“I’m so sorry, Ms. Wentworth,” said Derek.
Jack kissed Courtney the same way he used to kiss Sofia. He cupped her bottom with his right hand and tipped his temple to the left. These moves were not reserved for Sofia, she realized. They were generic moves of tendon and bone dictated by his DNA; he performed the same for all women. She paused for a moment to consider the unique vista afforded her—to see the man she had kissed for ten years kissing someone else. Most people never got such a view; she should feel lucky. He looked good when kissing—great, even.
She became aware of many sets of eyes on her—the camera crew, the catering people. They stared with looks she’d never received before: of pity.
“My makeup is still not right, Derek,” she stated in a cool voice. She strolled to the truck with a blank expression. Derek followed her.
“How long have they been seeing each other?” she asked him once they were inside.
“I don’t know. A while.”
Sofia felt like dying. “A while is not long. They could still break up,” she said. Then her blood ran cold.
She recalled a moment six months earlier. Coming home after the film in Prague, she had discovered a message on Jack’s phone from an unknown number. A graphic message, sexual. She left it for three days without bringing it up. When she asked him about it, he accused her of snooping. They fought horribly, and a week later, he moved out.
“They’ve been together six months, at least,” Sofia said. She bowed her head.
“I’m so sorry,” Derek said. “There’s more. Courtney’s trying to get you fired.”
Sofia snapped her head up. “What? Impossible. She can’t fire me.”
Derek shook his head. “It’s all over set. Courtney is telling everyone it’s not working, there’s no chemistry between the two of you, you don’t gel.”
“We don’t gel. It isn’t working. But what can she do about it? That’s how it goes sometimes—your cast mate is a better actor. But she can’t just get rid of me. I’ll get rid of her! I’m the star.” Sofia’s face fell. “Oh.”
“She’s the star.”
Sofia scratched her face. “She’s the star.” She felt exhausted again. “I’ve had enough of this,” she said. She stormed out of the makeup truck and walked over to Jack’s trailer.
On the way over there, she lined up her speech. She’d dress him down, tell him to pull his mistress up, bring her back into line. She’d lecture him on how unprofessional this all was. But as she stormed into his trailer and saw him sitting there, the grand cries for professionalism and the good of the production went out of her head. Instead, she vomited out words of neediness and scorn. “How could you do this, Jack?” she heard herself say. “You’re making a fool of me.”
“I’m sorry, Sofe, it just happened. You know how it goes. We fell in love.”
She rolled her eyes at the cliché. “But what about the flowers?” she asked then, hating herself instantly for saying it.
“What flowers? Oh, right. I don’t know.” He shrugged and gave a little chuckle, triumphant and smug.
Sofia looked him in the face. There it was. She would have missed it if she hadn’t looked up right then. A flash of something that danced across his face as he smiled. What was it? Oh, yes. Victory and contempt. He could still turn any woman’s head, and he knew it. He was required to give nothing of himself for this head-turning, not his time or his affection. He killed some plants and Sofia came running. Why had he sent her the flowers? He probably did not know himself. To get a rise out of her? Ah, she realized then, silly her. Because of the librarian who’d put his arm around her.
She shook her head. “And you’re happy to throw away a decade of marriage?”
“No,” he replied. “Not happy. But it’s serious with Courtney,” he insisted.
Sofia scoffed. “How serious could it be? She’s an adolescent.”
“She’s pregnant.”
Sofia felt her lunch loosen in her stomach. She stumbled and fell onto his leg a little. He leaned down and caught her. His clothes smelled like expensive laundry powder; the maid would have washed them. She found a chair and sat down.
“Sofe? Say something.” He touched her shoulder. She flinched and shook his hand off her. A numbness crept over her.
“How many weeks is she?” she asked in a friendly tone, like a work colleague inquiring about an acquaintance.
“What?” Jack said. He looked confused.
“How many weeks pregnant.”
“Oh. I don’t know. Twelve, I think.” He smiled a little into the distance. She tormented herself with what might have caused the smile. Perhaps he recalled some prenatal moment, attendance at a recent ultrasound, perhaps, or Courtney surprising him with baby clothes.
He had told her, long ago, that he did not want children, though she’d expected him to come around. She’d thought he would see how wonderful she was and realize he’d be a fool to pass up a little family. Every year went by and it became another year gone. It went on for too long to start afresh with someone else; she’d invested too much time.
“Sofe? Are you okay?” he said.
She wiped her nose. She looked him in the eye. “Is it because she is younger?” she asked. “Because I don’t look like I once did?”
“Sofe. You’re still gorgeous. Of course not.”
“I know I am, but that wasn’t the question. Is it because I got older?”
“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said.
“I’d appreciate an honest answer,” she said. “I deserve that.”
He nodded. “Okay. You are older. You don’t look like you once did. But that’s not the reason,” he said.
She bristled at the honesty, both grateful and horrified. “Wow, okay. What’s the reason, then?” She leaned forward in her chair, fascinated now.
He sighed. “Everything with you became so difficult.”
She had to laugh; while the relationship might have punished her, he seemed to enjoy no end of success. He was more
