parka and click it on just before it cuts to voicemail.
“Carly? Carly, is that you?” The voice is muffled and garbled, but I know who it is. She’s the only one who calls these days.
“Jerrie? Hang on. I’m in a bad spot.” I’m shrugging the fur parka over my shoulders as I run from my room and down the hallway, hitting the rooftop access door with my hip. It clatters against the cement stairwell wall and I take the steps two at a time.
I’m winded when I finally burst onto the roof, my breath blowing a white cloud of steam in the whistling winter air.
“Can you hear me now?” I pull the coat’s oversized wooden toggles closed and duck behind one of the huge heating units to block the wind. The rooftop is one unending shadow except for a few yellow security lights by the door.
“Yes, I’ve got you now, Carly. Just checking in. How was filming today?”
“Everything’s great.” I tuck my hair into the collar of the jacket and pull the hood up.
“You made your call times and everyone’s happy with you?” She sounds all parental.
“Yes, Jerrie. I said everything’s fine.” She knows I’m rolling my eyes at her. “What are you doing up? It’s 4 a.m. in New York.” I pull the phone from my ear to check the time. Counting off fingers to try to figure out the time difference. Wait...4 a.m. or 4 p.m.? Damn time zones. Math is for ugly people.
“Don’t you know this city never sleeps?” Jerrie yawns, not bothering to correct me if I’m wrong.
“Better slip you an Ambien!” I think I’m hilarious, doing my best Jay Z impersonation and patting myself on the head for being so clever.
“That’s not funny coming from you.” Jerrie is choking on whatever she just drank.
“Jeez. I’m kidding. Can’t I joke anymore?” The wind blows my hood off. I catch it with my free hand and pull it back into place.
“I worry about you, Carly. This is your last chance. You can’t afford another slipup. The fans won’t forgive you again.” If this is so damned important, and she’s so worried, why isn’t her ass over here with me? It isn’t like she’s got anything else to do.
“I’m fine.” I hope she can hear my teeth grinding.
“Are you still taking your medication?”
“Yes.” Truthfully, the bottle of Neurontin is still beside my bed in L.A. Not wanting to give her time to read between the lines of my lie, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You know sometimes you sound more like a mother than an agent.”
The phone goes radio silent on either end, both of us trying to ignore the awkwardness my last comment created. It’s something about the word mother . Ever since I got sober, I can’t utter the word without grimacing. I hit the speakerphone button and sit the talking box on the cement ledge at my shoulder, fumbling in my pockets for a cigarette.
“Speaking of...” She pauses. “Your mother called me today.” Her voice is soft like she’s worried how I’m going to react.
“Well, lucky you.” My tone is so flat it sounds manly. “You didn’t give her my number, did you?” I bite the end of a Marlboro Red between my teeth. The lighter’s flame flickers warmly over my face.
“No. I told her you were on location and couldn’t be reached.” Jerrie knows better than to tell my mother anything about my life, which makes her one of the only people I trust.
“Good.” I take a long drag from my cigarette. “Did she mention Dad?” I hate to ask about him. Even picturing his face is like pouring boiling oil in a festering wound, but the words are out before I can stop them.
“He’s back in rehab.” Again the line is quiet. I grab the cement ledge at my chest with both hands, scooting my toes up to the edge to brace my weight. I lean back like a cantilever, looking up at the diamond-speckled black sky. The only good thing about this frozen tundra? The stars are beautiful.
“That’s probably good, too.” I take another drag and exhale the smoke,
“Carly? Carly, is that you?” The voice is muffled and garbled, but I know who it is. She’s the only one who calls these days.
“Jerrie? Hang on. I’m in a bad spot.” I’m shrugging the fur parka over my shoulders as I run from my room and down the hallway, hitting the rooftop access door with my hip. It clatters against the cement stairwell wall and I take the steps two at a time.
I’m winded when I finally burst onto the roof, my breath blowing a white cloud of steam in the whistling winter air.
“Can you hear me now?” I pull the coat’s oversized wooden toggles closed and duck behind one of the huge heating units to block the wind. The rooftop is one unending shadow except for a few yellow security lights by the door.
“Yes, I’ve got you now, Carly. Just checking in. How was filming today?”
“Everything’s great.” I tuck my hair into the collar of the jacket and pull the hood up.
“You made your call times and everyone’s happy with you?” She sounds all parental.
“Yes, Jerrie. I said everything’s fine.” She knows I’m rolling my eyes at her. “What are you doing up? It’s 4 a.m. in New York.” I pull the phone from my ear to check the time. Counting off fingers to try to figure out the time difference. Wait...4 a.m. or 4 p.m.? Damn time zones. Math is for ugly people.
“Don’t you know this city never sleeps?” Jerrie yawns, not bothering to correct me if I’m wrong.
“Better slip you an Ambien!” I think I’m hilarious, doing my best Jay Z impersonation and patting myself on the head for being so clever.
“That’s not funny coming from you.” Jerrie is choking on whatever she just drank.
“Jeez. I’m kidding. Can’t I joke anymore?” The wind blows my hood off. I catch it with my free hand and pull it back into place.
“I worry about you, Carly. This is your last chance. You can’t afford another slipup. The fans won’t forgive you again.” If this is so damned important, and she’s so worried, why isn’t her ass over here with me? It isn’t like she’s got anything else to do.
“I’m fine.” I hope she can hear my teeth grinding.
“Are you still taking your medication?”
“Yes.” Truthfully, the bottle of Neurontin is still beside my bed in L.A. Not wanting to give her time to read between the lines of my lie, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You know sometimes you sound more like a mother than an agent.”
The phone goes radio silent on either end, both of us trying to ignore the awkwardness my last comment created. It’s something about the word mother . Ever since I got sober, I can’t utter the word without grimacing. I hit the speakerphone button and sit the talking box on the cement ledge at my shoulder, fumbling in my pockets for a cigarette.
“Speaking of...” She pauses. “Your mother called me today.” Her voice is soft like she’s worried how I’m going to react.
“Well, lucky you.” My tone is so flat it sounds manly. “You didn’t give her my number, did you?” I bite the end of a Marlboro Red between my teeth. The lighter’s flame flickers warmly over my face.
“No. I told her you were on location and couldn’t be reached.” Jerrie knows better than to tell my mother anything about my life, which makes her one of the only people I trust.
“Good.” I take a long drag from my cigarette. “Did she mention Dad?” I hate to ask about him. Even picturing his face is like pouring boiling oil in a festering wound, but the words are out before I can stop them.
“He’s back in rehab.” Again the line is quiet. I grab the cement ledge at my chest with both hands, scooting my toes up to the edge to brace my weight. I lean back like a cantilever, looking up at the diamond-speckled black sky. The only good thing about this frozen tundra? The stars are beautiful.
“That’s probably good, too.” I take another drag and exhale the smoke,
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