Page 60 of Act Like You Don't Care
Our breakup was all over the news. I grimaced at the websites over my coffee, then went for a run in the pink light of dawn to try to outpace my demons.
I’d dreamed about him last night. Some good, some… not. I couldn’t shake off the creeping fear and despair of the last one, of knowing that he was lost and in danger and no matter how hard I ran, I couldn’t find him. The suffocating feeling of it followed me out onto the run and only started to fade when I was already on my way home again.
At the last minute I’d tried to back out of the break-up, hoping that if I took Tam home and let him sober up, we could talk. Explore the possibilities.
In the end, it had been Tam who’d been the professional. He’d done it perfectly, almost as if we’d practiced it. He’d even managed to adapt when I tried to take him off-script.
During the trudge up the stairs, I gave myself a stern talking to. It was a job, I had no business letting myself get emotionally involved with a client.
First thing I was going to do this morning was tell my father that, under no circumstances, was I ever going to be frontline in a job again. I was risk assessment, not risk abatement. Let someone else guard the bodies.
I showered and got dressed for work, even though it was only just past seven-thirty and I didn’t need to be in until nine. Then I sat in front of my laptop and stared at the pictures from last night and wondered how I’d ever let this all go so wrong.
Tam
About a month after my very public break-up with Miles and a week after a wonderfully stress-free vacation in St. Lucia, I woke with a queasy stomach and the indefinable notion that something was wrong.Fuck, I hope I didn't pick anything up.I’d heard stories of people getting parasites through the soles of their feet from walking on the beach, but that never happened in the Caribbean, did it?
I fumbled my phone off the bedside table and checked my schedule for the day. One last bit of post-prod for The Kentucky Boys this morning, then I was done except for the marketing, which wouldn't be revving up for another month. I had some time off, except for the pre-production for Wirechild.
Will would get me in to see the doctor. I shot off a quick text, then dragged myself out of bed.
Badness complained at being disturbed, but as soon as I moved, she stretched and stalked across the sheets to curl up in the warm spot.
"Brat." But she still purred when I rubbed my finger along her cheek. "Don't wreck the place while I'm gone. I'm leaving you in charge."
She opened one eye and stared at me for a moment, then closed it again and went back to sleep.
"You're making me jealous," I told her, then I stood up and stretched. It didn't help me feel any more normal, but I'd worked sick and exhausted before—I could get through this.
It was studio work today, rerecording lines that were too blurred or had too much background noise in them so the audio guys could produce a clear audio track. Pete had decided at the last minute to change up a few scenes, which was the reason for today’s jaunt to the recording studio. I didn't need to be too dressed up, so I compromised with an old pair of jeans, soft as flannel from wear, a loose t-shirt, and at the last moment threw on a new hoodie to make it look like I'd putsomeeffort into my clothes today.
The smell of coffee in the kitchen made my stomach curdle, so I just grabbed a bottle of water and headed out. There'd be stuff at the studio that I could snack on.
Five hours later, I was finally finished. On the way home, I ducked into one of the small cafes that littered the area around the studio to eat a quick salad. My stomach had settled halfway through the morning, but I still felt weirdly tired and just off. Hopefully the vitamins and phyto-whatevers I was going to shove into my mouth would fix that.
My phone buzzed. Will.They had a cancellation this afternoon and they'll fit you in at two if you can make it there.
Two. It was half-past one now—getting there would be tight. I considered canceling it—I was feeling a bit better now than I had when I first got up. The fatigue was probably just from having skipped breakfast and I had a salad coming that would fix that.
But something kept nagging at me, so I flagged down my waiter—pretty sure I’d worked with him two years ago, but I'd worked with a lot of slim, good-looking brunets since then so I couldn't be a hundred percent certain—and asked for my salad to go.
While I waited, I called a cab and tried not to be nervous.
My doctor’s office here in L.A. was used to dealing with people from the movie industry. I was whisked in through the doors and back to a comfortable room with low lighting, expensive wood-like flooring, and current magazines to entertain me while I waited for the doctor.
That was the one thing that hadn't changed since I'd become at least a little bit of a household name—waiting in the doctor's office. I was there until almost ten to three and had gone through all my emails, chatted with fans on the movie studio's forums, and started in on the magazines before the door opened again and my doctor came in.
"Good morning," he said, in the calmest and friendliest of voices.
"Hi." I put my phone away, or tried to. It slipped out of my suddenly sweaty palms and bounced on the hard floor. "Damn." I scrambled for it and crammed it into one of the pockets on the hoodie. "Sorry."
"Something troubling you, Tam?" his doctor said, flipping open his file. "It doesn't look like there was anything left over from our last visit."
"Yeah, well, I dunno. I was in St. Lucia for a little over a week and I woke up this morning feeling like crap." I rubbed my palms down the sides of my jeans and rocked a little on the chair. "I was worried it was, like, a parasite or something? I was on the beach without shoes."
"Not likely in the Caribbean. Let's have a look at you. You can take your sweatshirt off."
I stood and pulled both sweatshirt and t-shirt over my head, then waited impatiently while the doctor poked me here, listened there, checked my reflexes, and asked me questions that had nothing to do with being tired.
