It’s happening again. Mark pushed his beloved Porsche 911 convertible up winding Mulholland Boulevard, tires screeching under a nervous moon.

Kerri screamed, “Mark, stop it, you’re going to kill us both!”

But he only shrugs, and that’s when Kerri realizes that they’re both wearing pajamas, bathrobes, slippers. “What do we have to live for anyway?”

Kerri’s heart is pounding behind her chest, blood icy in her veins as the steep drop on the side of that infamous road revealed a deadly fall, nothing but blackness as far as the eye could see.

“Mark, please … ”

“Mark, please,” he whined, mocking her. “Please, Mark, please! That’s not what you were saying when divorce came up. You don’t love me, you never loved me!”

“That's not true, Mark.” Kerri’s voice cracks, hands pressing against the dashboard. “But you’re out of control! With the booze and the pills, you’re not the man I married.”

“No,” Mark says, suddenly calm, letting his hands fall away from the steering wheel. “I’m the man you murdered.”

“Mark, no!” Kerri reached for the steering wheel, but it was too late. The tires were still touching the street, but Kerri had no leverage and couldn’t control the car as it careened through the safety rail with a loud, metallic crunch.

The Porsche went into free-fall, nose tipping downward, rear end catching up fast. Kerri was trapped, her world turned upside down, and she was about to die.

Her phone rang.

Kerri Abernathy sprang up from a fitful sleep, blonde hair plastered against her head with cold night sweat. Her heart pounding, mouth dry, as she looked around her bedroom, her smartphone rang with a musical jingle. Her breasts rose and fell with her panting, the sheets damp before she dropped her head back onto the pillow.

Just a dream, Kerri told herself, I wasn’t there with Mark that night.

I didn’t die.

Kerri recognized the name on the screen and swiped it on the third ring.

“Yvonne.”

“Ker, are you just waking up?”

Kerri looked around the room, eyes squinting, thoughts hazy as the morning sun. “Yeah, what time is it?”

“Nine o’clock, sleepy head. Time for our spa day. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”

Another spa day, Kerri repeated. Why the hell not? What else have I got to do? It’s not as if I’ve got a life or anything.

Those twenty minutes passed quickly; a fast shower to cleanse her pale, lightly freckled skin, hot water cascading over her shapely legs, fat-free torso, breasts round and firm. In her mid-twenties, Kerri felt as if she were still in her prime, and not some old widow waiting for death; at least she felt that way most of the time.

Once at New Sensations, the newest and most popular day spa in Beverly Hills, Kerri was finally able to relax. Yvonne Suggs, a curvy brunette and her best friend, lay on a massage table next to Kerri while the two enjoyed a deep tissue massage. The magical fingers of a handsome, dark-skinned young man dug into her back and shoulder muscles, working away the kinks with every powerful pinch and knead. The salty smell of seaweed was heavy in the air, as she took long, drawn out breaths.

Once Kerri’s body was well worked and relaxed, hot stones were placed at key points along her spine, sending soothing waves of warmth throughout her muscles, her chest, all the way down her entire being. She was too relaxed to speak.

Kerri and Yvonne were chin deep in a heavy mud bath, cucumber slices on their eyes, when Yvonne finally said, “Feel better?”

Kerri smiled, despite herself. “What makes you think I wasn’t perfectly fine this morning?” Yvonne just chuckled, and Kerri had to as well. “Never could fool you.”

“What are best friends for other than to see through each other’s bullshit?” They chuckled again, but it didn’t last.

Kerri said, “I had that dream again.”

“Oh, Ker, when are you gonna get some professional help for that?”

“Yvonne, I’m not crazy, just … it’s only been a year. It haunts me, what can I say?”

“So go to a dream whisperer or something. It’s been a year, and you really do have to move on, at least get a good night’s rest. It’s called self-care, Kerri, and you need it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, and this is great for stress. God, I don’t remember how I ever survived back in Detroit, before I met Harvey. And it’s time for you to stop thinking about the past too.”

“I know, I’m … I’m dealing with it, in my own way.”

