My teeth clamp together to the point of discomfort. My jaw must be about to shatter. This cannot be good, and I’m bracing myself not to explode all over my team when Evan says whatever the hell he’s taking forever to tell us.
“The skin condition Neevah has is discoid lupus,” Evan says, looking up when Jill gasps. “Discoid lupus isn’t life-threatening. You’re probably thinking of systemic lupus, like I did at first. Neevah had to explain the difference to me.”
“Oh.” Jill touches her chest, closing her eyes. “Thank God.”
“But,” Evan says, shifting his eyes to me, “they’re concerned that Neevah may be in the middle of or approaching a flare-up.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I demand, my voice sounding like it’s being strained by a cheese grater.
“Apparently her levels—don’t ask me for all the acronyms she gave me. ANA, WBC, all kinds of letters and tests—are all off. They’re especially concerned about her elevated creatinine levels.”
“And that indicates what?” Kenneth asks.
“Um, maybe not much. She starts a new prescription today, which they hope will level things out, but I guess the combination of what they saw across the panel has them concerned about her kidneys. They want to biopsy her kidney as soon as possible.”
Biopsy her kidney.
Lupus.
Life-threatening.
Even though he said discoid lupus is not life-threatening, it’s apparent the doctor doesn’t like the direction this is headed.
“This shouldn’t affect production today,” Evan continues. “But in a few days, when she goes in for the biopsy—”
I stand abruptly, the action scraping the chair across the hardwood floor and cutting Evan off.
“Fuck you,” I tell him, my eyes narrowed. “You find this out and you don’t tell me? And then you speed right past this information like I’m supposed to—”
“I knew you were on a run with the props team and—”
“And so you just neglected to tell me at the absolute earliest moment that my girlfriend has lupus and needs a biopsy on her kidneys?”
“If you check your phone, you’ll see I tried calling you,” he says in that even tone I hate, like he’s reasoning with me when I’m being unreasonable. “You didn’t answer, and I got caught up taking care of some issues this morning before we had a chance to talk.”
He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Maybe the real problem you have,” Evan grinds out, “is that she didn’t tell you, and that is something you’ll have to take up with your girlfriend later. My job is to make sure this disrupts the movie we’ve spent two years and millions of dollars on as little as possible, which is why she came to me and not you. She understands that.”
“Well, I don’t understand,” I fire back, heading toward the door. “Guys, I think we were just about done anyway. As Evan has so effectively reported, Neevah’s medical condition shouldn’t affect shooting today. We’ll figure out tomorrow.”
“And where are you going?” Evan asks, his tone sharp as a new blade.
“Motherfucker, where you think I’m going?”
I stomp out of the room and take a few paces before realizing I am stomping and probably scowling, based on the concerned looks of the cast and crew. My steps slow and then stop, right in the middle of our 1930s French Riviera. I let all the information I just heard sink in. My fists are clenched at my sides. My chest heaves from the effort of walking and breathing. I hate being in the dark and I hate being out of control, and this shit with Neevah is too much of both.
I need to know everything.
I start with hair and makeup, but she’s not in the tent they’ve set up for the crew. Takira is, though, trimming a wig on a mannequin. She looks up, smiling when she sees me approaching. She must not know, or she doesn’t want me to know. I don’t care to figure out why she’s smiling. After hearing Evan tell me about Neevah, I need to hear it from her and no one else.
“Where is she?” I ask, unable to summon manners.
Takira’s smile slips, but a teasing glint enters her eye, like we have a secret. We do not have a secret. Everyone knows I’m sprung for Neevah. I’ve failed at concealing that fact.
“Wardrobe,” Takira answers. “’Bout five minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” I mutter tersely, heading for the hard-topped tent I searched yesterday. This time, I find her. She’s standing in a floor-length gold dress embellished with sequined orchids. It molds to her upper body, faithfully follows the curves of her breasts and waist and hips. It shimmers across the rich hue of her skin like gold dust, and she’s laughing down at Linh, who’s on her knees with pins in her mouth, grinning while she adjusts something on the costume. Joy—there’s no other way to describe it—lights Neevah’s face. Her laugh rings out like a chime and her head is thrown back, like she’s giving herself completely over to the moment she’s in right now. Like besides doing what she loves most, she doesn’t have a care in the world.