Private planes. Oscar winners. Las Vegas.
   
    I had stolen food from the catering tables and green rooms of some of the most popular bands in history (once, I even managed to swipe a bottle of Moet from The Buzzcocks)-- but it wasn't until this particular night that I truly knew what it was like to feel... like a celebrity...

    ...and it had my skin crawling out from beneath my hair.

    The air had changed wherever we collectively walked and necks craned by the hundreds.
   
    I was dizzy off a contact high from the weed that Spencer and the hip hop moguls had been smoking on the plane (and, also, easily having consumed a bottle of champagne all by myself).
   
     Once in the casino, I attempted to hide by leaning my head against Adrian's back between his shoulder blades as he stood at the Roulette wheel with Spencer who was, by this point in the evening, only capable of viewing anything with one eye opened.
   
    Adrian brought my arm around his chest, squeezing my fingertips. There was an audible low moan from across the table. He turned his attention to Spencer.
    "He looks like he's going to be sick."
    "Don't worry, man. I got this," said a guy from someone's entourage. He wheeled up a brass luggage rack and a few of the men placed Spencer onto it-- he was still clutching his Oscar to his chest. His girlfriend, Gillian, appeared mortified as she followed the procession away from the casino floor.
    Adrian and I trailed behind; my arm locked in his to steady myself.
    The group crammed into the elevator, arranging their bodies around Spencer and the luggage rack.
    Adrian looked in on them with a smile and shrugged.
   
    "We'll catch the next one."
   
    I took off my high heels in the elevator.
    "I forgot that you were shorter than me," He joked. I leaned up against the rail.
    "Hey, are you feeling okay, Aud?"
    Eugene used to call me Aud. I pressed my fingertips to my forehead.
    "I'm just drunk... and tired."
    "You don't seem drunk. Spencer seemed drunk."
    "Trust me. I'm drunk," I sighed, "and tired and my feet are killing me and I can't breathe in this dress annnnnnnd.... I'm pretty sure that my carriage is a pumpkin."
    "Or at the very least an elevator," He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the room keys, "Here, hold these."
    I squeezed them in my hand. The bell dinged at our floor and the doors opened. Adrian lifted me off of my feet, carrying me down the hallway to my hotel room.
    "You don't have to do this," I insisted, slightly embarassed.
    "You said that your feet hurt. Put the key in the lock, would you?"
    I stuck the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Adrian set me down on the bed, then sat down on the edge of the mattress. He took a few deep breaths.
    "You should stay," I murmured.
    "My room is just next door."
    I knelt down in front of him and rested my dizzy head in his lap. I could feel his breath on my skin, yet he remained still.
    Several minutes passed with us remaining just like that.

    "Do you love me?"
    Was I talking to Adrian or was I talking to Christian?
    "Of course I love you. Everyone loves you."
    "That's not what I mean. Are you in love with me?"
    Adrian slid out from underneath me and stood. He looked ill and there was a very long pause before he could bring himself to speak.
    "God, I am an asshole," He muttered.
    "What?"
    "I'm in a hotel room with someone else's girlfriend and for some reason I chose not to see this coming."
    "I'm not anyone's girlfriend," I said taken aback. This reaction wasn't at all what I was expecting from him.
    "I asked you about Christian two weeks ago-- you said something completely different."
    Two weeks. Christian would be back soon. I shook my head.
    "I didn't say anything different. I told you that the whole situation was confusing."
    "Confusing?" He looked disgusted.
    "Christian doesn't know what's going on. He told me that he couldn't stop me from seeing anyone else," I squeezed my temples. Christian didn't want me to leave him in the dark and I couldn't bring myself to tell him about Adrian.
    "He gave you permission?" Adrian closed his eyes momentarily.
    "Adrian, I--"
    "Audrey, it's a loaded question."
    "It wasn't a loaded question."
    "The fuck it wasn't."
    "What was the honest answer?"
    "You aren't even listening to me."
    There was a tightening in my chest.
    "It's late," Adrian made for the door.


    My head throbbed and my stomach wretched, nervously. I picked myself up and attempted to rush the door before him.
    "Stop. Wait." I turned to look at him but couldn't think of anything else to say. I leaned against the doorframe.
    He looked down at me and smiled in a way that was almost sarcastic. He released a quick breath from his lungs, shook his head and touched his mouth to mine.


***
   
       I tried to keep my word to Holly about setting myself straight. I caught the first morning flight out of Las Vegas. I left a note for Adrian as he continued to sleep in the bed.

