The Unraveling of Cassidy Holmes

Without Rose, I knew I wasn’t going to sleep well here. I curled up on the bed, kicked off my shoes, and hugged an overstuffed pillow. The colors outside the window burned from fire to dusk; light in the room faded softly, until the arms holding the pillow were bathed in soft blue. Thoughts jogged in my head, a repetition, a mantra: your fault your fault your fault.

What could I do besides wonder how I could have changed the outcome? If I’d never gotten in the limo with Stephen St. James. If I hadn’t trusted Peter so much. If I’d stood up for Alex. If I’d never gotten involved with Alex at all. Now because of my mistake, he and his family suffered; I would never forgive myself.

My cell phone rang—probably Emily asking if I was finally home so she could drop off the dog. I picked it up without checking the caller ID.

“It’s me,” said a voice. I shifted and sat up, still clutching the pillow.

“Edie?” I whispered hopefully.

“No. Rose.”

Her voice was lower and huskier than normal, and the reception wasn’t very good in this part of the Hills so it was an understandable mistake, but I berated myself nonetheless. “Oh. I was just thinking about you. I’m sorry about the interview, okay? I just needed to get the truth out there—”

She cleared her throat. “That’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay . . .” I gazed out the window. The blue was gone now too, replaced with the incandescent yellow glow of outside lights burning to keep intruders away. My yard beyond that was dark and shifting, winds rattling the leaves on the trees lining the drive.

“I’m still mad at you about the Variety thing. But this isn’t about that.”

Her words buoyed my hope. “Do you want to come over?”

“I can’t. I’ve told you before, we just can’t.”

“You keep saying that, but I still find you in my bed almost every night. Who are you kidding, Rose?”

“I mean it this time.”

“Because of fans? Rose, listen to yourself. I am not asking for an epic romance or a forever thing. I’m just asking you to be with me for a while. I think we can be happy together.”

“No, not fans. Though yeah, that’s a concern. It’s my mom.”

“Clara?” I traced the stitching on the bedspread.

“She doesn’t know. Well, she knew Viv’s . . . um . . .”

“Relationship with you?” We hadn’t discussed it since that night in Copenhagen, the tenderness Rose had shown when we visited San Jose. The careful way Rose had carried her to the bathroom. The way Viv’s mother had whispered, I’m glad she found you, which didn’t mean anything to me until I belatedly realized the nature of their bond. Lorna knew, and she wanted Rose to be happy.

“Mom knew Viv was quote-unquote different. And she hated it. She thought it was contagious, learned behavior. Tried to separate us all the time. She was thrilled when Viv got sick.”

“Thrilled?” What kind of human—

“Wrong word, but close. She knew the illness would keep us apart. Me with Gloss, Viv in hospitals. If she knew about me and you, she would have an aneurysm. And I can’t do that to her.”

I clutched the phone. “Maybe she’s changed. Maybe she would be happy to see you happy.”

“No . . .” Even though she wasn’t there, I could sense Rose shaking her head vehemently. “She would never change.”

“You’re going to listen to her over your own feelings?” I said, incredulous.

There was a silence. “It’s fucked up,” Rose said, “but she’s my mother.”

“But how—” The ache in my stomach grew. It was as if I’d inhaled hot tar and it was gurgling through my throat, hardening in my lungs, crumbling through my body. I gagged and couldn’t say anything more.

“When we are back on tour, we’re going to pretend none of this happened,” Rose continued. “We are two professionals doing our jobs. But no jokes. No innuendos. No touching.”

“I can’t touch you?” I blurted out.

“And no sleeping,” she said with finality.

“But—” The insomniac moments without her, the quiet scent of her.

“I’m sorry about this,” Rose said, “but I think it’s best to lay out boundaries before we start traveling again.”

“No one would know,” I pleaded. “Maybe just Yumi and Merry. And I guess Ian. We can keep it quiet.”

