Fill Me (4 page)

"Really."

"Jesus, how does your boyfriend deal with you? You're impossible."

"Why don't you call him by his name?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I better not get any calls from Luke asking what's wrong."

"He calls you?" It doesn't sound like Luke to ask anyone for help.

"It's happened." She motions to a set PA, a poor twenty-year-old texting on his cell phone. "Alan, bring Alyssa and me some coffees. Make a fresh pot. And plenty of sugar in both."

"And almond milk," I say.

"And almond milk," she yells.

She smirks as he rushes off to run her errand.

"Is that part of his job?"

Her face lights up. She's reveling in her power. "Hell no. But he does it. So what do I care?"

"You're such a humanitarian," I say.

Laurie's eyes narrow. She pushes her mass of curly hair behind her ears. "I am your best friend."

"True."

"And your boss."

"I almost forgot. It's been minutes since you reminded me."

She folds her arms. "You should tell me what's going on. In case it's a problem."

"Is that my friend or my boss talking?"

Laurie clears her throat. She's not sure. "Both. I'm concerned."

"It's not a big deal," I say. "But I was offered a role."

She gasps, trying desperately to wait until I'm finished.

Deep breath. I have to prove this isn't a big deal. "Nothing that will conflict with this show."

"Thank God."

"It's a play in New York."

I meet Laurie's gaze. Her eyes look even more intense framed by her bright red glasses. She's not fucking around, is she?

I press my nails into my fingertips. "The lead in
A Streetcar Named Desire.
"

Her jaw drops. She shakes her head, regaining her composure. "Alyssa Summers! You have to take that. You'll have so much cache."

"Boss Laurie?"

She nods. "But friend too. That would be amazing, and you'll be killer in it. You'll knock it out of the park." She leans closer, her voice low. "I'm sure you're sick of playing Marie fucking Jane. I know I'm sick of writing her."

"I'm posting that on Twitter."

She rolls her eyes. "Why don't you want to do it?"

"It's six months on the other side of the country."

"It's Broadway. Right?"

"Yeah," I say. It is Broadway. It is amazing. But it's also too much time too far away from Luke. "But I don't want to be away from my boyfriend for six months."

"He'll buy you a vibrator and talk you off every night."

"Laurie!" I have to admit, I'm not exactly opposed to the idea.

"It's not worth the risk," I say.

"What risk? He's crazy in love with you."

"Yeah, but..."

"But nothing. You should do it. If you want to. I'll visit you constantly. I'll show you around all the cool parts of the city."

"You lived in New York?"

"Please. I'm a Tischie," she says. I stare at her like she's crazy. "NYU Tisch School of the Arts. Oh, never mind. But I can show you a killer time, a killer 'totally appropriate for grown-ups' time."

"But what if Luke realizes he prefers being without me?"

"Not in a million years."

"It's possible," I say. "This is why all these Hollywood marriages break up. People are off shooting halfway around the world and they fall out of love. I don't want that."

"So you'll work at it."

"I'll miss him. He'll hate whoever I'm hanging out with. We'll fight and hate each other. I can't do it."

"But can you really say no to the lead in a Broadway revival? Really?"

I bite my lip. "How can I say yes?"

"Just do it. Just call your agent and say yes. It will be the best six months of your life. It's New York."

I shake my head. I wish I had Laurie's optimism, but it really isn't worth the risk. Not if I could lose Luke.

***

I get home late, but Luke is still in his suit. He looks eager, like he's been waiting for me.

He greets me at the door with a long kiss. I feel calmer already. Right now, I need to be in his arms, to feel his body around mine so my stupid brain will shut up.

The last time I tried to take a life-changing role, I put my entire life in disarray. Sure, it ended well. But my life needed changing.

Right now, everything is perfect. I can't mess it up.

Luke pulls away, his big, brown eyes still on mine. He smiles, his whole face lighting up. "I got you something," he says. He goes into the bedroom and returns with an oversized hot pink gift bag.