    I met up with Noah after I had gotten back to Christian's house, showered, changed and fed Mr. Mittens.
    "You are the toast of the town, little lady," Noah told me as I approached his table. I wasn't anything but a liar. He stood up and ordered me a cup of coffee.
    "I could just kiss you," He continued, "In fact, I think that I will." Noah gave me a hug that would've rivaled the one that Adrian gave Spencer the night before and a big loud kiss on the cheek.
    "You seem very pleased with me," I said, surprised. I was expecting to get an earful about going to Las Vegas.
    His eyes were bright, "I am very pleased with you. You smell nice and clean, not like cigarettes and booze. You look refreshed. My phone has been ringing non-stop all morning. Everyone wants to know about Adrian Braughtigan's date to the Oscars. The girl who wore Audrey Hepburn's dress! Since you don't have an agent or management, somehow people have been getting a hold of me. Vanity Fair called," He slapped the table, "Fucking Vanity Fair!" He caught his breath, "Not only that but you and Adrian left the awards with thee biggest actor in this town and you left the after party with an Oscar winner! Fuck! This is good press for the movie. It doesn't get any better than this and you were a lady about the whole thing. You didn't slip up once."
    "I wouldn't got that far," I muttered. Noah didn't hear me or, at least, pretended that he didn't.
    "I can't believe how graceful you were. I couldn't be more proud. Also, a bunch of articles are popping up from two years ago, two, in which Mr. Adrian Braughtigan himself claimed that Audrey Moriarty's Severence was his favorite movie of all time. Did you have any idea about that?"
    I shook my head, "I'm afraid not until last night."
    "Don't be afraid of anything. I'm not! Just do me a favor."
    "What?"
    He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone, "Don't say anything to the media. I mean, let them guess a little bit. Maybe talk to Holly and I before taking an interview. Okay?"
    It sounded reasonable, "Okay."
    Noah leaned back in his chair, puffing his cheeks up with air and then letting them deflate very slowly, "Sooo-- what did you want to see me about?"
    I shrugged, "The point seems sort of moot now but I was going to tell you that I spoke with Sara yesterday. I'll straighten up and fly right. I'm sorry for any trouble that I've caused you."
    "I spoke to Sara yesterday, as well. Don't worry about it. All is forgiven. After last night, I'm prepared to make another eighty movies with you. I'm ready to grow old with you and accept lifetime achievement awards together."
    "If you didn't believe in me, I wouldn't be here doing this, you know."
    "If I didn't believe in you, I wouldn't be here doing this, either." He set his coffee cup on the table and looked around the restaurant, "It's going to be a really good day, Moriarty, really good."

***

    Christian was trying to be quiet but doing a horrible job. I opened my eyes to find him tripping over the bookshelf in his room.
    "When was the last time you moved that bookshelf?" I asked him.
    He jumped a little, not expecting me to be awake, "Not since I moved in," He whispered. "I'm happy to see you here."
    He crawled across the bed and hugged my body with his, kissing my nose.
    "How was your trip?"
    "A lot of work. Spain was great. Good food. How was the home front?"
    I didn't want to explain, so I simply said,
    "Great."
    "Did you get my letters?"
    "I did. I got a package yesterday."
    "Where was it from?"
    "Rome."
    "There will be more. Mail just takes a long time," He noticed one of his textbooks on the night table, "Have you been reading this?"
    "Yes."
    He scrunched his face, "It's boring."
    "I wanted to feel close to you."
    "You must think that I'm a real bore. I was too lazy to sell them back after college."
    "Oh, the glamourous life of sciences!"
    "I enjoyed it for all of the use that I'm putting it to now." He stretched and picked up the text book, "I'm going to take a shower and then we can burn this for heat."
    "No, don't. I like it. It reminds me of you."
    "You can have it," He handed it to me.
    "Another present?" I asked.
    "It'll look better on your shelf. It's cramping the style of my other books."
    For a moment I thought about all of the scripts on Adrian's bookshelf, then pushed it out of my mind for good.
   
    Before Christian got up to take his shower, I said words that I thought that I had meant...maybe I did mean them-- I don't know. Maybe I even meant them about Christian. Looking back on it, I can't help but think that they were words that ended up doing more harm than good.
    Christian sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and trying to assimilate himself back into his home environment. I touched his wrist with my hand.
   
    "Christian, I love you."

    I waited for consequence-- only there wasn't any. Christian hadn't asked me a trick question, he wasn't expecting me to say it and he didn't run away from it like Holly had predicted that he would. He simply tilted his head over his shoulder and smiled a close lipped smile.

