“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “You know you’ll miss me in Vancouver.” I hated to bring it up, had avoided thinking about Ben leaving, the writing on the wall beginning to taint our time together. We were almost done. He’d have no need to stay once filming began. I remembered our initial meeting, the conversation in our kitchen. Five months of his time, he had said. Five months that was almost up.

He surprised me by coming over and hugging me, his grip surprisingly strong. “Promise me that you’ll bathe daily. And wash your face. And use that Dior mascara that I gave you.”

I pushed him off with a laugh. “I’ve got five more weeks with you. Plenty of time for you to compile a better list of guilty promises to swear me to.”

He smiled and tightened the cinch of his robe. “Want to hit Jimmy’s for lunch?”

I stood. “Sure. I’ll go and grab us a table. Let you get…” I waved a hand at his outfit. “Dressed.”

He mocked my hand wave. “Done.”

I tossed my Cherry Coke in the trash and left. I would miss Ben. I would miss our job. I would miss the excitement and energy of Something New and Different. I didn’t want to go back to a life where my most exciting moments were when the next Baldacci novel released.

I jogged down the staircase and smiled at Ethel Raine, a woman who had warmed tremendously to me after Ben and I reserved every room in her B&B for the next five months. The rooms here would be for the Directors, Assistant Directors, Producers, and Production Manager and Designers—the key people who deserved more than a bunk bed but didn’t deserve an entire house like Cole Masten and Minka Price, for which we’ve rented out the Kirklands’ and Wilsons’ homes. Minka Price—if she didn’t succeed in backing out of the project—was bringing her family, so she got the more ‘comfortable’ of the two homes. We had prepared/hoped/squealed for Cole Masten to bring Nadia Smith but, from the latest issue of STAR, I no longer expected that to happen. They were as done as our Waffle King after the Cow Incident of ‘97.

“Is it normal?” I asked Ben, biting into one of Jimmy’s subs. The secret to a successful Jimmy’s experience is to befriend his wife, Jill. I coughed over a first cigarette with Jill, decorated the homecoming float next to her, lent and borrowed tampons in times of distress. I was in, no questions asked. Ben… it took him a few months of properly coached ass-kissing and attention-giving. Now, at the last leg of his stay, he got the best cuts, could call in an order on his way, and was allowed to sit at one of the window tables. Fancy stuff.

“Is what normal?” Ben responded, loudly sucking on his sweet tea’s straw. Yes, sweet tea. I had actually converted him into a human being.

“A star trying to quit a movie this late in the game. We start filming in less than a month—doesn’t it seem like…” My sentence trailed off in the face of an overdramatic amount of shushing coming from Ben. He glanced around furtively as if the CIA was trying to listen in.

“Not here,” he hissed.

I took my own loud suck of straw, shaking the ice in the cup as I did so, frustrated. But Ben was right. Everyone in Quincy was straining their delicate ears to get every bit of information they could about the movie. You wouldn’t believe the stupid things I was overhearing:

“Did you know that Minka dyes her hair blonde? She’s a natural redhead… that’s what Emma Statton said, and she might be hired to do makeup.”

“I heard the movie’s big scene at the end involves an explosion, and the Miller plantation is going to be blown up. Trace Beenson ordered the dynamite yesterday for it. Four tons of TNT.”

“I just heard from my sister’s dentist that Cole Masten and his wife are swingers. The Kirklands’ place is gonna be like that Playboy Mansion up in California. Johnny said Mr. Masten’s requested to have a stripper pole installed.”

There was so much bullshit flying around that our flies were confused. Every once in a while, I’d hear something with a grain of truth in it, but it was rare. The Fortune Bottle was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to any of us. And I—I was seeing a little of my black curtain of disgrace lifted. Random girls had been calling up ‘just to chat’ and ‘God, we’ve missed you.’ Ghosts of my past wanting to reconnect, their hidden motivations clear. This town had grown up and forgotten me, my actions from three years ago putting me firmly in the We Don’t Know Her pile. Summer Jenkins, voted Most Friendly, class of 2005? That girl got buried after high school. When the ‘smart kids’ went off to college, when the farm boys moved into the family business, when the cheerleaders and Home Ec princesses got married and had babies, I floated, lost in the wind of this town. When I scored Scott Thompson, my stock had shot way up. When it fell, I landed in the town’s bad graces and stayed there, a small piece of Quincy that got looked over. Sure, everyone had always acted friendly, chatted with me in line at the IGA, asked about Mama, complimented my baked beans at Sunday church dinner, but any calls, any friendships, any social engagements had petered off years ago and stopped completely after the Disaster of 2012.

Until the movie.

I didn’t want friendships born out of curiosity and gossip hoarders. It was too late for Quincy and me to rekindle our flame.

I wanted out.

CHAPTER 16

“In Hollywood, an equitable divorce settlement means each party getting fifty percent of publicity.”