Page 103 of Two-Step
The look she gives me could fry bacon. To a crisp. “Youknowwhat I’m talking about.” She slides her jaw from left to right, giving me a speaking glare. “Improving relations withmanagement.”
I’ll be honest. I am a coward. This is a well-established fact. I’m not a fan of confrontation, and I don’t enjoy disappointing people. Especially Moira. But what she’s asking makes my skin crawl.
I can’t bring myself to flirt with my director.
I haven’t even tried. Acting is one thing. Faking is another.
But I also haven’t told her that I can’t—and won’t—do it.
So I equivocate. “I think Jonathan and I have a good working relationship, but I don’t see it ever being more than that,” I say, forcing my chin up to mimic some self-respect.
She expels a frustrated breath. “Because you haven’ttried.This storm is the perfect opportunity. You should just mention to him that you don’t want to be alone during a hurricane. That house the studio set him up in must have five or six bedrooms,” she says, eyes bugging. “You should stay there this weekend.”
I have to stop myself from staggering backward. How did we get here?
“Mom—”I almost never call herMom,especially not on-set, but sometimes it just slips out. Her scowl is immediate.“Moira,” I correct, “That’s—not—I-I-m notgoingto be alone during the storm, and even if I were—”
She arches a superior brow and eyes me like the cat who ate a fuckton of canaries. “Oh, are you sure about that? By the sound of it, yourgood friendsare about to head out of town.”
“What?” I look back to the spot where we left Ramon, but he’s not there anymore. I scan the space for either him or Sally, but neither is in sight. Nerves bunch my stomach, but I willfully talk myself down.
I don’t know what Moira is talking about, but Ramon and Sally would never just up and abandon me without a word. They know what that would do to me. Neither one of them would walk out on me like that.
“I’ve given you enough time to get this done,” Moira says, drawing every atom of my attention back to her. “I see I’ll need to get involved—as usual.”
“What?!Moira—No. No.” I almost never come out and tell her no, straight up, but this is ridiculous. “Whatever you’re planning? It can’t hap—”
“Relax,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I know to talk to people so they give me exactly what I want and think it was their idea.”
No. Just no. I can attest firsthand that when my mother gets me to give her what she wants, I never think it’s my idea. I only do it when resistance seems futile.
Right now, for my career, my integrity, mysanity,resistance seems vital. “Moira,please,don’t do this,” I beg. “This is embarrassing andwrong.This isn’t who I am—”
“Iris Miranda Adams!” she yells.
I freeze, horrified.
Oh.
God.
The soundstage falls absurdly still. I can feel—actually feel—people listening. I want to collapse in on myself like an aluminum can in a vacuum chamber. My skin blisters with humiliation.
Moira’s eyes, a menacing green, flare like a predator’s. But she hears the silence too, takes in our sudden audience, and lifts her chin with tight-lipped pride. When she speaks, her volume is controlled, thank God.
“Don’t youdaresay I’ve embarrassed you, girl. I am the reason you are standing here. I’m the reason you have this role. This paycheck. Thislife.”She jabs a finger toward the ground as if to indicate that everything I know of earth itself is because of her.
Nausea assails me and the walls threaten to close in because she’s right. I wouldn’t be here without her. None of this would have come to pass without Moira at the helm of my life. She has driven me here.
Like a jockey drives a racehorse.
Her eyes narrow to slits. “Do you think after all this—after everything I’ve done to get you where you are—do you think I don’t know what’s good for you now?”
I say nothing, banking on history. Moira’s rhetorical questions should go unanswered. But I bet wrong.
“Answer me.”Her hiss may as well be a scream.
Just get her to stop. Tell her she knows what’s best,my survival instinct begs.