“No, we can’t,” she snapped. “Yumi? You think she can keep a secret? Well, did you know that Yumi chitchatted with Veronica, the sound tech, about what she thought had happened between you and Alex? And look what happened there! Of course, she told me and Peter too, because she was worried about you.” Her voice dripped disdain. “We are huge. It will get out. Yumi might accidentally let it slip, or someone will see us and film us, and it’ll be Merry and Grant times two thousand.”

The real details about Yumi hurt more than I thought they would. I could have seen her accidentally telling one person about her suspicions, but to talk to Rose about them? Peter too? The betrayal stung.

“What about what I think? I don’t get a say?” I whined.

“Sorry, no, it just . . . doesn’t work that way.” After she hung up, I stared at the phone display, which flashed the time and then slowly faded to gray. I curled back into a ball, wanting to cry but not feeling the wetness reach my cheeks. Everything bubbled under the surface. My heart hammered in my chest, beating in my ears; the black tar wheezed in my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Alex. Yumi. Rose. Blame. Blame. Blame. Stupid stupid stupid.

I decided to black everything out and try to go to bed early. I shuffled to the bathroom for the sleeping pills and filled a glass with water. I took two while staring at myself in the mirror. Then I looked at the label and thought how hard I wanted to sleep, and took two more.

It occurred to me that I could black myself out forever if I took the right amount. There were enough in the bottle. I poured them out on the counter and fingered them with a manicured nail, watching them slide along the marble. With my hands I made a two-by-two formation of the rest, then three-by-three, then a square, which I swirled into a circle. I looked into my reflection and considered it. My thoughts scared me, that much was true—and I didn’t think that I could feel fear anymore. I’d imagined that the incident with Stephen St. James in the limo had seared all the fear out of me, that my body had used up its lifetime allotment of fear. But now, feeling the capsules move fluidly under my fingers, I wondered if I was making a mistake that I wouldn’t have time to regret.

A noise startled me—a bark, a clattering of shoes downstairs. “Hello?” came a voice, and Penny continued to bark resounding, echoing greetings all along the kitchen and finally short, happier tones as she bounded up the stairs. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and poured the pills into their container, replacing the lid safely on top and setting it in the cabinet.

“Penny!” I exclaimed, kneeling by the bathroom doorway and letting her kiss me with her mottled pink tongue. “I missed you!”

And it was true. I’d missed her happy, devoted smile and her sour breath.

And then I thought how much I would rather spend all of my time with Penny instead of around the terrible environment that was Gloss: my lover who was not my lover, my friend who was not my friend, the friend that I didn’t deserve, the manager who was a cesspool of toxicity. Maybe I just wouldn’t go back.

Emily came slowly around the doorjamb to the master bedroom, knocking lightly. “Hi,” she said, “just checking to make sure you’re actually here and Penny won’t be all alone tonight.”

“I’m here.” I stood up, wavering a little. “Though I’m about to get into bed.”

“It’s barely nine.” Emily consulted her watch.

“Yeah, but . . . jet lag.”

Emily looked at me, really taking me in, it seemed. Penny’s tail thumped on the floor in a dull clap. “Are you okay?” she asked.

I looked back down at Penny, scratching her ears, a pretense to avoid Emily’s scrutiny. “Mm-hmm. Just tired.”

“All right,” she said, backing out of the doorway. “See you later. Bye, Penny!” I heard her stomp across the kitchen tile and arm the alarm before locking the door. Her car crunched along the gravel toward the gate.

“Good girl, Penny,” I said, glancing back up at the cabinet, knowing what waited inside. “Let’s get to bed.”



31.



Monday



Rose



After a lackluster meeting with the FPZ execs, where they dangled a fifteen-million-dollar contract at me and I teased a yes (I aim to have my agent negotiate another five), I returned to my Beverly Hills house to get ready for the Lunch at Midnight premiere, while Viv was already deep into her British dramas on her side of the house. Seeing lots of zeroes on potential checks felt like the old days. I knew that things could go back to normal soon enough.

The other Gloss girls were going to meet me there. I suggested to my agent that I walk separately to highlight my independence and position as a working actress. Merry and Yumi could figure out if they wanted to walk down together or alone.