Dean’s head was pounding. He must have fallen asleep in his trailer. He’d been so darn tired lately. He reached out for his cell phone, never more than a few inches from his hand and felt something cold and hard instead. When he managed to pry his eyes open (Why was he so damn tired?), his hand was resting on an iron railing. An iron railing on a bed. Where was he?  Dean felt the first flutters of concern. There were two, hard pillows under his head, and a white sheet pulled over him. But it was the smell that gave his location away. A sharp stink of antiseptic, a whiff of bleach and an underlying tinny scent he couldn’t identify. But it was definitely a hospital smell. The flutters of concern increased. What the heck am I doing in the hospital? He put his hands to his sides and pushed himself to a seated position, groaning at the effort.

He was in a small room. A television mounted on the wall about three feet from the left side of his bed was blaring out Fox News. It wasn’t his television. He could see another mounted directly in front of him on the wall opposite. He had a roommate. If he reached out his left hand, he would be able to touch the thin curtain separating the two beds. Cozy. It had been pulled closed, but it didn’t hide the view of a windowsill at the foot of his roommate's bed which was crowded with vases of flowers and tons of get-well cards. There was even a balloon floating aimlessly around his neighbor’s side of the room, sometimes directly in front of the TV. Dean glanced at his bedside table. Just his watch and a glass of water. He looked for a note of some kind, maybe a card explaining his presence in a hospital, but there was nothing there. He felt around for the call button and pushed it.

A nurse came rushing in. She was flushed, and her eyes glittered with excitement. Dean groaned internally. He’d seen it all before; the classic symptoms of a celebrity encounter.

“Oh, Mr. McLean! I mean, Mr. Smith, you’re awake! I’ll get the doctor.”

She rushed back out again before he had the chance to speak. Something would need to be done about this pressure in his head. It was making him all fuzzy, and he couldn’t get his thoughts straight. He would beg for some ibuprofen once he got some answers to his questions. There was a soft knock at the door, and a young woman entered; at least she looked young to Dean, but she couldn’t be that young because she was wearing a white coat and a badge with “Dr. Reading” printed on it.  She smiled sweetly at him and flushed red, “How are you feeling, Mr. Smith?”

“I need something for my pounding head, please? And where am I?”

Dr. Reading moved to his call button and pressed it firmly, then brought her hand to his wrist to check his pulse. Her fingers were tiny and cold. “You’re in Cedars Sinai, Mr. Smith. You had an… episode. Don’t you remember?” She looked from her watch to his face in expectation.

“No, I don’t…” He stopped talking when he realized that the flutters of concern had now mounted a full-on attack against the inside of his chest. What was he so anxious about? He closed his eyes and concentrated. There it was. He remembered the black hole of the camera lens, the crazy feeling that he was going to fall into the lens like it was quicksand that was going to drag him down into the hidden depths until he couldn’t breathe. He remembered the intensity of the fear that had taken a grip on his chest. His chest. “Did I have a heart attack?”

The doctor smiled at him. She did have a sweet smile. “No Mr. McL…, I mean Mr. Smith. You didn’t have a heart attack.”

“Then what happened to me? And why is everyone calling me Mr. Smith?”

The doctor dropped his wrist and leaned closer to him, her voice not much more than a whisper. “You were checked in under a false name. I don’t think your friend wanted your neighbor to know who you were.” She nodded her head gently sideways toward the bed next to his.

So it was Adam, making a mountain out of a molehill. “Well, if my friend had checked me into a private room I wouldn’t have had to worry about that.” Dean tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. It wasn’t this doctor’s fault he was prickly and annoyed. It was unfair to take it out on her. “If I didn’t have a heart attack, what’s wrong with me?”

“A panic attack! Can you believe it, buddy?” Adam’s voice was as strident as his presence. He made it from the door to the bed in three giant steps. He was a six-foot-five heaping help of confidence and owned every room he walked into.

Dean felt the chest flutters subside. Drama aside, he was glad Adam was here. “Where were you and how come I don’t have a,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “private room?” He didn’t want to insult the guy on the other side of that curtain. He was probably a very nice guy.

“Couldn’t risk anyone finding out that strapping Dean McLean had a panic attack on set and collapsed, could I? The story would be all over the papers! A private room seemed too conspicuous.” Adam hadn’t lowered his voice as he moved toward the chair next to Dean’s bed and folded himself into it. The doctor backed away a little, yielding control. People always “yielded” when his take-charge manager was around. It worked very well in contract negotiations but probably wasn’t appropriate for hospital rooms, especially shared hospital rooms.

Dean waved his hand over to the curtain. Could Adam not see the flaw in his plan? “Except that now someone just did find that out.”  

“Oh, that guy?” Adam snorted. “That guy’s like comatose or something. Right, doc?” He looked over at the doctor who stammered a little but didn’t answer. “That’s why we chose this room.”

“Okay, so just tell me what happened then. What’s a panic attack, anyway?”

Adam winked at Dr. Reading and nodded toward Dean. “Tell him, Doc.”

Dr. Reading flushed. “It’s nothing to be overly concerned with, Mr. McLean. Panic attacks are quite common. The technical definition is “the abrupt onset of intense fear or discomfort.” The attack will usually accelerate the heart rate, can cause intense sweating, shortness of breath and a feeling of being smothered. It isn’t dangerous of course, but can be very frightening and can cause fainting - which is what happened to you.” She smiled at him kindly, but it made him feel like an old man.

“Will I have one again?” he asked. “What causes them?”