He moves closer to me again, until his body is flat against mine. God, he feels so good, so hard and safe. I wrap my arms around him again, savoring the feel of him again. He smells good, not like my honey shampoo but like Luke.

"Go on," he says, handing me the hot pink bag.

I tear out the purple paper decorating the bag and reach inside. I feel something slick and thin. It's a poster. One of those matte posters pasted on cardboard.

What the hell?

I pull it out of the bag and my jaw drops. It's a mock-up. The poster for the original Broadway run of
A Streetcar Named Desire
--a silhouette of a debutante against a gorgeous red background--with my name replacing the original Blanche.

My heart pounds in my chest. My mouth goes dry. Even my lungs feel empty. It's a mock-up of the poster with my name. This could be real. I could be on Broadway. In a fucking classic. I could be the star.

Luke looks at me, his eyes wide with delight. "You like it?"

I nod stupidly. He really wants me to do it. Maybe I should be annoyed--he's trying to convince me despite his earlier promise--but I'm not. I love it.

He wants me to do this. He's willing to do the work.

Maybe... if we're both willing to work at it. Maybe we can get through six months.

"Ally, if you don't say anything I'm going to think you hate it."

"I love it," I say.

"Really?" His eyes light up again. He's so excited for me. "So will you take the part?"

"It's such a long time," I say.

"We can do it."

"I'm not even sure I can survive six months in New York alone. I'm not that far along in recovery."

"You've been doing amazing with your recovery stuff."

I shake my head. New York City is the land of temptation. There's a trigger food on every fucking block. I've been in recovery for my bulimia for almost two years now, but I've had help. "I don't know if I can do it without you."

He slides his hand along my cheek. "It's going to be difficult, but we'll get through it."

"But what if we can't? I'm not willing to risk this relationship. Not even for Broadway."

"Trust me," he says. "I'd die before I let something happen to this relationship. You're everything to me. Everything that matters." He brushes my hair behind my ears. "You look so excited. You want to take the part, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"So do it. I want you to do whatever will make you happy."

I nod, filling with excitement. My head is bursting with visions of this--my name on the marquee, standing on stage to a standing ovation, Luke visiting me in my tiny little New York apartment.

But I can't shake some other images--lonely nights, missed calls, ignored texts, the two of us growing apart.

"Okay," I say. "I'll do it. I'll take it."

But I still feel like it's an enormous risk, like this might be the very thing that takes our nearly perfect relationship and burns it to the ground.

CHAPTER SIX

Luke

Alyssa is distant all week. I desperately want to pry her feelings out of her, but nothing good can come of it.

She's going through a lot, turning her life upside down, and I respect her enough to give her space.

Time moves quickly. It's all travel plans and living arrangements. A friend of a friend has a sublet that lines up perfectly with Alyssa's schedule. It's furnished. It's clean. It's in the middle of the quiet, safe financial district.

I almost tell him no--Alyssa would much rather live in some fourth-floor walk-up in the village, a place with "character" and drug-dealer neighbors--but my need to protect her gets the best of me. I'll feel better knowing she's in a building with a doorman and security cameras on every floor.

It's like we're in a dream. We pack. We drive to the airport. We try and fail to sleep on our red-eye flight.

And then we're in a cab, on our way into New York City.

Alyssa rests her head on my shoulder, her hand locked with mine. She's not as used to thriving on a night of awful sleep, and she looks so damn cute tired. She looks at me, groggy and annoyed, and I point to the skyline. Her jaw drops and her eyes go wide. "Jesus Christ," she says.

She moves towards the window, sticking her face against it like a kid on a road trip. "That's... it's... it's so... Oh, my God, Luke. That's fucking New York City."

"It is."

"I'm going to live there for six months." She smiles, her face filling with delight. She's waking up. "I'm going to be a New Yorker."

"You're practically one already."

"Spoken like a true Californian. Do you have any idea how different suburban Massachusetts is from New York City?"

