"That's not happening anymore."
"Why isn't it happening?"
"Because he's f**ked up." She turns to me. "Don't bring Rip into this. Please, Clay? Seriously. Just don't. I'll handle Rip."
"He said he'll hurt Julian," I say. "He said he won't be able to help himself."
"Why can't you just let this be what it is?"
"Because what it is ... is not what I want."
"If this is going to work the way you want it to" - she sighs - "I need some money."
"You have a job," I say. "What about Reveal?"
"I was let go," she says finally.
"Why?"
"Rip made a call," she says. "He hates me."
Things start expanding. I feel more relaxed. Everything becomes possible because the plan starts falling into place.
"Did you hear me?" she asks. "How do you live like this?"
"I pretend I don't."
Is she with you now? Where is she, Julian? I mean, I know what's going on. I know what the facts are. Fuck, Julian, what are you f**king doing? Are you f**king with me again? You're pimping your girlfriend out? What kind of f**ked-up dude are you? Tell me where she is ... Where is she? ... Oh, f**k yourself. I don't ever want to see your f**king face ever again and if I see you I swear to God I will f**king kill you, Julian. I mean it. I'll f**king kill you and I won't give a shit. I'll like it because everything will be better once you're dead." A drunken message I leave on Julian's cell phone when I wake up and Rain's gone in the middle of a warm January night, after the Golden Globes party at the Sunset Tower.
Two catering trucks are parked in front of the casting complex in Culver City and in the courtyard a crew is setting up tables and a DJ stand and the patio is filled with waiting young actors dressed in vintage eighties clothes and they all have blond bangs and then I'm passing the pool and walking up the stairs into an office where Jon and Mark are taking a break from the auditions with Jason.
"He's back from the dead," Jon says. "What's up? Where have you been?"
"Just some personal stuff I had to deal with," I say. "I had to finish a script." I put my hands in my pockets and lean against a wall, trying to remain loose and casual. "And I've been thinking that we saw someone who's perfect for Martina."
"We still haven't found anyone yet," Jon says.
"Well, that's not true," Jason says. "We've narrowed it down but who are you thinking of?"
Mark is just staring at me, slightly amused, maybe bewildered. "Yeah, who is it?" He asks this as if he already knows.
"We saw her a couple of weeks ago and, well, I've been thinking about her a lot," I say. "I think we should see her again."
"Who?"
"Rain Turner. Do you remember her?" I ask, then turn to Mark. "She was with me at the party last night."
Jason swings over to his monitor and taps some keys and Rain's headshot appears on the screen. Jon moves forward, confused. Mark glances at the screen and then, hopelessly, at me.
"Why her?" Jon asks. "She's older than Martina."
"She just seems like who I had in mind when I was writing the script," I say. "I mean, Martina could be a few years older than the others."
"She's very pretty," Jon murmurs. "But I don't really remember who she was."
"I think she's too old," Jason says.
"Why are you so sure about her, Clay?" Mark asks.
"I just can't stop thinking about her in that role and, well, I'd really like to have her read again."
"Has she become a friend of yours?" Mark asks.
I try to ignore the way he asks this. "No, I mean no ... she's, I mean, I know her."
"Who is this girl?" Jon asks. "Who reps her?"
"Burroughs Media," the casting director says reading from the screen. "ICM is listed but I don't think they're repping her anymore. Her last credits are from a year ago." He keeps scanning and then stops. "Actually, she got in as a favor."
"From who?" I'm the one who asks this.
The casting director scrolls down Rain's page. There's a sudden hesitancy in the room before Jason says anything.
"Kelly Montrose," he says. "Kelly made the call."
Everything goes silent. Things become reversed in the long moment before anyone says anything. Through the open window the palm tree waves in the dry wind and the kids are murmuring below by the pool and no one in the room knows what to say and the hangover I had forgotten about returns the moment Kelly Montrose's name is mentioned and I want to sing softly to myself to help submerge the pain - the chest that aches, the blood pulsing in my head - and I have no choice except to pretend I'm only a phantom, neutral and uncaring.
