I made a friend in rehab. Her name was Katie, and while she wasn’t as damaged as I was, she seemed to understand me. In fact, it was her very normalcy that drew me to her, I think. She knew who I was, but she didn’t seem to care. She was struggling with her own thing, but she had time to help me with my struggle too. When Connor checked into our rehab facility with his best friend, Henry, in tow for some reason I still don’t understand, she told me I didn’t have to go to him when he called. And when I did anyway, she stayed on my side.
Finally, a friend, I remember thinking. A friendship that was about who I was, not what I was.
But here’s the thing. She did care what I was. In fact, that was the whole reason she was in rehab. Katie was just pretending to be an alcoholic seeking help. Her real mission was me. She was sent there by a magazine called Gossip Central to befriend me. Get the inside scoop. Write an exposé. All to land her dream job as a music writer for Gossip Central’s sister magazine, The Line.
It turned out to be a piece of cake.
So, do I really have to say it?
I guess so.
No, I’m not pregnant. Not even a little bit.
But as I watch Katie shift uncomfortably from foot to foot with a room full of shocked eyes on her, looking like she wishes she could disappear, I start to get very, very angry.
CUT TO:
INT. HOTEL CONFERENCE ROOM--MOMENTS LATER
KATE SANDFORD (32), chestnut hair, light blue eyes, fit, pretty, a journalist, and AMBER SHEPPARD (25), petite, underfed, very much an actress, are alone in the conference room where the press conference took place. It’s been emptied out. Katie and Amber look small in the big, empty room.
Amber’s face is mottled with anger. Katie looks a little frightened, but mostly ashamed.
AMBER
Why would you think I was pregnant?
KATE
There was a positive pregnancy test . . . in your garbage.
AMBER
You’ve been going through my garbage? Seriously, Katie?
Kate looks at the floor.
KATE
No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t do that.
AMBER
Just someone at that ridiculous magazine, right? Why are you still doing their dirty work?
KATE
The Line is owned by the same people, you know that, and there was pressure on our editorial board and . . .
AMBER
Unfuckingbelievable.
KATE
(Speaking very quickly)
I know this sounds like last time, okay. I get that. And it was that editor Bob’s idea. We have to find a way to get more readers or we’re all toast. Everyone’s desperate, and--
AMBER
So, if you get the inside scoop on my “pregnancy,” then you get to keep your job?
KATE
So you are pregnant?
AMBER
No! But that’s why you’re asking, right?
KATE
Well, yeah.
AMBER
How is this not exactly like last time?
KATE
(Beat)
I promise I won’t write about it?
Kate looks at Amber sideways, waiting for her reaction.
Amber’s initially pissed off. Then starts to laugh.
AMBER
I’ll give you this, Katie. You’ve got balls.
“How’s Henry?” I ask Katie when I’ve stopped laughing and an uncomfortable silence has stolen over the room. “I mean, you guys are still together, right? I thought I heard that.”
“Yeah, we are. And he’s a complete mess.”
“Because of Connor?”
“Of course because of Connor. Why else?”
“But they haven’t spoken in years. They never made up after that fight, did they?”
Right after we got out of rehab, Connor pulled some crazy shit, and Henry actually took my side rather than Connor’s. He quit working for Connor—even though he’d been his manager for years, and, I was pretty sure, never liked me—and he and Katie sort of saved my life that night, which is kind of an awesome thing to do for another person, when you think about it.
“No, they didn’t,” Katie says. “But what does that have to do with it? They grew up together. They were best friends for years. Besides, you haven’t been with him for what, six months—a year?—and you’re a mess . . .”
I look down at my hands.
“You are a mess, aren’t you?” she asks. “Oh, Christ.”
“What?”
“Are you on something right now?”
My head snaps up. “No! Why would you think that?”
“Because you just gave a press conference, and you looked pretty cool during it. Like, medicated cool.”
“Not that I owe you any explanations, Katie, and if you print this anywhere I’ll end you, but this is the first time I’ve been outside my apartment since I heard the news. I couldn’t even get out of bed until Olivia forced me out.”
Katie shakes her head.
“What?”
“You’ll ‘end me’? Dramatic much?”
“Ah, fuck off.”
She smiles a sad smile. “I’ve missed you. And I’m really sorry about Connor. About everything.”
“Didn’t keep you from taking the assignment, though, did it? Again.”
“True. My name is Kate. I’m an alcoholic and an awful person.”
“You have to really mean it when you say that.”
“Ouch.”
There’s that silence thief again.
“There is one thing I don’t understand,” Katie says eventually.
“Only one thing?”
“Ha. Yeah. If you’re not pregnant, why was there a positive pregnancy test in your trash?”
“Back to that, huh?”
“Back to that, but off the record, I promise. If that means anything to you.”
I think about it. Do her promises mean anything to me? Can I trust her? Do I want to take the risk? But there’s something else there too. Because how did that pregnancy test end up in my trash? Assuming Bob didn’t plant it to manufacture a story, which I wouldn’t put it past him to do.
Then I have a moment of clarity, as they call it in good ol’ AA.
And she must have one too, because when I meet Katie’s eyes, we say it together.
“Olivia.”