Page 5 of Under the Stars

“Yes, it’s wonderful. It’s beyond wonderful, it’s a lifeline.

It’ll pay off her back taxes, for starters.

And if she kills it—which she will, because she’s Meredith and because this part is so juicy, Audrey, so soapy and succulent, she’ll chew it for breakfast— once she kills it, the roles will start pouring in again.

Guaranteed. She’ll have her pick.” Adrienne paused. “Are you paying attention, Audrey?”

The receptionist caught my stare and looked swiftly downward. I tapped off the speakerphone and brought the screen to my ear. “Yes, of course. IRS paid off. Roles coming in.”

“Good girl. So, listen up. There’s a catch to all this.

Always a catch, right? It’s this lovely little thing called insurance .

And the assholes at the insurance company, you know, they don’t exactly underwrite movies as a charitable contribution to the arts.

So Meredith driving drunk and wrecking her Tesla?

Kind of a deal-breaker. Which is where you come in.

Quiet, supervised time to prove she can stay off the sauce? ”

Fuck you, Meredith.

“I would love to help,” I said. “Honest. But the thing is, like I told you, it’s not a good time right now.”

“Three months, tops. The first of August, you’re free as a bird, and Meredith starts filming, clean and sober.”

“Look, I don’t think you understand—”

“We’ll pay you,” she said. “I understand you’re down the hole? Deliver Meredith to that set on August first to pass a drug test, and you’ll have everything you need.”

The door of the examining room swung open. The vet walked out, face heavy. She caught my gaze and looked down at her clipboard.

“Foster,” I said. “My dog’s name is Foster.”

“Foster?”

“Sorry, Meredith’s agent. I have to go.”

—

A gentle male voice accosts me on the stairs to the car deck. “Hey. Are you okay?”

I snuffle on my sleeve and hoist myself up by the handrail. “Fine. Yes. Sorry.”

“Shoot, don’t apologize . You’re not hurt, are you? These stairs can be—”

“One hundred percent okay, I swear.” I start down.

“Liar.”

I stop and turn. My gaze hits the tummy of a fleece vest and travels upward to land on the edge of a broad chin, indented by God’s crafty thumb and dusted with stubble.

Its owner descends a cautious step or two so he’s standing just above me, against the wall.

Holds out his palms and smiles in one of those primate displays of nonthreatening body language.

“Just calling it like I see it,” he says. “Are you at least headed somewhere somebody loves you? I hope?”

“Kind of not your business, to be honest.”

“I realize that. Prurient curiosity. Happens whenever I find someone sitting on a metal staircase in the bowels of a public ferry, bawling her eyes out.” The ship lurches; he catches himself on the handrail.

The stairwell is cramped and damp and smells of the sea, seasoned with car exhaust. The lights turn his skin a weird shade of anemic olive green.

He offers up another smile. “Seriously, though. I need some kind of reassurance here before I let you walk away. So I don’t feel like an asshole. ”

As he speaks, a glob of snot departs my right nostril and trickles its way southward. I turn my head to the side. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Don’t worry. My mom’s right down there in the car.”

“In the car ? Damn. She must really hate people.” He drops an awkward pause, then—“Um. Wow. Would you like a handkerchief?”

“A what ?”

He unzips the vest and pulls a literal square of white linen from the inner pocket. “Handkerchief. For your, um, nose?”

“I didn’t know they made these anymore.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either, except my gran gives me a box every Christmas in exchange for taking her to her doctor appointments on the mainland. Go on, take it.”

“You realize I can’t just hand it back when I’m done.”

“On the house. Trust me, there’s plenty more where that came from. I won’t even miss it. My gran, on the other hand.”

“Your gran what?”

“Would kill me if I didn’t make the sacrifice. Come on. Please. Save a guy’s life.”

I’ll probably never forgive myself for the chuckle that escapes me. In my defense, it’s purely involuntary. If I disliked this man driving up to the ferry in his obnoxious car, wearing his obnoxious sunglasses, I dislike him even more now that he’s behaving like a decent human being.

You were right, Deck Man. The asshole, c’est moi.

In a show of surrender, I take the handkerchief and honk my nose into a crease of crisp linen.

“Atta girl,” the man says. “Don’t hold back.”

I fold the handkerchief into small, careful squares and slip it into my pocket. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“Sorry for what?”

“Nothing. Thanks for the handkerchief and have a nice life, okay?”

I start back down the stairs toward the car deck.

“Not to kick you while you’re down,” he calls after me, “but that was a little abrupt !”

“Trust me,” I call back. “I’m doing you a favor.”

—

Inside the car, Meredith’s reading one of those self-care books about achieving happiness by spoiling your inner child. She looks up and frowns at the disaster that is my face.

“What happened to you ? Did that husband of yours finally get in touch?”

I turn off the dome light, settle into the driver’s seat, and wriggle the switches until it glides back a few inches.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I pull it free. Message from Adrienne Drucker— Hit any icebergs yet?

Shipshape, I type back. The blue line takes its time inching across the screen.

“Who the hell are you texting?” Meredith demands.

At last the message sends. I slide the phone back inside my coat pocket and close my eyes.

“Nobody,” I tell her.