The day after our glorious ceremony, our broken dynamic returned with the force of a tornado that destroys everything in its path. We were visiting with Simone’s family at his nonna’s in the city and I noticed that a small stone in my new wedding ring had fallen out. Simone flipped out. He did it in front of his whole family, criticizing me for not noticing the missing stone until now. His anger was unrelenting and left me mortified.
He continued to berate me back in our apartment. He didn’t stop all day, which turned what was supposed to be our romantic getaway into a nightmare. That night, with his anger still out of control, I reached a point where I feared for my safety and ran into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. Simone tried to get in and the door gave way. Seeing the way he looked at me frightened me even more, and I knew I had to get out of there. I packed my things and his cousin came and got me.
Outside, I sat in his cousin’s car, crying and uncertain of what to do. I felt like I was losing my mind. His cousin tried to console me, but he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Italian and it just felt extremely awkward. I was embarrassed for seeming hysterical and out of control without being able to explain why.
How could I go back to Simone?
How could I have gone back to Tyler all those times?
It’s what I knew. Here I was in Rome, sitting in a car with all my things in the trunk, and it was the same as when I used to drive around Los Angeles with all my belongings in the back of my car, swearing I wasn’t going back to Tyler. Yet all I ever did was go back.
This time was no different. We returned to LA, where our landlord informed us that he wanted to take over our house, so we had to find a new home. It should have seemed like a blessing, a sign that we could begin our marriage with a blank canvas, and that was the way it looked on the surface. With help from Sigal, we found a beautiful house near the reservoir in the Cahuenga Pass. With lots of natural elements incorporated in its design, the place had a magical, Zen-like quality. Simone fell in love with the large saltwater pool in the backyard. It was paradise, except for the cost. This place was significantly more expensive than our previous rental, and I didn’t feel like Simone was contributing enough toward the expenses.
Besides our home and our recent wedding, the bills I paid also included the lease on his BMW. To cover everything, I was having to dip into my pension.
Simone seemed to work longer hours as he focused even more on building his company. He started to call himself a manager instead of a promoter. Whenever I asked where he was going, he answered the studio. He was always in the studio. I enjoyed the additional time I had to myself. These moments were peaceful. They gave me time to think with a clarity that was impossible when we fought and I was upset. But with all the time Simone spent in the studio, sometimes all night, I began to feel like we were spending more time apart than together.
Then he left town to work in Canada. This was shortly after we had moved into the house. We were still living amid unpacked boxes, but I wished him well and said I would take care of settling us in. I wanted to be supportive. While he was out of town, I booked a job on the anthology series American Horror Story, one of my favorite shows. I was playing the ghost of the Black Dahlia, who returns to haunt a murder house unaware that she’s dead. I had been working very hard to keep everything going, and it felt like a personal win for me to get this particular part. It was an excellent role and a dream opportunity to work with the show’s stellar cast.
The work started while Simone was away in Canada, but I still had a couple days of shooting left when he returned, and I was excited to be able to share time with him and have his support. Though I had to be at work early the morning after he came back, I still had hopes of lingering in bed with Simone. But when I woke up, I was surprised to find that he was already up and getting ready to leave the house. He said he was meeting a buddy at the gym.
Surprised and hurt, I wished we could have had time together but I didn’t want to have an argument. Instead I invited him to come by the set later and visit if he had time. We kept in touch throughout the day and I arranged for him to come by during our lunch break. I got him a visitor’s pass so he could park near our dressing room trailers on the studio lot.
I was rarely comfortable having visitors on a set, and this time even more so. As a guest star, I was aware that I was coming into a place where people had established their ways and I didn’t want to disturb anyone’s routine. And on top of all that, I never felt I was good enough. I knew how to do my job but always pushed myself to do it better, especially on this set, which taxed me further. But I was looking forward to enjoying my break with Simone.
Our lunch break was actually around dinnertime, and I ate beforehand in order to have more free time. Then Simone showed up, and suddenly I wanted to crawl down some damn hole and die. I was being driven in a golf cart to the set from the dressing room trailers when I heard the loud vroooooommmmm of a sports car revving its engine. I wondered what asshole was doing that on the lot, where every soundstage and building had a sign reminding people to be quiet, which was especially needed when red lights flashed outside their doors. That’s when I saw my husband, heading toward me, in the passenger seat of a red convertible Lamborghini being driven by one of his friends.