"As different as suburban San Diego and Los Angeles?"

"Not even close."

She looks so happy. Thank God I convinced her.

Her jaw drops. "Jesus. That's really a skyline. Makes downtown L.A. look like a joke."

"Are you going to come back to California complaining about the coffee?"

"Maybe if I was spending six months in Portland or Seattle."

"Then it will be the weather--you'll be sick of sunshine," I say.

"Once again, spoken like a true Californian."

"Please. Southern Californian. It gets cold in San Francisco."

She shakes her head, practically buzzing with excitement. "You're only making my case, honey."

I smile. I adore the term of endearment. "Then you'll complain about the pizza."

"I don't eat pizza," she says.

It rolls off her tongue like it's nothing, and I try to treat it the same way. So what if she doesn't eat pizza? She's been better a long time. She'll be okay in New York.

She has to be okay.

I take her hand. "There are too many things you can learn to hate about L.A."

"Like its utter lack of personality. Or its terrible public transportation. Or maybe it will be all the shallow assholes," she says.

"We could move to New York."

"You just started a business."

"I could take the New York bar. I could start a business here."

She shakes her head. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

"But I like getting ahead of myself. I like envisioning us as some bicoastal power couple."

She cringes and sticks out her tongue. "I am not going to be half of a power couple. That sounds horrifyingly public."

"It's an interesting idea," I say.

"Let's survive this separation before we get any crazy ideas."

She leans back into me, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.

We spend the rest of the drive absorbing the scenery. When we finally cross the bridge into the city, I'm in awe. Spending so much time in Los Angeles, it's so easy to forget how a real city feels. But this is a fucking city. The slate gray streets, the bright yellow taxis, the dark blue of the Hudson River.

We stop at a building on Water Street.

It's a nice place--as sleek on the inside as it is on the outside. Everything about it is shiny, clean, and new. Alyssa bites her lip, clearly not in love with the place. She throws me an
of course you want me to live here, you rich snob
kind of look.

A security guard greets us. It's early, barely seven a.m., but he's incredibly chipper. Nothing like the prototypical angry New Yorker. He makes small talk before handing over the set of keys.

"This is a very selective building," he says.

Alyssa smiles politely, playing her part, as usual. When the guard isn't looking, she turns to me and raises her eyebrows.

"It's a safe neighborhood," I say.

She shakes her head, but there's something sweet about her expression. She appreciates my concern.

We take the elevator to the twenty-third floor and take a long hallway to its end. It's a corner apartment. It must be as nice as promised.

"Jesus Christ." Alyssa's eyes go wide.

The view is amazing--we can see half the city beyond the dfloor-to-ceiling windows.

The apartment itself is small. There's a main room with a couch and a TV. A tiny kitchenette. A small bedroom with a very nice king-sized bed. The bathroom has a very spacious shower-tub combo. I have to stop myself from asking Alyssa to christen it.

She's already half asleep on the couch.

"How about coffee?" I ask.

She grins. "Such a sharp mind. I knew there was a reason why I liked you."

***

After coffee, we spend the morning touring downtown. Wall Street, Bryant Park, the famous charging bull statute, even City Hall. I ramble about the eight million scenes of
Law and Order
that took place on the steps of City Hall. Alyssa humors me, nodding along like she's enjoying my speech.

We move to the park across the street. She slings her arms around my neck, raises to her tiptoes, and kisses me. It's so soft and sweet that I forget where we are or why we're here.

"I'm starting to rethink my sightseeing plans," I say.

She leans in towards me until we're only inches apart. "We have a whole day and a half. And we're missing out on that San Diego hotel experience."

She presses her lips into mine. It's harder, needier. I slide my hands under her T-shirt, over the soft skin of her lower back, and pull her closer. She moans lightly, her body melting into me.

We're only a ten-minute walk from the apartment, but it feels like it's a million miles away.

I feel her hands on my skin, under my T-shirt. "Ally," I groan. "We're in a public park."