Who are you kidding, Sara? I thought. You aren’t a daring hero. What if it doesn’t work? Then he’ll kill you.
No. I was a survivor. I could figure out how to get away. I just had to wait for the right opportunity.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said finally, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Me?”
“I want to know more about how you came to be here.”
“Sure,” I said, breathing deeply. Just having him sit next to me was bringing back the memory of his fingers deep inside of me, and I was fighting to keep the thoughts at bay. I didn’t want him to know how deeply he had affected me with his offer of “pleasure.”
“Start at the beginning.”
“I got a call from my agent. He said that Gary—Mr. Steadhill—wanted someone for a temporary role.”
“No,” Rien said. “I mean, the beginning.”
He leaned over the couch, setting his elbow on the cushion back and resting his cheek against his knuckles. His body touched me, his hip grazing mine, and the heat that spun through my body made my thoughts slow and muddy.
“The beginning?”
“When you were a child. Tell me about your childhood. What led you to acting?”
I frowned, not knowing why he would care at all. The back of his hand idly skimmed along my arm. Immediately I felt myself opening up again to him, wanting his touch. Surely he knew what he was doing to me. But he thought that I was still paralyzed. I licked my lips and began.
“I never knew my dad. He left my mom before I was born. We were poor. I never really had anything. Then my mom got pregnant again with my sister, and we really didn’t have anything.”
“By a different man?”
I flushed. I never talked with anyone about this. I didn’t speak about my family much, and in Hollywood nobody asked. Family was unimportant, meaningless, unless you had a connection to a higher-up in one of the studios. Acting families were the only families that mattered.
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you ever know him?”
“No.”
“You don’t like to talk about him?”
“He wasn’t part of our family.”
“Who was he?”
“Nobody.” My skin burned in shame.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Rien said. His fingers gently stroked my arm, going farther up and down with each pass.
“I’m not.”
“Who was he?”
“He was a client,” I spat.
Rien raised his eyebrows. I wanted to hit him then, punch him right in the face. I could see it in his eyes. He was judging us all, judging my mother for selling her body. Judging me.
“A client,” he repeated tonelessly.
“I told you we were poor,” I said.
“And then?”
I breathed out in relief and looked away from Rien. I would survive. I remembered surviving back then, when my mom went out late at night and slept with any guy who would pay her. Yes. I was a survivor. So was she. She had done whatever it took to survive.
“Then? Then I grew up taking care of my sister. We were on and off the streets. I hated it. When I turned eighteen, I left and came to Hollywood to try and make it.”
“Have you made it?”
“Sure,” I said, sarcasm biting into my words. “Of course I’ve made it. Look at me. I’m on a leather couch, giving an interview of my life story. If that’s not making it, what is? I’m bigger than fucking Oprah Winfrey. I’ll give you my autograph later, if I can ever move my paralyzed hands again.”
A small smile crept over his face.
“So that’s why you took this job.”
“So that I wouldn’t have to fuck a guy to make rent? Yeah, that’s why I took the job. That’s why I take every job.”
“I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips together. It was stupid, but he looked so sincere that I actually thought he was sorry. I felt sorry for myself, anyway. What a stupid story. What a stupid life. I should’ve stayed with my mom and sister. I should’ve helped them more. One measly check every now and then was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to become an actress, and what’s more, I didn’t even want to act. I just wanted to get as far away from my real life as possible.
I bit my lip. I wasn’t there anymore. I was here. I had to take care of myself here. And this was about as far away from real life as I could get.
“Here,” he said. He picked up the bowl of soup. “You’re hungry. Eat.”
I opened my mouth, not knowing what had changed between us, only that something had. He held the spoon to my lips and warm soup spilled over my tongue. I swallowed, trying to think about anything besides the memories Rien had stirred. I didn’t want to talk about my past. I didn’t care about my past self. I was a new person here, or that’s what I wanted to be. And if I hadn’t been so stupid as to take this job…