“Crap”, Dean said as Adam turned the car onto his street. His cute, little, Santa Barbara bungalow was crawling with reporters and fans. “Keep the windows rolled up for me, will you, Adam? Now is not the time for fan relationship management.”

Adam’s face was grim under his $400 Ray bans. “No, I’m with you today, buddy. This is worse than I thought. I guess some news got out. I wonder if they got the real story? I hope not.”

Dean was irritated with everyone right now, and Adam’s words weren’t calming him down any. “I’m not sure why everyone is making such a big deal out of this. I’m totally fine. So I was maybe overly tired and the heat got to me. I’ll be fine tomorrow. I should call Ed and tell him I’m fine. This is getting out of control.”

Adam pulled up to the secure gate in front of the driveway to the bungalow, and the crowd swarmed. Paparazzi in front, as usual, the cockroaches. Dean put on his best “Dean Mclean” smile and waved calmly from his seat. He could hear the clicking camera shutters through the windows of Adam’s Rolls Royce.

“Don’t call Ed,” Adam said, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the driveway as the gate swung closed behind them. “It’s just a timing thing is all, Dean. I’ll handle it all. It’s just that Ed was feeling nervy about that age survey thing. He got kinda shook up by your collapse. It looked pretty serious, dude. It looked like you had a heart attack right there on set. Ed is just concerned about the franchise.”

“You mean the franchise that only became a franchise because of me? I hear you loud and clear, okay? You don’t want me talking to Ed. And I trust you. I always have. But I don’t want a break. I don’t need a break. I want to get back on set. Okay?” Dean heard his voice getting louder and tried to dial back a bit. This wasn’t Adam’s fault. He was angry at himself and at his body and brain which were conspiring to betray him. “Sorry.”

“Okay, buddy. I hear ya. Just let me work this for a few days and then I’ll bring you in. The truth is that you’re not looking so hot right now. If Ed’s spooked, I want to keep you away until I can calm him down.”

Adam’s relationship with Ed was as strong as Adam’s relationship with every industry guy that he’d ever met, meaning it was as solid as steel. Dean didn’t know how he managed to do it, but he could charm everyone.

Dean walked into his house, taking a huge sigh of relief, threw his bag on the floor and headed straight out to the back patio. The view would calm him. He crossed through the expansive wall of glass doors that stretched across the rear of his great room and stepped out onto his pool deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. When he had purchased this bungalow after the runaway success of Rolling Thunder One, Adam had called it his “starter home.” In his mind, there was no way that Dean would stay in this tiny, two-bedroom, beach cottage when he was about to be rolling in cash. He had already signed his contract to make movies two and three, and the number of zeros on the compensation page had almost made Dean fall off his chair. Anyway, Dean knew as soon as he set foot inside this house that he would never give it up. He’d had enough of moving. The word “home” for him had always been some distant fantasy. It was something that you read about in books and saw on TV, but it didn’t exist. It was the thing that he craved more than anything else. As soon as he had crossed the threshold of this house, all of the zeros printed on those contract pages were just a means to an end. He had everything he’d ever wanted. He had a home.

Just lately though, Dean had felt a small creeping of discontent. Was a home really a home when you lived in it alone? Was a life well lived if you weren’t sharing it with someone? That was when he’d decided to ask Isabella to move in. He’d pictured quiet, cozy dinners by candlelight, the sound of the waves as the only accompaniment for their deep and intimate conversation. But Isabella had made dinners at home a catered and companied affair. He’d pictured long Saturday afternoons by the pool with a New York Times, a bagel and freshly squeezed orange juice made from the tree in the front yard. But Isabella disappeared on Saturdays to spend the day at the gym and the spa. He shouldn’t complain. Isabella was trying to launch a career, and he’d sworn to do his best to help her. The dinners were essential to expanding her network and the gym and the spa, well that was her job wasn’t it, to stay beautiful? And Isabella was beautiful, no doubt. Any man would be lucky to have her.

And there she was. Lounging poolside, a drink in her hands and an umbrella tilted strategically toward her body, for maximum shade but minimum obstruction, just in case the paparazzi happened to wander by on the beach. That was Isabella’s favorite past time. Paparazzi baiting. She heard the slide of the glass door on its track and rolled over toward him, whipping off her sunglasses in mock surprise.