After a long, sad pause, Yvonne spoke quietly, “It wasn’t your fault, y’know. You did everything you could to save him, we did that intervention. By the end, he wasn’t even the same person. The man you married died years before that car crash.”

“Yeah, I know that, Yvonne, I really do, but … how much of that was my fault?”

“None of it. He lost control, and that’s something we each have to deal with for ourselves. What you need is a man who’s still in control of his life, a real man, not some out-of-control man-child on a bender.”

“C’mon, Yvonne, that’s a little unfair. Mark was dealing with a lot of shit before he died. — ”

“Okay, Ker, I say this with all the love and respect in the world, and I’ve waited a year to say it: Mark was a rising star, on his way to being one of the greatest actors of his generation. He was rich and famous and had a gorgeous, loving wife. So, where was all that shit you’re talking about?”

“His father, Mark felt he could never please him. I think that was something we had in common. You know me and my mom, all that mess we were constantly going through.”

“And how long has it been since you’ve called home?”

“Home? I live in my own home, alone. I call them on the holidays.”

“When you have to.”

“That’s right. Mark used to say, ‘Family is just the first people you meet.’”

“Pretty dark stuff, Ker.”

“But true. Hey, it brought us together.”

“Mutual misery is nothing to build a marriage on, Ker. Even so, he then shot movie after movie, cheating on you with his female leads.”

“Those were only rumors, Yvonne, nobody ever came forward.”

“How many rumors must you tolerate before you hear that something was happening? Ker, you just didn’t want to know, you didn’t want to accept it or believe it.”

“I should have been with him on those movie sets.”

“What about your own career?”

Kerri rocked her head in the soothing mud. “Oh please; a few slasher movies and a pilot they couldn’t sell. That’s not a career, it’s a death march.”

Yvonne asked, “Why don’t you call up your old agent, see if he’s got anything good? Y’never know.”

“Actually, this time, I do know; Lew Stallmaster died last year. I hear his son Benjamin’s in charge now.”

“So?”

“So, I think he’s younger than I am! No way am I gonna get any cheesecake work from him, much less anything substantial. Let’s face it, Yvonne, as far as Hollywood’s concerned, I’m yesterday’s news; just another strumpet who made it past twenty two, otherwise known as retirement age.”

They chuckled, shaking their heads.

“It’s a shame though, Ker. You were really good.”

Kerri shrugged. “I’d have taken even the smallest roles on any of Mark’s movies if they could have swung it.”

“And they could have,” Yvonne said. “If they didn’t, it’s because Mark didn’t want you there. You have to start thinking about why that is.”

“All right, Yvonne, okay, let’s say he was cheating on me. He’s dead now, there’s no reason to go on hating him for his mistakes.”

After a thick pause, Yvonne asked, “Then why go on hating yourself?”

After the mud bath they bathed and swathed in thick, white robes and enjoyed a fruit smoothie. Kerri’s familiar smartphone music played and she reached into her purse to glance at the screen.

Yvonne asked, “Who is it?”

“George.”

“Oh,” Yvonne said with a sexy grin, “the lawyer.”

“It’s not going to be personal.”

Yvonne’s grin faded to a disgusted sneer. “Oh, the lawyer.”

Kerri raised the phone to her cheek. “George, hi.”

“Kerri,” he said, his voice low and professional, “Glad I found you. What’s your schedule like this afternoon?”

“Um, today?”

“Yes, Kerri, today; as soon as possible.”

Kerri looked nervously at Yvonne. “I’ll be in your office by two.”

George Hume escorted Kerri to the chair in front of his desk, exchanging pleasantries as he took a seat in his big leather chair.

“Glad you’re doing well,” he said with a smile. “Any movie roles coming up?”

Kerri smiled, more polite than enthusiastic. “George, we both know you didn’t call me over here ASAP to ask about my career.”

George smiled, looking younger than his sixty-some years, hair dyed black but eyebrows still graying. “Well, not entirely. It’s not only small talk though, Kerri.”

“George, what is going on here?”

