Page 45

One thing was for sure.  Before today no one had dreamed there was a chance he could be fired.  
"I don't want to fire you," Stuart told him when David had calmed enough to let someone else get a word in.  "I don't want to.  I just may need to.  Scarlett is electric.  She's magic.  Incandescent.  She gives me life.  She's my muse, and she was made for this part, but as soon as I put you together, everything goes flat.  Flat!  I can't have it be flat, David.  Tell me how I can keep from firing you."   
That little speech, and fear of losing the role, seemed to help.  David tried harder.  Became more civil with the next take, like a light had been switched on.  A big heaping of humble pie had been just what the doctor ordered. 
What a spoiled brat. 
When we finished another take it was to a spattering of applause and eccentric Stu blowing kisses into the air. 
I was almost disappointed.  I'd have loved to replace David with Anton or, hell, just about anyone, but if he was going to behave himself, I wouldn't be a butt about it.
We were taking a short break while we waited for setup on the next scene when my phone started ringing. 
It was Bastian.  I took a deep breath and answered.     
"I can't find Dante," he began. 
I closed my eyes, rubbing my temple with my free hand.  "He's here," I told him. 
"What do you mean by here?" 
"Somewhere in town.  Or at least he was a few days ago."
Bastian cursed.  "Damnit, I should have guessed.  If you see him again, tell him I need him to call me.  He needs to pull it together."   
"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I asked pointedly.  If Dante knew I was talking to his brother, no matter the reason, I had no doubts it would send him into a jealous rage. 
"I see your point," Bastian admittedly wryly.  "Well, if you see him, will you figure out what he's doing there, where he's staying, and then let me know?" 
"If I see him, yes, I will."  
I stared at my phone long after the call had ended.
Would I see Dante again?  Did I want to?
I was able to answer the first question much sooner than I'd imagined, as the next time I went to my trailer for a break, I found Dante sprawled out on my sofa.  Again.
And he was stinking drunk.  Again.   
I didn't think it was the alcohol racing through his system, though, that made it so he couldn't meet my eyes. 
He'd come here to see me, and he couldn't even look at me. 
I'm not sure how that would have made me feel a few months ago, or even weeks, but with what I now knew, it made me feel wretched.
And angry.  Confused and conflicted.  Wounded and lost. 
But also, it touched me deeply.   
How long had he been living this double life, stuck in purgatory, trapped in a vicious web of lies, completely alone?
Protecting me from everything.   
I, frankly, didn't even want to know.  It is much easier to hate someone who you're certain has wronged you than it is to hate yourself. 
And I was very afraid that if I knew just how far back his lies went, my self-hatred would know no bounds. 
"Dante," I said, my voice so soft that it forced him to look at me, his entire drunken face registering a sort of endearing surprise, like he'd forgotten where he even was. 
"You look like hell."  That being said, he made hell look good.  His hair was messy, more scruff on his jaw than usual.  I was still wearing the evidence of that scruff on my thighs from his last visit, and no, that wasn't a complaint.
No suit for him today, instead he was wearing gray sweats and a zip-up hoodie that was open wide enough at the neck to expose his defined collarbone and the top of his muscular chest.  And the cursed chain that he never took off.  Also, there was enough bared skin that I suspected he wasn't wearing a shirt under.  If he weren't drunk, I'd have assumed he just came from a workout.  He was dressed for it, down to his running shoes. 
"How do you keep getting past security?"  I was mostly curious about it.  I'd had to jump through hoops to get on set the first few times, they were so strict.  How did he get so lucky?
"They think I'm your boyfriend."
"Why would they think that?" I asked him, but I knew the answer.
"Because I told them so.  And I bribed them." 
At least he was honest.  For once.   
"What are you doing here?" I asked him point blank.   
His shaking hand pushed his hair impatiently back from his face.  "I'm here for the same reason I always come back to you.  I've come for scraps.  Anything you'll give me.  I've come because I can't stay away." His voice was low and hoarse from the drink, but thick and dark with emotion.  "I tried to.  Don't you know that I'm always trying to stay away?  It doesn't matter.  It never works. 
There was a time in the not so distant past that his words would have set me off, thrown me into a temper that would have left us both bloody. 
But something had changed.  Something that terrified and excited me both. 
Something that utterly destroyed me.
Something that made me whole again.  
I did not know how far all of his betrayals ran, how deep or shallow his lies, but I was starting to realize that in one respect, at least, it didn't matter.