“What is it, T?”
She gulps and holds out her palm to show me what took her by surprise.
A handful of my hair.
My heart hydroplanes in my chest, spinning with dread and fear. A rash on my arms after too much time in the sun.
Understandable.
A new spot or two on my scalp.
Not unexpected.
Whole clumps of my hair coming out in Takira’s hands?
Alarming.
I swivel around to stare up at Takira, and her eyes reflect the worry building in me.
“Have you talked to Dr. Ansford?” she asks.
“Yeah, off and on, but not since the break. Everything’s been going well.”
I hesitate and then peel the sleeves of my bathrobe back, revealing the dark, dry patches on my arms. I hadn’t paid much attention, but they’ve gotten a little worse since Santa Barbara. I’ve had them before, but there are a few more this time.
“You think this is the beginning of a serious flare-up?” Takira asks. She lifts my chin and scans my face. I know she’s looking for the butterfly rash across my nose and cheeks I’ve had a few times before. “It’s not on your face yet, but between these new patches and your hair, I think you need to be aggressive about getting in with Dr. Ansford.”
I meant to call her after Santa Barbara, but things got so hectic when we started filming after Christmas break. To be honest, it wasn’t a priority . . . until now.
“I’ll call her today on my break.” I turn back around, and grab Dessi’s wig from the nearby mannequin head. I need to refocus for the upcoming scene. “Come on, T. I gotta be on set in fifteen minutes.”
Takira stares at the wig for an extra few seconds. “What you gotta do is take this seriously.”
“I am. I’ve been doing everything Dr. Ansford instructed. We’ve been filming for months with no real signs of trouble, and now that we have some symptoms, I’ll address them.”
“Stress feeds this, and what’s more stressful than the situation you’ve been in? Dancing eight, nine hours a day? You’re in almost every scene? It’s a lot, Neev.”
“And it’s almost over. I don’t need them to start doubting me now. I have to finish strong.” I jiggle the wig. “Speaking of, make me Dessi?”
“Okay, but I’m not letting you off the hook. If you don’t talk to Dr. Ansford today, I’ll go to Canon myself.”
“The hell you will. If there’s a problem that will hinder my performance, I’ll notify the producers. Until that time, let me decide what I’m capable of, okay? Canon’s not just my . . .”
Lover?
Boyfriend?
My man?
“I’m not just involved with him,” I settle on. “He’s my boss. This is the movie of a lifetime, not just for me, but for him. For Evan. For all of us.” I bite my lip and squeeze her hand. “Please, T? Just give me time to talk with Dr. Ansford at least.”
Takira blows out a long, slow breath, nods and takes the wig. She carefully tucks and pins my hair before slipping the cap over my braids and fitting the wig in place.
Within minutes, my makeup is done and I’m slipping into one of Linh’s costumes. The woman staring back at me in the mirror is just as much Dessi as she is Neevah.
And we both have a job to do.
“This could get serious, Neevah.”
Not the words I want to hear from Dr. Ansford when we chat on my break. She looks at me soberly from the video window on my iPad. I’d hoped, when I showed her the new rashes on my arms and legs and the additional bald spots, she would say it was just part of the disease. Nothing to worry about.
Except she does look worried.
“Any other symptoms?” she demands, leaning forward and probing with a sharp-eyed perusal.
“No.”
“No fatigue? Muscle aches? Joint pain?”
“I spent the last few months dancing, acting ten, eleven, twelve hours a day. Some fatigue, muscle aches, and joint pain come with the territory.”
“So you could have had unusual joint pain and fatigue that you chalked up to the rigorous dance numbers, but might actually have been signaling the onset of a flare-up.”
“I mean . . .” A band tightens around my chest at the implication. “I guess, but I’m in the best shape of my life.”
“Weight gain or loss?”
Linh’s tape measure cinching my waist taunts me.
“I’ve lost weight. Again, dancing, but seem to be gaining some now. We’re just coming out of the holidays. I ate too much.”
“Swelling?”
I hesitate before answering honestly. “My ankles, some, yeah.”
“We need to get bloodwork, urine test, metabolic panel.”
“Okay. We’re getting into one of the toughest stretches of shooting. In a few days I can—”
“Today, Neevah. The doctor I referred you to out there—I’ll ask her to see you today and do a blood work-up.”
“You don’t understand. I’m in every scene today. Our schedule is already set. If I don’t show up, the whole day is thrown off. A hundred people don’t work. I have to give them more notice than that. At least let me see if they can move some things around tomorrow so I can come in later and get the blood drawn then?”