When the press decided her age was no longer bringing in views, they attacked Samantha’s hospital records instead. That turned into an even bigger mess, and when Roger showed up, she retreated even further into the house to block out the never ending unraveling that had become her life.
Why the chairman of the board, Danny’s fucking boss, was in her house, and this whole shit storm had not been taken to the office, she didn’t know. They lived in those buildings, in the theaters and studios, but they all descended to invade her personal space as she became company property instead of a person.
“I don’t care that your wife can’t pop out a kid, I care that the drama is causing a drop in the company’s stock price.”
Samantha’s mother always called Danny the devil, but if she ever had the misfortune of meeting Roger Chadwick, she was sure she would change her mind.
The sound of glass breaking as Samantha made her way into the kitchen later that night broke the quiet calm that had settled over the house. Roger was gone, not before looking at her like she was an infestation that needed to be taken care of, and Matt was back and in the guest house with a bottle of something and a pack of cigarettes. She could smell them across the lawn and she reminded herself to do a deep cleaning after his visit was over.
Danny looked up from the shards he was picking up, “I knocked a bottle over.”
“Then why’s there glass on the floor across the room?”
“I threw that one.”
“You’re bleeding. Let me see.”
“PR is going to have a statement released.”
“I don’t want to release a statement.”
“It’s not up to you.”
Samantha looked up sharply, but saw no demands in his eyes, no anger, just apologies. She went back to cleaning Danny’s wounds. He had cut himself picking up the glass, his normally steady hands a trembling mess. They had been for days, but only when they were alone, just her and him and the sounds of crickets in the distance. She pressed a soaked cloth against his skin, perhaps not quite as gently as she could have.
“That stings,” Danny grimaced.
“This whole situation stings.”
“The press is ahead of us at every turn, Manny. We need to get ahead of the story before it consumes us.”
“It already has.”
“It hasn’t yet.”
She knew the weight of his words and knew he was right. She also knew the potential impact of letting it continue. Still, would they ever get back to normal?
“This isn’t.. me, getting caught with a dollar bill up my nose. This is you, us, what we have together. What we haven’t been able to do.”
“Not Roger’s percentage dips?” Shaking her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She finished wrapping his hand and stood up. “Does it always feel like this?”
“It’s never felt like this.”
For as long as Samantha could remember, she loved to wear nightdresses. The kind with ribbons and no lace because it itched. The kind that made her feel like a lady, and not a little girl playing dress up. Loose and flowing, she imagined herself walking around in the twilight lighting lanterns to guide the souls on their journey. As she pulled her favorite over her head, she wondered not for the first time when she landed in a Gothic horror film.
Danny was there, on the other side of their bedroom, grimacing through his fifth water bottle of the evening, a sign that he was wishing it was something else. In flannel bottoms and a cotton tshirt because he was Danny, and he was reliable and warm and steady. She loved him despite his faults and he loved her, and that’s all that mattered. He was hers.
“You wore that one that first time we spent the night together.” His eyes were full of stars at the memory, a small smile on his face, his wavy blonde hair a jumbled mess from rubbing his hands through it all day.
“Please don’t speak. I’m mentally composing the musical score to go with my nightmare.”
Danny’s lips twitched in a smirk, a ghost of a smile, this is why he loved her. She was funny in a way no one else he knew was, a little sarcastic, a little out there, and said the wildest things without meaning to.
“There were no good moors to wander across near your apartment, so your bedroom had to do.”
“There were the cliffs by the water. The beaches were empty at night.”
“The beaches were full of the sounds of drunken college kids up at the campus. Not conducive to good nighttime strolls.”
“I had to build you a house instead to wander around in your nightie.”
“You didn’t build this house. You bought it from some old man who died. I can feel his presence at night.”
“Did you get into Matt’s tequila?”
“I had tea.”
“You don’t like tea.”
“It fits the mood. I can’t wander around in a nightdress without a cup of tea.”
“This might be why Matt thinks you’re crazy.”
“Matt will be forever alone because his imagination is wild on paper and hidden away in a stone castle by Dracula himself in everything else.”
Chuckling, “Okay, okay,” Danny put up his hands. Bracing himself, “Do you want to read the press release before it goes live tomorrow?”
“No.” Samantha switched from dreamer to locked down fortress in an instant. The saltiness in her voice matched the tears threatening to fall because everything came back to this.
Danny barreled on anyway, “They’re going pretty deep. They’re going to talk about the baby and my overdose, and I’m pretty sure your mom will be the next uninvited guest once it hits. You sure you don’t want to know?”
“Which baby? Which overdose?”