He twitched to free his neck from his collar as he handed her a piece of paper. She recognized the letterhead immediately as being from the Internal Revenue Service. Glancing at the letter, she looked up at George for an explanation.

“Two years income taxes, plus fines and interest.”

Kerri shook her head trying to wrap her head around the news. “Well, I knew Mark couldn’t handle those things, that’s why we got Morrison Talbot, what about him?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

George nodded and sighed as he leaned back, clicking a few keys on his keyboard and glancing at his monitor. “Believed to be in Mexico, the Caribbean side, maybe Barbados.”

“Maybe Barbados,” Kerri repeated, shocked. “As of when?”

“Months, maybe, it’s hard to say. But between him and your late husband, you’ve got a big bill and no money to pay it.”

“No … what do you mean, no money?”

“Don’t you ever check your balances?”

Kerri shrugged. “Sure, of my personal account. But the big accounts, I, um — ”

“You left it to Morrison Talbot to take care of.”

Kerri’s stomach turned, goosebumps rising on the backs of her arms. “What about you? Where were you in all this?”

“I’m your lawyer, Kerri, not your business manager, your accountant, your agent or your babysitter.”

“Okay, okay, there’s no need to be snide.” Kerri paused before bitterly adding, “You know I don’t have an agent.” George smiled, taking it as a joke to lighten the mood. After a long, tense silence, Kerri asked, “Well, what do we do?”

“Not much you can do,” George said. “The bill’s about a million three. You can probably sell the house. — ”

“In this market? I’ll get crucified! It’s everything I have … according to you.”

“And I’m not wrong, Ker. Listen to me; it’s more house than you need. You and Mark never did, um, fill it up, so to speak.” Kerri sat in her sorrowful guilt of not having given Mark a child and George seemed to read that, clearing his throat to add, “You could get a job, one of those horror movies.”

“They don’t pay anything near that,” Kerri said.

“Even for you? Mark McCall’s ex, maybe something a bit more … revealing than your other movies.”

Kerri rolled her eyes. “What do you mean, a sex tape? A Skinimax soft-core? C’mon, George, no.”

George sighed and shrugged. “So, call your realtor then?”

Kerri looked up from her lap, tears threatening to push through and run down her cheek. “I … I don’t have one.”

Yvonne poured them each a glass of chardonnay, cold, crisp and refreshing, tangy and tart on the back of Kerri’s tongue. “I dunno,” Yvonne said, setting the bottle down and taking a sip of her own. “It’d be a shame to sell your home. Can’t you get some kind of relief, make a deal and pay less? I hear about that happening all the time.”

“Yvonne, I’ve barely got a penny, just a few grand in a private account. No matter what they reduce it to, even if they spread the payments out over time, I’ve still got bigger problems. If I want to keep the house, I won’t have money to pay for it! I’m about two months away from defaulting, then foreclosure, and then I’m homeless. No, Yvonne, I’ve lived out of a car before, I do not want to go through that again, I can’t and I won’t.”

“I don’t blame you, sweetie, not one bit.” They thought it out, the wine passing slowly. “Isn’t there anything you can do … with your celebrity status? I mean, a reality show, anything? You could get another agent.”

Kerri had to shake her head, trying to relax in Yvonne’s couch, her orange tabby, Maniac, jumping up on her lap with a loud purr. “I doubt I even could, and to go through all that shit, auditions, everyone snarling at the twenty-five-year-old has-been. And that’s something else; unless it’s a role with any real depth, I’m too old! I’d have to play the teacher who gets killed in the second act or maybe the stepmother who dies in act three. Those won’t pay enough to cover my bus pass to and from the lot.”

The old friends chuckled, but silence soon returned. Yvonne cleared her throat and sat up higher on the couch next to Kerri. “Okay, Ker, I have an idea. Well, it’s not my idea exactly, just something I know about. And if you’ll have an open mind, I think it might be exactly what you’re looking for.”

Kerri leaned forward in cautious anticipation, raising her hands and her eyebrows, wordlessly begging Yvonne to go on. So she did: “Kerri, have you ever heard of The Million Dollar Bash?”