Page 4 of Romance Is Dead

Mara: You back at the hotel? We’re celebrating in my room!

Mara: Hello?? I know you’re not busy!

Mara: BITCH. When are you getting here?

“I don’t know what you expected.” Mara collapsed into one of the armchairs in my trailer. “You ignored my texts — what am I supposed to do? Not come kidnap you?”

“Yes,” I grumbled, sitting back down on my sofa.

It was nine o’clock at night and I was still in my trailer, lounging in a pair of ratty old leggings and an oversized Rolling Stones tee-shirt.

And, until thirty-seven seconds ago, I’d been blissfully alone.

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do. ”

“Too bad. I’m not letting you mope all night.”

“Good luck trying to stop me.” I picked up my crochet project, a half-finished gray-and-white chevron blanket.

An older co-star had taught me when I was seventeen, shortly after my parents had gotten divorced during my first time shooting on location away from home.

The woman, a grandmotherly type playing a murderous fortune-teller, showed me how to stitch simple washcloths during downtime between scenes, something to take my mind off my angst and homesickness.

Now, whenever I had a hard time turning off my thoughts, the rhythmic movements of a crochet pattern helped tune them out.

At home, I had a whole shelf filled with tiny, crocheted figures of Freddy Krueger, Pennywise, and other horror icons, but on set I preferred a mindless project like a scarf or a blanket.

“Oh, stop. Today wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“It really was.”

Even with my expectations for the industry on the floor, I still hadn’t expected filming to start this poorly.

This was my eighteenth movie. I was a pro!

It was supposed to be an easy last job that I could check off my to-do list before figuring out what I wanted from the rest of my life.

Destroyed property, cast and crew walk-outs, and cussing out my co-star had not been on my last-first-day bingo card.

Although, I considered, maybe it was actually a blessing in disguise.

Maybe I needed a sign that quitting was the right thing to do.

If I hadn’t been convinced before, I certainly was now.

“Well, I brought goodies.” Mara reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of all red and pink Starbursts. “I figured you’d need cheering up at some point — I just didn’t think it was going to be the first day.”

I immediately perked up. “See, I told you I was happy you came over.” I didn’t want to know how many bags of candy the two of us had demolished over various disappointments, heartbreaks, and late-night shoots, but I was happy to add one to the tally.

“Mm-hmm.” She eyed me warily as she tossed me the sweets. “How are you feeling? Lamp disaster aside.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, carefully unwrapping one of the candies. “It still doesn’t feel real. That this is the last one.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

I sighed. “It does though.”

My decision to quit making movies at the age of twenty-nine after a twenty-one-year career may have been hasty, but it wasn’t without reason.

The first strike was the reception of my most recent film, at the beginning of the summer.

Maybe in retrospect, I should have known that a film called Zombie vs.

Vampire: Battle of the Undead wasn’t destined for greatness, but it was campy and fun and I loved it. Critics did not agree.

One reviewer called the movie “notable only for the towering heights of terribleness it achieves.” Another said they were “worse off having viewed it than if their eyeballs had been removed.” Several called out my performance in particular, with one claiming I must have “suffered zombification myself to agree to the film.”

Ouch.

As the rotten cherry on top of the shit sundae, my agent called a week after the premiere to say she was dropping me. She was retiring the following year, but apparently couldn’t bear to keep representing me until then.

As Mara and I sat around later that night slugging wine and mainlining Snickers in her apartment, I’d realized I was a year away from my thirties and not only was I at the lowest part of my career, but I was burnt out.

I was tired. Tired of the cold scrutiny of auditions and the criticism of my performance in the roles I did manage to snag.

Tired from making a movie almost every year since I was eight.

Tired of the tabloids speculating about my body and blasting every detail of my personal life for the world to see.

Just a week earlier, a TikTok from a Hollywood gossip account had gone viral for saying House of Reckoning would be a smash success — but only if they replaced me as the lead.

