Which led me to wondering… why not?
“The worst is over,” she said as we walked down a short hallway. “There won’t be any press for the rest of the night.”
There were already dozens of people in the ballroom where the private party was being held. Tables were set with white linens and fancy dishes. The lights were low, and music hummed in the background—just loud enough to intrude on conversation, but not loud enough that we’d need to yell over it. I recognized several other cast members from Roughing It. A few stood together, talking near the bar. Rudy Barron, the basketball player, stood talking to another man, with a woman who looked to be his wife—or at least his date—at his side. Everyone was dressed in suits and formal dresses, and most had drinks in their hands.
A drink sounded like just the thing—a nice glass of whiskey to take the edge off—but someone stopped Leah Mae to chat almost as soon as we got into the room.
My mind wandered from her conversation. No one wanted to talk to me, anyway. More people came in. A few I recognized, but most I didn’t. I reckoned they were more people who worked for the studio.
I adjusted my jacket. The air in the room felt thick, making it a bit hard to breathe. People wandered past, some greeting Leah Mae—calling her Leah, of course. Something about that grated at me, but she never corrected anyone. Of course, to these people, that’s who she was, and she seemed to be determined to keep playing their game.
We worked our way deeper into the room, and I started to wonder how long this was going to last. I had no idea what was supposed to happen at a studio party. Would we just shift around the room, making small talk with different people? How long did she need to stay in order to feel like she’d done what she had to do? I wanted to ask her, but a couple of the other cast members were chatting her up about the show.
I glanced toward the entrance just in time to see Brock and Maisie walk in. She held onto his arm like she was afraid of letting go. He finally pulled those damn sunglasses off his face. Dark as it was in here, he probably couldn’t see enough to walk with them on. He tucked them in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and led his wife into the room.
For the first time since they’d arrived, Brock acknowledged Leah Mae. He held up a hand and nodded to her. She smiled back, giving him a little wave. Maisie didn’t exactly glare, but she didn’t look all too friendly, either.
The people Leah Mae had been talking to—she’d introduced me, but I’d already forgotten their names—finally moved on and I pulled her closer to the edge of the room. I didn’t know about her, but even though no one was talking to me, I needed a break.
“How are you doing?” she asked. “You hanging in there?”
“I reckon.” I adjusted my jacket again and tugged at my tie. “It’s a bit warm in here.”
“You must be hot in that suit. I’m sorry, I know this has been miserable. We don’t have to stay much longer. I just want to make sure I talk to Thomas Spencer, the show’s other producer.”
“All right,” I said. “But why are you actin’ so weird?”
“What?” she asked. “How am I acting weird?”
“You’re not acting like yourself. The way you’re talking to everyone, you don’t seem like you.”
“It’s just part of the job,” she said. “I don’t want to rock the boat, and it’s almost over anyway.”
I wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer, but I didn’t want to argue with her here. I rubbed my hand up and down her arm, taking solace in the feel of her soft skin against my fingertips. “Should I get us drinks?”
“That would be nice.” She touched the side of my face and leaned in to kiss me lightly on the mouth. “Thank you for this.”
“I’ve got your back, darlin’.”
“You’re amazing.”
Her smile soothed my discomfort a bit. I kissed her cheek and headed toward the bar. I still wanted that whiskey.
The bartender was a young woman with a shiny bob and dark lipstick. I ordered our drinks and waited, glad to finally have something to do. I hated the way people were talking over and around me, like I wasn’t there. Reminded me too much of growing up. I’d drifted around like a ghost, always trying to stay out of the way. Remain unseen. Being noticed usually meant being yelled at in my house, so I’d stayed invisible.