"No, that's fine. I can make that day. Sure, yeah. That's great. Thank you so much." She hangs her phone up, a big smile on her face.
"Good news?"
"I got a job!"
"No way! That's amazing, babe." I drop my cigarette in the ashtray and go over and hug her. "Where's the job?"
"Here in LA. At a theater downtown. They need a new wardrobe mistress. Their last one just upped and quit on them. So, they need me to start pretty much straightaway."
"That's fucking great. I'm happy for you." I reach over and grab my cigarette. Then, I sit back and take a drag.
"I'm happy for me, too." She snuggles into my body.
"So, when do you start?"
"They want me to go in on Monday."
"So, I've got two more days with you."
She tips her head back and looks up at me. "You've got forever with me, if you still want me?"
I lean my head down and kiss her lips. "I'll always want you."
"Good." She plants another kiss on me. Then, she moves her head and tucks it under my chin.
I take another drag of my cigarette and watch the smoke curl up into the air.
"What a great day," she murmurs. "You got your boot off, and I got a new job."
"We should go out. Celebrate."
She sits up and turns to me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I smile. "Go get dressed 'cause I'm taking you out dancing."
Ava
My hair is up in a sleek ponytail with some strands framing my face. My makeup is neutral, my lips red. I'm wearing a Victoria Beckham dress that I snagged from the last film I worked on. It's a calf-length fifties-style dress with a rosebud pattern, cinched waist, and asymmetrical high neckline. I've red heels on my feet.
I spray my favorite perfume on, and I'm ready to go.
I look at my reflection in the mirror.
My cheeks are flush. I look happy.
That's because I am.
I'm going out dancing with the man I love, and I've just gotten a new job. There's a lot to be happy about right now.
I smooth my hands down the front of my dress. Grab my clutch and head out of my room to Gabe. Gucci trots along behind me.
When I walk into the living room, my heart nearly trips over itself.
Gabe is standing at the window, his back to me. He's wearing a gunmetal-gray suit. His hands are pushed into the pockets of the pants.
"Hey." I smile.
But he doesn't reply. Doesn't move. Doesn't turn around.
"Gabe?" I step closer, my heels clicking against the floor, suddenly loud in the silence.
"Why?" That one word, whispered with a serious intensity, confuses me but sends a warning signal to my brain that something's definitely not right.
"Why what? What's wrong, Gabe?" I take another step closer, putting my clutch down on the arm of the sofa.
Finally, he turns. And I wish he hadn't. His face is like stone.
My brow furrows. "What's happened?"
His hands drop from his pockets. He balls them at his sides. "Why did you do it, Ava?"
"Do what? You're going to have to help me out here because I have no clue what you're talking about."
"Don't play fucking stupid!" he roars, surprising the hell out of me. "I know, Ava. I fucking know. Just tell me why you did it."
I frown. "Don't yell at me like that, Gabriel. And I honestly don't know what the hell you're talking about. What did I supposedly do?"
"You know exactly what you did. You sold me out. You fucking sold me out, Ava."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Gil called me." Gil is Gabriel's manager. "Bradford Digby's fucking lawyers called Gil to notify him that a story on me is going live on Digby's trashy fucking news site in an hour."
"What?"
"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you. Did they not tell you that it'd be going live so soon? What were you going to do? Just up and disappear before I found out it was you?"
"Jesus, Gabe!" I tug on my ponytail, frustrated. "I honestly don't have a clue what you're talking about. I didn't sell any story to anyone. I haven't spoken to anyone. I don't know what's going on here, but it doesn't have anything to do with me."
He advances across the room so quickly, it forces me back a step.
He looms over me, face taut with anger. "You recorded our conversation. When I told you about my parents being in prison, about me fucking women for money, you got it all on tape, and then you sold it to Bradford fucking Digby!"
"No!" I gasp. "No, I didn't!"
"Liar," he hisses. Then, he laughs an empty sound. "Well, you sure got lucky with that conversation. I bet you couldn't believe your fucking luck. No wonder you were pushing me to be honest with you. I bet you weren't expecting what came out of my mouth though. It was probably as close to winning the lottery for you, hearing all that. Did you record all our conversations? Or just that one?"
My hands ball into fists at my sides. "I've never recorded any of our conversations."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying!"
"Just fucking stop, Ava. The lawyers sent Gil the interview that you signed off on and a copy of the recording of our conversation."
He pulls his cell from his pocket and presses the screen. A second later, the room is filled with the sound of Gabe's and my voices.
"I used to sleep with women for money."
"What?"
"And my parents are in prison for drug trafficking, racketeering, and murder."
He presses stop on the recording.
"Gabe … I don't know how our conversation was recorded, but it wasn't me."
He swipes the screen on his phone and turns it to me. "It's all there, in black and white, Ava. Every single thing I told you. As quoted by you."
I grab the phone from him and scan the words in front of me. I catch sight of my name.
… details from the woman who knows him best. His live-in lover, Ava Simms.
"No," I gasp, my eyes flying to Gabe. "No, I didn't do this. This wasn't me, I swear." My heart is pounding in my chest, my mind reeling with confusion.
"Stop fucking lying to me!" he yells.
"I'm not lying! It wasn't me! Someone else recorded our conversation because it wasn't me."
His eyes fix on me, cold and hard. "Swipe the screen."
"Why?"
"Swipe the fucking screen!"
I do as he said, and there's a document.
"You probably recognize that. It's the contract you signed with Digby, giving him exclusive rights."
"I didn't sign any contract! You have to believe me!"
He laughs hollowly. "And I suppose that isn't your name and signature at the bottom either."
I zoom in on the bottom of the document, and there, in black ink, is my name and signature. It's mine. I recognize it as mine.
"No." I'm shaking my head. "Gabe, I didn't sign this. I would never betray you like that. I swear to you."
He snatches his phone from my hand and turns his back on me.
"Gabe." I step up to him and place my hand on his back.
He jerks away, like I burned him. In his mind, I have. He thinks I've betrayed him.
"Don't fucking touch me." His voice is so chilling that I shiver. "Don't ever fucking touch me again." He turns to look at me, and his eyes look right through me. "I just hope the money was worth it."
"What money? Gabe, I swear on my entire family, I swear on Gucci's life, I didn't do this."
He steadily stares back at me. "I don't believe you."
It's like a blow to the stomach. I fold my arms over the ache his words just put there.
"How much did you get? How much was I worth, Ava? If you'd told me you needed the money, I would have given it to you. You wouldn't even have had to fuck me. I'd have given it to you for free."
"I didn't get any money from anyone! Jesus, Gabe! Listen to me! I have a thousand bucks to my name. Here, I'll show you." I grab my cell from my clutch. I pull my online banking up and thrust my phone at him, showing him the screen.
He barely looks at it. "It means nothing. People can have more than one bank account."
"But I don't have another bank account! I have one! I didn't do this, Gabe. You have to believe me."
He stares at me. Black eyes devoid of anything but anger.
"I can't believe this is happening." I drop my phone to the sofa and press my hand to my shaking head.
Tears push at my eyes. My lips tremble. I bite down to stop from crying.
"Gabe, I didn't do this. You know me," I implore, my voice shaking with the force of the emotions running through me.
"I thought I did. Clearly, I was wrong."
"Please … I didn't do this. I know my name is quoted on that story and that my signature is at the bottom of that document, but I'm telling you"-I press my hand to my chest-"it wasn't me. I didn't tell any journalist anything. I haven't told anyone about what you told me. And I never would. You have to believe me."
I look at him, begging him to believe me.
It feels like forever before he speaks, "I don't have to do a fucking thing."