Still, my final decision to quit had been reserved for a month later, when I met Teddy for the first, awful time. That night had been enough to make me throw it all away for good.

“Things will get better. First days are always rough,” Mara said. “And hey, at least you have a hot co-worker to stare at every day.”

“Gross. You better not be talking about Teddy.”

“You’re still mad at him? You should have seen the way he filled out his sweatpants when he showed up first thing this morning.”

“Please never talk about his sweatpants area around me ever again.”

“Fine, but you should still give him a chance as a colleague. Or filming is going to be really miserable.” Mara glanced at her phone and stood, tapping something on the screen. “Are you coming back for the party or what? You know it’s tradition for the first night of filming.”

“I’m sorry. I really just want to be alone tonight.”

“Fine.” Mara sighed heavily, grabbing her bag. “You’ll have to make it up to me another time, though.”

I blew her a kiss. “I promise.”

As the door clattered shut behind her, I picked my blanket back up and tried to focus on stitching.

But I couldn’t stop my thoughts from straying back to Teddy.

He was an annoying itch I couldn’t scratch, an irritating noise that wouldn’t let me focus.

Who didn’t know you had to have your lines memorized before filming began?

Who couldn’t hit a mark without destroying an expensive prop and injuring themselves?

Someone whose only experience was a reality show.

My eyes strayed to the TV. I’d never seen an episode of Pleasure Island Paradise , but now I was curious. Maybe I could check out an episode, just to see.

For science.

The premise was simple enough: eighteen singles arrive on an island with the ultimate goal of finding a partner and becoming engaged. Drunken antics, formulaic storylines, and dramatics ensue.

Two hours later, I was halfway through the third episode.

Some of the contestants had fallen in love.

Some had gone through devastating breakups.

All favored wearing as little clothing as possible.

Teddy was no exception, prancing around in nothing but a puka shell necklace and tight swim trunks as he flirted with every woman on the cast. I wanted to scoff, to make fun of the show’s ridiculousness.

But honestly, it was pretty entertaining.

A sudden rapping on my trailer door yanked me out of my reality television reverie.

I jumped, giving a shrill yelp like the first hapless victim of a cheesy slasher. “Damn it, Mara.” I paused the TV in the middle of a challenge involving the contestants licking whipped cream off each other’s bodies and hurried to the door.

But it wasn’t Mara waiting for me. Standing at the bottom of the metal steps was Teddy.

No longer in his football captain costume, he’d changed into dark jeans and a gray Henley, the top button undone and sleeves pushed up past his elbows.

He looked surprised, as though he hadn’t expected me to answer.

“Um, hi.” It was jarring to see him after watching him swim shirtless in the ocean a moment ago on the TV. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to apologize. For earlier.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that.

“I. . . Can I come in? It’s getting chilly out here.”

“Uh. Sure.” I didn’t love the idea of him sticking around long enough to come inside, but I also didn’t want to miss an opportunity of being told I was right.

“Thanks.” He hopped up the stairs, twisting sideways so he could fit his broad shoulders through the narrow doorway.

“Do you want a seltzer or something?” I was still annoyed with him, but if he was trying to be nice, I could at least offer a snack. “Or some. . . Cheetos?” I cringed inwardly. Holey leggings and cheese-covered extruded cornmeal — so classy.

Teddy waved away the offer. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for completely screwing up those shots. I know I got defensive, but. . . you were right. Everything you said.”

I couldn’t help but soften a bit. Music to my ears. “Thanks for saying that. In that case, I’m sorry for calling you cocky and selfish.”

He tipped his head in appreciation. “You weren’t one hundred percent wrong. I could probably do the bare minimum from now on and actually learn my lines.” He chuckled. “Shouldn’t be too hard, I suppose.”

Cue the record scratch.

“Excuse me?”

“What?” He looked genuinely confused, as though he hadn’t just been totally condescending. Again.

“You’ll do ‘the bare minimum’? Why are you doing this movie if you don’t give a shit?”