***
    The first time that I made love to Christian, there wasn't a Seeds record playing, or any record at all. The room was dark and still and quiet. We didn't pause or hesitate.
    I could feel Christian let go of what came before me. Jolene's ghost was not in the bed with us.
    I forced myself not to think about what I had to do the next day, week, month or year. I forced myself to forget about Adrian or Seattle or myself-- whoever that was.
    I talked myself into everything that I could honestly say that I loved about Christian. I loved the air that he expelled from his lungs, his bones, his blood, his fingernails, his voice, his mouth, his nose, his skin tone, his worries, his fears, his strengths, the odd things that he found funny, the way that he was sometimes clumsy and accidentally knocking over glasses or lamps, the way that he swore after he knocked over glasses and lamps, how he was sometimes impatient.
    I needed and wanted Christian to love me more than I had needed or wanted anyone to love me. I thought about marrying him and bearing his children and listening to his records and mending his clothes. I wanted to love him more than I had loved any band or piece of music.
    We collapsed by each other's side, our bodies damp with perspiration. Christian's hair stuck to his forehead. I kissed his brow. I felt baptized. I was who I was supposed to be.
    I never wanted to leave his house, his room, his bed... but I suppose that wasn't very realistic.   
   
***

    My trailer door opened. It was Noah.
    "On the set in twenty minutes, Moriarty."
    He closed the door. The door opened again. This time it was Adrian who peeked his head in. The air was forced from my lungs and my spine tightened.
    "Hi," I greeted, awkwardly.
    "May I come in?" He asked cautiously.
    "Please." I motioned him inside.
    Adrian walked into the trailer like a precocious child. He kept his head facing the carpet and just before he sat down in an armchair, he got a glance at me and he smirked and blushed.
    We hadn't seen or spoken to each other since Las Vegas. We were both at a loss for words. We started with the most surface of conversations.
    "Uh," I searched for words, "How was Las Vegas?"
    He cleared his throat and nodded, "Um, it was good. I got back over a week ago. I called you,"He hesitated, "Every day."
    "Yeah. I know. I'm so sorry. I've been-- really busy?"
    "Yeah, I can imagine," Adrian wasn't convinced, "I had the super-eight film developed. I've been editting and scoring that movie we made in San Diego. I'll let you know when it's done."
    "Great."
    "We can have a screening at my house."
    The conversation was labored and those were the only pleasantries that I had in me so I sat stoically silent until I noticed something in his hands.
    "You never show up empty handed," I told him, "Every time that I see you, you have a fern or a board game or a stuffed animal. What is it today?"
    "A script," He said holding it up and out for me to take from him.
    "Oh," I was less than thrilled.
    "I was hoping that it could be your next film-- but only if you like it," Adrian sounded slightly proud of himself.
    "When do I have to read for it?" I couldn't believe what I was saying. I had never read for anyone before and it was impossible to imagine that it could be part of my language or life.
    "You don't have to read for anyone. It's my script. It's my movie. Try to read it tonight, if you can. The studio wants to meet with you tomorrow to make you an offer."
    "That's pretty sneaky."
    Adrian promised that he could get me a big movie and he did, only I wasn't sure that I wanted it anymore.
    "It wasn't sneaky," He countered, "I know that you can handle this. It's being shot over the course of three months in Bellingham, Washington. We can find you a place in Seattle with whatever spare time we have."
    He had stuck to his word, all of it, even the part about getting me home. I wanted to tell him about Christian but no sooner had I opened my mouth to expel words, did the door jerk open and Noah yelled,
    "I swear to God, Audrey, if you aren't on set in five seconds, I will see to it that you never get work again!"
    Adrian rose from his chair. He rattled off the details of my lunch with the studio, where and what time.
    "I'll see you there?" I asked.
    He shook his head, "I'm afraid not. This is something that you'll have to do yourself but it'll be great. I'm sure of it."
    "Okay," Was all that came out of my mouth. He seemed confused about whether to hug me or kiss me or give me a pat on the back and eventually, reluctantly, he waved goodbye.
   
***

    That night I stayed at my own apartment and read the script. I wanted to talk to Adrian. I tried watching TV, listening to records and looking out my window hoping that maybe he would show up but he never did.
    I listened to the same records that we listened to the night of the party, I listened to the radio show that we had recorded together.
    I checked my phone multiple times but no one called, not Adrian, not Christian, not anyone.
    At one a.m. I walked to the 7-11 and purchased a six pack of beer. I looked into Matt's window but all was dark so I assumed that his wife and son were back home.
    I opened a beer when I got home but abandoned the idea of drinking it.
    After checking my phone one last time, I crawled into bed and said to no one, not even myself.
    "I just need to sleep."

***

    Adrian's script was startling, dark and brilliant. It felt like home to me. I was aching and empty when I finished it because I wanted there to be more of it. I spoke to the studio and Adrian had told them what he thought that my quote should be (or rather, he made up what my quote was)  and they offered me 2.25 million dollars. I signed the papers.
    There I was, a big Hollywood actress.
   
    I didn't sign the contract for the money or even because Adrian came through for me like he said that he would. I signed the contract because I wanted to be a part of something that seemed so important and beautiful. I was honored that Adrian saw me in that way and I wanted the rest of the world to see me the way that he saw me. That's what I wanted my legacy to be. That's what I wanted to be remembered for.

