Page 80 of Hollywood, Ending

“I’m really fucking mad at you,” I say at last. “You can’t abandon people like that.”

“Well, then we do have something in common, because I am really fucking mad at you,” he answers.

I don’t want to lie to him, or hide anything from him, so I just tell him. “They’re gonna fire me from Gods of Andromeda if you don’t come home. Todd says we’re a package deal. Both of us or neither of us.”

“Your priorities are so fucked up,” he says. “There will be other movies for you.”

“There will be,” I say, “but I don’t want to make other movies. I want to make this one. With you.”

“I am so sorry to inconvenience you,” he says, “but I’m not going home. I’m not making Gods of Andromeda. I’m done. I’ll find something else to do. Maybe I’ll become a server here.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You’re acting insane.”

“There is nothing ridiculous about aspiring to be a server. I was a server eight months ago.”

“I came all the way down here to get you, and you’re being—”

“I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“You said you loved me.”

“I do love you.”

“Then fucking act like it?”

“By going back into the meat grinder? No thanks. I don’t love you that much.”

“You’re being a child.”

“Fuck off.” He stands up. “I don’t need to be lectured by you.” He looks down at me, something new and scary in his eyes. “Are you here because you care about me, or are you here because you need me to do Gods of Andromeda? Because if you actually cared about me, would you be asking me to go back to that world?”

With that, he leaves. It feels like he is a stranger, like I have been tasked with bringing somebody I’ve never met back from the Caribbean. His eyes, usually so warm and attentive, are distant now. I want to scream at him that we are supposed to be in love, but I just let him go. I go back to staring at the stars and end up falling asleep beneath them.

Day 3

The next morning, I don’t know what else to do with myself, so I read the user reviews of our movie as they come in. I read every single review on Rotten Tomatoes—from “Juniper Castillo’s reach exceeds her grasp” to “It’s a great movie, starring two good actors and one woman with tiny tits.” I read and read, even though it makes me feel a little sick. I also read lots about Kai—mostly in praise of his performance and some in praise of his looks but also people keep using the phrase “stolen valor.” I hope he’s not reading these reviews.

When I was on Star Catcher, I knew that my castmates found me annoying. I was always trying too hard in class and on set, always raising my hand or asking for another take. They just wanted to get on with the job. Sometimes I’d obsess over the idea of putting a recording device in my costar’s trailer, where they all hung out, so I could know what they said about me. Being able to read reviews from critics and users alike is like listening to the live thoughts of the world about me and my work, and I simply cannot resist it.

By lunchtime, I feel overwhelmed by the task of being Juniper Castillo, of a literal million people getting to have opinions about me. But isn’t that precisely what I want, what I’ve been seeking this whole time? I haven’t had a real hit since Star Catcher, and now I have one. Plus it’s seen as Proper Art, as a movie worth your time.

We’ve made something special, and I want to celebrate that. But the only person I want to celebrate with is getting drunk at the resort bar while staring at the ocean as if conversing with it.

_____________

I see him at dinner, and ask if I can sit with him. He is drinking Red Stripe again, and nods at a seat next to his. The restaurant is crowded, and I can feel eyes on us.

“How was your afternoon?” I start.

“Living the dream. There’s a good coral reef just outside the lagoon. Lots of fish.”

Silence.

“This is the part where you ask me how my day was.”

“How was your day?”

“A little stressful to be honest. I have this movie that came out yesterday and I want to celebrate with this boy I love, but he’s mad at me.”