He stared at me flatly, like the answer was obvious.

“Ah,” I said. “Money. Or is it just the fame?”

Teddy wearily ran a hand through his hair, causing a stray lock to flop over his forehead. “You’re awfully uptight about a movie you don’t even care about. It’s not exactly high art.”

“I. . . Where’d you get the idea that I don’t care?”

“Doesn’t take a genius — you looked miserable all day.”

I flinched. He wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t realized it’d been so obvious. “I don’t owe you smiles. I was just concentrating on my work. Something you might want to try.”

“You know, I came here to apologize and you’re just — ”

“I dare you to finish that sentence.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I’m not one of your girls of the week that’s going to fall over with gratitude just because you threw a half-assed apology my way.”

He yawned, gazing lazily around my trailer. “Are you done?”

For the second time that day, I found myself toe to toe with Teddy, furious and fuming and trying to stop staring at the way his muscles were straining the sleeves of his shirt long enough to come up with a satisfying retort.

But before I could, Teddy’s eyes strayed to the TV, and a moment later, they lit up with delight.

A satisfied grin spread across his face.

Irritated, I followed his gaze to see what was so amusing. And then — oh no. Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He was staring at the TV, which had been paused in the middle of Pleasure Island Paradise . But it hadn’t stopped on, say, the ocean. Or the beach. Or even a nice view of the contestants talking.

No. It had paused on a close-up of a giant tongue about to lick whipped cream off a nipple that filled the entire screen. And it wasn’t just any nipple. It was Teddy’s nipple.

“Well, well, well,” he said, leaning back to admire the scene. “I didn’t know you were such a fan.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was. . .” I frantically searched my brain for an excuse, but nothing came. “There was nothing else on.”

“Nothing else on streaming? Isn’t that famously full of more content than you could ever possibly watch?”

Cheeks burning, I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. How much more humiliation could I endure for the day? And so much of it nipple-related.

“I’m going back to the hotel. You need to leave.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“I’ll pass.”

He made a show of peering out the window. “It’s awfully dark out there. And we are headed to the same parking lot.”

“I’ll give you a head start.”

Teddy burst out with a laugh. “Wow, you’re stubborn.”

I hesitated. Everything in me wanted to insist that I could walk my own self to my own car, thank you very much.

But I had to admit he was right. There were no lights and we were in the middle of nowhere — it was freaking dark out there.

Jason Vorhees himself could be lurking nearby in his hockey mask with a chainsaw.

“Go.” I pulled on my Converse and hoodie and grabbed my bag. “I’m leaving so you need to go too.”

“Ladies first.”

I rolled my eyes as I exited the trailer, locking it securely behind us. I was in no mood for his patronizing attempts at chivalry.

The day had been warm, but the night air was brisk.

The moon was a skinny sliver, offering almost no light to walk by.

I lengthened my stride as I made my way through base camp, eager to put as much distance as possible between me and Teddy.

But as we came to the long stretch of field that came before the road we had to cross to get to the parking area, I heard Teddy’s footsteps getting closer and closer.

“Would you stop creeping up on me?” I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ward off the chill.

“Why, you scared?” Teddy whispered in my ear.

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Interesting. Then why are you pressed up against me?”

Looking down, I realized he was right. Somehow, we’d ended up so close that we were hip to hip.

I jerked away. “Sorry. I’ve always had trouble walking in a straight line.”

“You might want to get that checked. Sounds like it could be a problem with your amygdala.”

“I’m pretty sure it would be an inner ear issue.”

Teddy shrugged. “Either way. Doesn’t sound normal.”

“It’s totally normal, I just — Ah!”

I screeched to a halt, narrowly keeping myself from running into the deep ditch separating the field from the road.

I windmilled my arms, suddenly off balance, reaching for something — anything — that would keep me from toppling over.

Teddy gripped my arm, steadying us both as we moved back onto stable ground.

I grappled with my phone, turning up the brightness as I tried to find a way across.

And then I screamed.