***
    The mind is a terrible thing to have. It can work through the eyes, ears, and nerves. It can see an image and keep the image. It can hear a voice and save the voice. It can feel a body and remember the weight of it.
    The mind is capable of storing memories and playing them back like movies. The mind isn't always reliable, sometimes it forgets whole scenes or the film has deteriorated and it can't play the ending. Even worse, sometimes the mind can't forget and it plays things back as though they are happening with a vividness and a clarity that stop just short of time travel.
    When Eugene died, I began to sleep with the television on because I was afraid of my mind, afraid of the darkness when I shut my eyes. I knew that I would be tricked into watching these movies, I would hold on to faulty memories. If I just focused on what was on the television screen and I didn't think about falling asleep, then eventually my eyes would close when I was unaware of it and sleep would wash over me.
    When I closed my eyes in the dark and the silence, I could see Eugene. He was tall and muscular with curly carmel colored hair and a big nose that looked like it had been busted a few times. He had striking blue eyes, broad shoulders and he almost aways tucked his t-shirt into his jeans... that's not true, I can't remember whether or not he always tucked his t-shirt into his jeans. Damn. I think that I remembered him doing that a lot.
    I think that I knew that Eugene was handsome but I never looked at him that way. He had a lot of girlfriends when he was in high school and college. He used to play football.
    He was quiet for the most part but when he spoke, his voice was sort of deep and he had this laugh that came from somewhere inside of his stomach. He folded his arms across his chest, he had good posture, he stood with his feet planted firmly on the ground parallel to his shoulders.
    He looked older than he actually was. When he died, he didn't look like he was thirty-three. He looked like he was eighty-three. He was ready to go. He wasn't made for this world.
    Eugene was good with cars and taking things apart. My grandmother loved to tell this story about how she threw away a broken alarm clock and Eugene fished it out of the garbage, took it apart, put it back together again and made it work.
    He was funny. Not in the kind of way where he told jokes but he had a sense of humor. He was sarcastic. He was likeable. Almost everyone who met Eugene liked him. He was a hard worker. He was responsible.
    When I closed my eyes, I saw Eugene. Not just once in awhile, not only when I was thinking about him, but every time that I closed my eyes, I saw Eugene.
    At night, my mind would open one of many film cannisters and play something that had happened between us. The problem was that the longer that Eugene was dead, the less memories that I had. I wasn't getting new memories to replay. I had the first twenty years and that was it.
    For a short period of time, Eugene and I were living with our grandparents. My sister stayed with our mom because she didn't want to change schools. I was four and Eugene was seventeen. We shared a room that had a desk and two twin beds with wooden drawers built into the bottoms of them. Our comforters were dark blue with tiny orange, white and red flowers on them. I was afraid of the dark so my grandparents made Eugene leave the desk lamp on for me. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would get out of bed and change my night gown without reason. Eugene would lift his head and in a very angry tone ask,
    "What are you doing?" and "Why?"
    Sometimes I would catch a bad cold that would keep me up all night coughing and Eugene would say,
    "Jesus, Audrey. Put a pillow over your head."
    When I was a little girl, I would sit on his lap and slap him in the face. He would tell me not to and that only his girlfriend was allowed to do that.
    Eugene was the best brother that ever existed. I'm not just saying that because he was mine and I'm not saying it because he's dead. I'm saying it because I believe it. He was the only brother that I had but I couldn't imagine anyone better.
    Eugene gave me nooggies, melvins, pantsings, wedgies, ticklings, swirlies, instead of tucking me into bed, he threw me on the bed with his might, he would run in while I was taking a bath and turn the shower on cold just to scare me. He held me up to ceiling fans and asked me if I wanted a hair cut.
    Eugene loved to decorate the house for Christmas, he set up elaborate light displays while wearing a santa hat. His idea of a good present for me was a gift certificate to 7-11.
    We got into silly string fights, pillow fights, water fights. Our great-grandmother stopped buying the cans of whipped cream because Eugene would spray it into my mouth until I coughed and gagged.
    When our mom got into a fight with one of her boyfriends, it was Eugene who would take me out of the house and get me some ice cream.
    When he went to college, I stood on the front lawn and cried, he waved to me and told me that he would come back, which he did.
    Eugene called to check up on me when I moved out of mom's house, telling me about how lonely it was the first time that he left home.
    He was there for the most important events in my life and whether he said it or not, he was proud of me.
    The first time that someone told me that Eugene was proud of me was at his funeral. A neighbor told me that my brother borrowed a video camera from him so that he could record my high school graduation. It was important to him.
    Eugene's death didn't make sense. He was the good one. He was everyone's favorite. I know that he screwed up towards the end of his life but everyone makes mistakes, everyone would've gotten over it. It wasn't big enough to kill anyone, or rather, it shouldn't have been.