I flagged them down and told them where to park, hoping that not too many people saw. But I felt like the damage had been done. I was deeply embarrassed. By the time Simone and his friend met me on the set, I was managing to hide my feelings about the way they had paraded around the lot in that car. I tried introducing Simone to one of the producer-writers. That was also a disaster. Simone and his friend were too busy grazing at the craft service table full of food and snacks. He behaved more like a five-year-old than my husband.
I was crushed. Being on this show was such a big opportunity for me, and I hoped and prayed that no one would look at me in a different light because of Simone’s behavior. I just wanted to do my job and be as respectful of the space as possible, and here he rolls up like he’s inspecting his empire. I plastered a fake smile on my face until he left; finally, Simone said he was going out to dinner with his friend, which I said was fine with me because I probably wouldn’t be done filming until midnight.
By this point, it was close to ten and I was curious how late he planned to be out, because I didn’t want to worry. Sometimes he would be in the studio all night. We also still hadn’t spent any time together for more than two weeks. He assured me that he wouldn’t be late and would see me at home. We said goodbye, and I went back to the set not knowing that this would be the last night of our relationship.
When I arrived home a little after midnight, Simone wasn’t there. I was disappointed but too tired to think about it. I had my own full life and didn’t want to hold him back from pursuing the same thing. I got into bed and went to sleep. I woke up around five, hoping to find him next to me. But he still wasn’t home. Since he had pointedly said he wasn’t going to be out late, I panicked. I imagined him in the hospital. Or dead someplace without anyone knowing. I didn’t have any messages on my phone, which compounded my fears. I tried calling him, without getting an answer. I did this two, three, four, then six times. Each time, the call rang and went to voicemail. I hung up and redialed.
I was worried and angry and ultimately so sick of having drama in my life. Why were all my relationships fraught with such intense issues? I wanted to scream.
An hour passed and I still couldn’t reach him. The sun was starting to come up. I was out of my mind with what to do next. Exhausted, I wished I could have stayed asleep or could go back to sleep, but it was impossible for me to lay my head back down on my pillow and act as if nothing were wrong. I didn’t know his friend personally, so I had no other numbers to call. All I could do was sit in bed and wait, which felt excruciating. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I heard the garage door open. I leapt out of bed and ran into the hallway, eager to know where he had been.
I was waiting when he entered the main house and barely able to get out “Where were you?” before he blew past me and went into the half bath off the living room, shutting the door without stopping to even acknowledge me. Now, not only was I irritated, I was becoming enraged. The door to the half bath was frosted, so I could see his figure sitting on top of the toilet. He wasn’t using it; he was just sitting there. I tried the door. It was locked.
“Open the door,” I said.
He mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
“Open the door,” I said again.
He ignored me and sat there a little bit longer before getting up and coming out. By this point, I was so damn confused, angry, and exhausted that I had walked back into the bedroom, where I sat up in the bed. Desperate to stay calm, I was poised and statue-like as I waited for him. When he finally entered the room, he continued to ignore me and walked around to his side of the bed.
“Where were you?” I asked again.
Wordlessly, Simone took off his clothes, like he was going to get into bed, as if everything were normal, as if it were normal to have not answered his phone all night, as if it were normal to come home at six in the morning without any explanation and nonchalantly lie down while I repeatedly implored him to talk to me. For a second or two, I thought he was going to say that he had cheated on me.
I prepared myself to deal with that news. Once again, I asked him where he had been, and as he pulled back the covers to lay his head down, he finally confessed what he had been up to.
Hearing that made everything stop. I had been looking at Simone, but my gaze changed so that I was trying to see inside him. I thought about what he was telling me and what he was not telling me.
His actions and admission left me to form my own opinion about what he was saying, and if it was true, I was done. I wanted nothing to do with him.
He had lied to me about his age. Suddenly, I had no idea if he’d always been in the studio or if that was code for something else he was doing and hiding. And now this admission. I couldn’t believe it, but after five years together, it dawned on me that I had no idea who this person lying next to me in bed really was; before his head hit the pillow, I said, “Get the fuck out of here.”