Brandon got down on his knees and started kissing Nina’s knuckles. Her hands were cold and he was warm. “I have missed your face,” he said, looking up at her, his eyes growing glassy, his voice scratchy. “And the smell of your hair. I missed brushing my teeth next to you every morning and night. The way you look the most like yourself in your pajamas next to me at the sink. The way you smile with your whole face sometimes,” he said. “I cannot live without you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Nina said.

“Say you’ll give me another chance.”

Nina found herself looking at the floor and the ceiling, the bedspread and the closet doors. Anywhere but his face. At anything but his eyes.

“Come with me,” Brandon said, taking her hand. “You deserve to know I’m serious.” He began pulling her out of the bedroom into the hallway.

“Brandon, what are you doing?” Nina asked, running with him so as not to be dragged.

He led her down the stairs, where people were starting to gather in the entryway and living room. Nina caught eyes with Tuesday Hendricks just as she walked in the door.

“Brandon,” Nina whispered. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Everyone!” Brandon called out, his voice booming over the music that had just started playing. “I have an announcement to make.”

Heads started to turn in their direction, including Hud’s. He had been pointing out the nearest bathroom to an Olympic volleyball player. Nina didn’t see Jay or Kit but she could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

“If any one of you have read the papers, you might know that I’ve fucked up recently. That I forgot how lucky I was. That I haven’t been such a nice guy.”

“You’ve been a moron, man!” someone called out from the crowd. Everyone laughed and Nina wanted to evaporate into the air.

Brandon turned to her. “But I’m here to tell you, Nina, in front of everyone here tonight. That I love you. And I need you. That you are the most beautiful, kindest, most amazing woman on the planet. I am here to declare publicly, I am nothing without you.”

Nina grinned reluctantly, unsure where to look or what to say.

He got down on one knee. “Nina Riva, will you take me back?”

Somebody whistled. Nina couldn’t tell who it was but she thought it might have been her neighbor Carlos Estevez. The rest of the crowd starting clapping. Someone started chanting, “Take Him Back!”

Nina could feel the room shrinking, as if it could collapse on her.

“Take! Him! Back! Take! Him! Back!”

Suddenly, her voice was so small, she almost wasn’t sure it was hers. “OK,” Nina said, nodding, hoping everyone would stop looking. “OK.”

Brandon swooped her up into his arms and kissed her. Everyone cheered.

Kit made her way to the commotion from the kitchen and saw Brandon there, a smile on his face, holding Nina in his arms. He looked so victorious.

Kit looked to Jay, who had come in by the stereo, and then to Hud, who was still by the door. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. Kit’s expression turned sour.

Nina glanced toward Kit at that very moment, saw how it all looked through Kit’s eyes. She averted her gaze.

8:00 P.M.

Tuesday Hendricks was wearing baggy black linen pants with black suspenders, a white T-shirt, and a gray bowler hat over her long brown hair. She was fresh faced and slightly pale. The only makeup she had on was a hint of mascara.

She walked into the backyard with her hands in her oversized pockets. Within those pockets, Tuesday had four joints, two blunts, and a spliff.

She pulled out the spliff once she got to the open air and then lit it. She breathed in, she held the smoke in her lungs, and then she let it go.

She smiled at the people staring at her and then nodded, acknowledging them in the hope they would go back to their conversation.

“Tues, hey.” Tuesday turned around to see Rafael Lopez, her most recent costar, joining her and handing her a beer. She had not come with Rafael, had not been seeking him out. But she did not mind him. So far, during their current movie shoot, he’d kept his tongue in his mouth when they had makeout scenes and he never made her wait around for him when they were called to set. Plus, if he was standing next to her, perhaps people would be less inclined to interrupt.

She was not here to socialize. She was only here to show her face. To let everyone know she wasn’t running away after her public scandal, hiding from what she’d done. She wasn’t embarrassed. Bridger should be embarrassed. But the man had no shame.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Rafael said.

“I didn’t want to be the woman who couldn’t hack showing up.”

Rafael put his hand out, asking for the spliff. Tuesday handed it over. Tuesday was known for having the best weed. But she was known for this only within Hollywood. To the public at large she was supposed to be innocent and adorable and, ugh, peppy.

Well, that’s what people had thought of her until she met Bridger. Now she was the girl who left him at the altar.

“It was exactly a year ago that you two met, right?” Rafael asked.

Tuesday nodded. “This very party. On this very night. One year ago.”

Rafael took a hit. Tuesday watched a pop star and an MTV Veejay hang out by the barbecue and pretend they weren’t going to screw later. But everyone already knew they were screwing. Tuesday laughed as it occurred to her. This whole town was just people who weren’t screwing pretending they were and people who were screwing pretending they weren’t.

“This is basically the anniversary of my very own hell,” she added.

Rafael frowned at her. “The whole world thinks that guy is a saint.”

“The whole world thinks I’m the daughter of a doomed astronaut who builds a time machine in order to visit him before he leaves for the moon.”

Rafael laughed. “That’s your fault. Next time don’t be so convincing you win an Oscar at sixteen.”

“Seventeen,” Tuesday said.

Rafael raised his eyebrow at her. Tuesday watched the party begin to fill up. She smiled at people. She smoked her spliff. She checked her watch. She had told herself she’d stay for an hour. Just so everyone knew she wasn’t afraid to see Bridger’s face.

Twenty more minutes. And then she could go.

But then she heard a commotion behind her. And she heard Bridger’s booming action-movie voice. That voice was fake. His real voice was higher pitched and nasal. Tuesday knew this because when he spoke in his sleep, the real voice came out. But even with her, even when it had just been the two of them eating takeout on the couch, he’d always used the fake voice.

“Hey, man, how’s it hanging?” Bridger said to someone in the doorway.

Tuesday could feel him mere feet away now. She turned to Rafael, not wanting to look behind her. “He’s coming up behind me, isn’t he?” Her pulse started racing. Here was the problem: What she didn’t want everyone to think about her was actually true. She was afraid to see his face.

She didn’t think she could stand looking at him pretend to be hurt by her. She couldn’t bear one more minute of his brilliant poor-me routine. He had crafted such a perfect performance as a victim that it unnerved the shit out of her.