Ghosted

“Cut!” the AD yells, and half a dozen people groan when he adds, “Let’s take a ten minute break to clear our heads.”

Right away, Serena stomps over to Cliff, the two of them having a heated exchange before he pulls her into her trailer. Jazz approaches me, making a motion, tapping her nostril like she’s snorting something.

Jazz isn’t far off the mark, because Serena has a hell of a lot more pep when she resurfaces.

“You're high,” I tell her. Not a question now, because I know.

Instead of being angry, Serena grins, pressing her hand to my chest. “You want some?”

“Are you crazy?” I grab her wrist and pull her hand away. “You just overdosed last month.”

“Shut up,” she hisses, yanking from my grasp. “Nobody knows about that. Cliff promised—”

“That he’d keep it a secret? Maybe he will, but that's not the point. You need help, Ser. You need back in rehab.”

She glares at me. "I told you I was fine. I can handle it.”

“Need I remind you again that you overdosed?”

“That has nothing to do with the damn coke,” she growls. “So, what, I swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills and took a nap. Get off my ass about it.”

Whoa. What the fuck? “You did it on purpose?”

“I was tired,” she says. “I'm over it. It'll never happen again.”

We’re called for the scene before I can respond. A few more takes, that’s all we need, but I’m struggling to stay focused after what Serena told me, while she's bouncing off the goddamn walls. Over and over and over, we go through it, before we finally manage to get it finished.

That’s a wrap.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Everyone around me cheers. I try to go after Serena, to talk to her, but Cliff gets in my way, saying, “Congratulations.”

I eye him warily as Serena escapes to her trailer. “Thanks.”

“You don’t look happy,” he says. “Going to miss the suit?”

I shrug. I think I actually might. I won’t miss the stress of trying to stay sober while surrounded by temptation, night after night, but I’m going to miss putting on the suit, miss playing the character that changed my life.

“Just bittersweet,” I tell him.

“I bet,” he says, smacking me on the back. “But there are plenty more opportunities in your future, Johnny. Since you can't make today’s four o’clock, the producer wants to see you in thirty minutes, so head over to wardrobe and meet us in your trailer.” He starts to walk away, but hesitates. “Oh, by the way, security told me earlier that some guy showed up, claiming to be your assistant.”

“Already? What time is it?”

“It’s almost one o’clock,” he says. “Are you telling me you actually hired someone?”

My heart drops.

I shove past Cliff, ignoring him as he calls for me, wanting his question answered. I head straight for security, spotting Jack standing along the side with a guard, looking somewhere between disturbed and amused.

“Strangest shit I’ve ever witnessed in Jersey,” Jack says, looking me over. “And that’s saying something, because I once saw a chimpanzee roller skating, and that was weird as fuck.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, even though I know it isn’t one,” I say, grabbing his arm and making him follow me. It’s about a two-and-a-half hour drive to Bennett Landing, but I barely have two hours. “Please tell me you drove.”

Before he can respond, I hear Cliff shouting as he follows. “Johnny! Where are you going?”

“Oh, buddy.” Jack glances behind us at Cliff. “Am I your getaway driver?”

“Something like that,” I say. “You ever play Grand Theft Auto?”

“Every fucking day, man.”

“Good,” I say, continuing to walk, despite Cliff attempting to catch up. “If you can get me where I need to be, there will be one hell of a reward in it for you.”

His eyes light up as he pulls out a set of car keys. “Mission accepted.”

There’s a crowd gathered around set. They figured out we’re here. They know we’re wrapping today. I scan the area, looking for a way around them.

“Where’d you park?” I ask, hoping it’s anywhere but right across the street.

“Right across the street,” he says.

Fuck.

I’m going to have to go through the crowd.

“You sure you, uh, don’t want to change?” Jack asks, his eyes flickering to me, conflicted.

“No time for that.”

The crowd spots me, and they start going crazy, making Cliff yell louder to get my attention, but I don’t stop. I slip off of set, past the metal barricades and right into the street, as security tries to keep the crowd back, but it’s a losing game. So we run, and I follow Jack to an old station wagon, the tan paint faded.

“This is what you drive?”

“Not all of us grew up with trust funds,” he says, slapping his hand against the rusted hood. “This was my inheritance.”