“Is it you? Is it my long lost movie star boyfriend who decided to abandon me by spending the night in the luxury of the hospital?”

Dean crossed to her lounger and dipped under the umbrella to kiss her. “Where were you?”

“Where was I?” she wrinkled her brow in confusion as much as her Botox would allow. “Where was I when?”

“Where were you last night when I was in the hospital?”

“I was here? Where else would I be?”

Was she serious? Unfortunately, the blank expression indicated that she was. “How about in the hospital? Making sure I was okay?”

“Oh pfffft… we knew you were fine. The doctors told everyone before they even put you in the ambulance that you didn't have a heart attack.”

“The doctors said…” Dean turned to Adam who had followed him out on to the pool deck and was typing frantically into his phone. “I thought you said Ed thought I had a heart attack.”

“Hah!” Isabella scoffed and took a sip of her drink. “The doctors said you had a panic attack. Ed kicked everyone off set and said that he couldn’t have a basket case on his movie and that he was recasting.” She nodded toward Adam. “He calmed him down. Persuaded him you just needed a break and everything would be fine. But Ed said if anyone found out the real reason they were taking a break, then you were off the movie, that he was getting enough crap about how old you were as it is.” Isabella stood and wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and kissed him on the nose. “I don’t think you’re old, baby. Don’t listen to these horrible movie dudes. Just get back on set so I can have my part back” She smacked his butt hard and giggled. “Just kidding.”

Dean felt the profound lethargy he’d been dealing with for the past few weeks creep back and roll over him like a black cloud. To his surprise, even though his best friend and girlfriend were standing right next to him, he suddenly felt very alone. He turned to Adam in confusion. What was really going on here? “Wait, Adam. This isn’t what you told me. You said he was freaked out because he thought I had a heart attack and that’s why he closed the set. You said we had to hide the story to keep the tabloids away - not because my job was on the line.” He sat down hard on a wicker patio chair. “This doesn’t sound like Ed. Is that really what Ed said?”

Adam crossed over to Dean and shot Isabella a dirty look as he passed. She was lounging comfortably again, and Dean caught her throwing her arms up in a “What?” expression. “Buddy. I didn’t want you to know that it was this bad. I gotta say that Ed and the rest of the producers seem to have a vendetta against you. They want new blood. They wanted new blood before we even started shooting. I’ve been playing politics in the background and shielding you from the worst of it. I’m sorry I haven’t been totally up front with you. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

He suddenly felt bad. Here he was feeling all tired and irritated with the two people closest to him when all they were trying to do was what was best for him. Hadn’t they always? It was the hospital stay that was getting to him. He hated the hospital. “Man, Adam. I didn’t realize that’s what you’ve been dealing with. I didn’t see it at all. Ed’s been awesome, and I thought the shoot had been going well.”

They’d been shooting for three weeks. Three weeks and Dean hadn’t seen any indication that there was anything awry. Not for the first time, Dean realized how lucky he was to have Adam around. He was always so much better with people than Dean could ever hope to be. But what now? Would he lose this movie? The panic pulsed against his ribcage.

It was difficult to explain to someone what “home” could mean to a person when you had never had one. Dean had spent his life shuttled from foster home to care center, to foster home. A rotating cast of parents, a new school every few months, and as a teenager, a new job to take on in every new location. Some kids in the system thrived under the challenge and became expert chameleons, brilliant at becoming the exact kind of person the family needed, the school wanted, the job required. Adam was a chameleon. As adults, these chameleon kids tended to be drawn to the environment in which they had always thrived. A community that would continue to challenge them and sharpen their chameleon skills. Adam had headed to Hollywood.

But some kids went the other way. They wanted to be free of the constant struggle, to keep to themselves, and they always searched for the path of least resistance. These were the non-chameleons. As adults the non-chameleons just searched for “home” - and home meant quiet, easy and always there. The Rolling Thunder movies, the beach cottage, Adam, all these things meant home for Dean. If he lost these movies, he lost something much bigger than a job, and the idea terrified him. As he had so many times in his life, he turned to the chameleon.

“Ok, Adam. I trust you. You know I can’t lose this movie. Just tell me what to do.”