made me one.

  After a somber greeting, Amanda hugs me tightly to her before letting me into the apartment. Seconds into our embrace, I hear the familiar click of the cameras. I hadn’t seen any paparazzi when I pulled up. Lucas was right, I would have been busted by morning. Stepping inside, I survey the space. I’d never been to Blake’s apartment, he’d never invited us over when he moved to Venice Beach after the divorce, and the minute I walked in, I knew why. It was a far cry from the house he’d shared with Amanda in the hills. His fall had hit him harder financially than Lucas and I realized. He had upscale furnishings in between mutely stained walls. He made good use of the space but, it was obvious that his once posh life had gone awry. Lucas always said Blake was the comeback kid and that he would land on his feet, but before he passed, it seemed no one would touch him. His reputation had already been tainted.

  It’s a shame because Blake was insanely handsome, extremely talented, and I always got the feeling he didn’t know his worth. Staring into his office, my eyes water when I recall the last time I saw him.

  Blake was ushering a grimacing Lucas into our house when I spotted them at our door.

  “Oh my God, what happened?”

  Blake grins at me like he just found a million-dollar bill as they brush past me toward the living room. “You married yourself a real cowboy, Mila.”

  “Fuck you,” Lucas growls as Blake deposits him on the couch and he lands with a groan.

  Blake belts out the standard western showdown whistle before bursting into laughter and turning to me. “Your husband decided to take an unusual route to infertility. Looks pretty serious,” he says before snapping his fingers and pointing at me. “You know,” his eyes trail down my body. “I’ve been divorced a hot minute. Need someone to keep the home fires burning? Or maybe I should make a deposit just in case he no longer has any swimmers.”

  I shake my head unamused. “Be serious, Blake, he’s hurt.”

  Blake raises a perfectly arched brow. “Oh, I can assure you I’m quite serious. I’m your huckleberry,” he drawls out before pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “And it’s a good thing because I think they might be changing his script name to Engorged Nuts Ignacio.”

  “Dame,” Lucas whispers hoarsely, ignoring Blake’s rants as if he’s dying. I race to his side. “I need ice.”

  Scrambling to the kitchen, I grab a ready pack I keep for after our workouts and start scrounging for a towel to wrap it in while Blake grabs a beer from the fridge. Lucas groans. “Shut up, you pansy!” Blake taunts from the kitchen. “Pansy, can you believe that was actually an insult back in the day that constituted fighting words? My, my, how humanity has depreciated. We’ve gotten so much uglier over the years.”

  “Come on back in here, I’ll be happy to show you just what ugly is,” Lucas sounds from the couch.

  “Cut the shit, Blake, what happened?”

  Blake grins, and when he does, I can’t help but note just how good-looking he is—rugged, blond with golden brown eyes and full lips. He holds a finger up to me indicating he needs another infuriating minute while downing
his beer before grabbing another. Satisfied with my growing annoyance, he exaggerates his exhale. “He got fresh with his horse.”

  “The hell I did! That horse had it in for me the minute he saw me. Get the hell out, West,” Lucas shouts from the couch.

  Blake pulls out some prescription pills from his pocket, pops the top and swallows two of them down with his beer before handing them to me. I raise a brow. “It’s Oxy and this buzz is my severance for playing nurse. He gets one every four hours, and he’s all yours.”

  “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

  “He was trying to tough it out,” Blake says with another throaty chuckle. “That lasted all of ten minutes. You know,” he says, jutting his chin toward the living room, “I’ve never seen him cry before. At least not unless it was on cue.”

  “As soon as I’m able, I’m going to feed your nuts to you, asshole!” Lucas yells from where he struggles, exasperated. “Baby! Please! Ice!”

  Rushing back into the living room I see my man has his pants and underwear at his ankles, cupping his dick, his hand outstretched for ice.

  Blake rounds the corner, and once he sees Lucas, he bursts into fresh laughter. I hand Lucas the ice and he thanks me when I turn my attention back to Blake.

  “What were you doing there?”

  He sets his beer down next to the coaster on our coffee table and knuckles the top of Lucas’s head. Lucas slaps his hands away attempting to get comfortable. “I came to see our boy.”

  “That’s enough,” I snap as Lucas looks at me with helpless, pain-filled eyes.

  Blake holds his hands up. “You two are highly unappreciative. I might just not get you the fondue set I’ve been eyeing for you both for Christmas.”

  Lucas rolls his eyes. “It was great seeing you, bro,” he snaps. “Really, if it weren’t for you, I would probably have some dignity left.”