“We don’t know. All we can suggest is to break from the inciting incident and relax for a while. Usually, it’s just a single, stress related incident.”

Dean looked over at Adam who was also smiling. Were they insane? Take a break from the inciting incident? The inciting incident was that darn red light on the camera. How could he take a break from the camera? “You hear this, right, Adam? You know that’s not possible. I can’t take a break from the inciting incident if the incident happens to be my job. I’m making a movie. I can’t exactly avoid the camera, can I?”

Adam cleared his throat. He dropped his head slightly; a sign that Dean wasn’t going to like what he had to say. After nearly twenty years as friends, they knew each other’s tells. “What?”

“I spoke to Ed.”

“And?”

“He says maybe you should take a break. He says they can afford to take a break for a month.”

“They can afford to take a break? For a month? Adam, this movie has a multi- multi-million-dollar budget with a tight schedule. How can they afford to take a break?”

“Ed said that he, uh, they took out an insurance policy on you.”

There was an exchange of glances between the doctor and Adam. She got the message and mumbled, “I’ll come back later.” Both of the men ignored her.

This was not good news. Movie companies took out insurance policies on everyone, but policies that covered breaks like this? Those policies they only took out on drug addicts and ancients, not on actors in the prime of their career. The flutters were back. “Of course they had an insurance policy, Adam. But what kind of policy allows for a four-week break? And what kind of director takes out that kind of policy? I’m not like a druggy or anything! Why would they feel the need for that big of a policy?”

“Well, you know, it’s quite an active film, Dean.”

“Active for the stunt guys, Adam!  Not active for me! What are you not telling me here?”

The flutters escalated again as Dean realized that there was information that related directly to him that Adam knew and had been withholding. Adam told him everything, didn’t he? When all this had started, way back when they were nervous kids breaking into the Hollywood scene, they’d vowed that they wouldn’t be sucked in, that their relationship would be sacrosanct. They would always be completely honest with each other. They would be different.

Adam continued with more bombshells. “Well, it seems that they had some fear about your age. Apparently, the rumblings in the industry have been getting Ed all nervy. He wanted to make sure he had an out.”

“An out? An out for what? Firing me? Is that what you’re telling me, Adam? That after three films they are putting me out to pasture like an old stallion? This is ridiculous.”

Adam stood and started pacing around Dean’s half of the room. “Of course he’s not taking you off the film. I mean, not yet he’s not.”

“Not yet?” Dean looked around the room in a panic. Where were his clothes? He had to get back to the set. “Not yet? Where the heck are my clothes Adam? I need to get back there. There’s no reason to shut down production. I’m fine. I’ll prove to him that I’m fine.” For the first time in years, Dean felt the old familiar feeling of the terrifying enormity of an unknown future opening up before him. This job was his life. He didn’t know how to do anything else. All he’d ever wanted was a house and a job. A sense of security. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and when he put them on the floor he felt as though it were trembling beneath him.

Adam was beside him quickly, his big hand resting on his forearm. “You can’t leave today, buddy. When you fell, you whacked your head pretty hard. The insurance company insists you stay overnight for observation. You could have a concussion.”

“Shit.”

“Listen, buddy. Don’t worry so much. I talked to Ed and he’s fine. We all care about you, and we all just want you to get better. Everyone on set was pretty shaken up. You should have seen the extras; they were blubbering like babies. Who knows why it happened, but maybe you need a break? Ed has agreed to say that you took a break for “personal reasons” so that the tabloids don’t catch on. The cast and crew are all under confidentiality anyway. I mean stuff will get out, but we can still spin it. You leave it to me, and I’ll come up with a story. We won’t let this threaten your career.”

“Threaten my career, Adam? What are you talking about? I had a panic attack, right? Those things must be pretty common. Surely no one is questioning my ability to get the job done!?”

Adam started pacing again. “Of course not, buddy, of course not.” He gave Dean some serious side-eye, and Dean felt a tiny spring of doubt in his chest. Was Adam in control of what was going on here? What else wasn’t he telling him? Doubt in Adam was a new feeling, and he didn’t like it. Adam was always his rock. “Just stay here overnight, and I will come and pick you up in the morning, okay? We’ll figure out what to do then. No need to call Ed, I have it all under control. You just concentrate on feeling better.”

“I feel fine Adam. You know I feel fine. I have no idea what that was about, but I can assure you it’s not going to happen again. Just get me back to work.”

“Will do, buddy, will do.” Adam was backing out of the room, reaching for his cellphone when Dean remembered something. “Hey, where’s Isabella? She was right there when I passed out. Why isn’t she here? Is she okay?”

Adam stopped and rubbed his hand across his face. For the first time since his strident arrival Dean noticed his color, a kind of ashy grey with pink splotches. The guy was worried about him. He was a good friend.

“I don’t keep tabs on your girlfriend, buddy. I’m assuming she was pretty freaked out. She’s probably waiting at your place.”

Adam walked out, and Dean sat in the stillness of the empty room, only the sound of his neighbor’s snores to break the lonely silence. The rows of cards and piles of flowers mocked him. He turned to his empty bedside table. It was sad. No cards, no flowers, ...no friends, not even a girlfriend to keep him company. It was clear that everything was temporary, even maybe his career. Except Adam, the only thing in his life that had stuck around and given him back as much as he had put in was this crazy job of making movies. He had no intention of letting that go… because if not that, then what?

He would stay the night in this stupid hospital, and then he would grab Adam and go and see Ed. There was no way they were closing this picture down.