Chapter Five

Convincing her mother that Felix was going to miss his party and come over was the best thing Wren had ever done for her own sanity. Assurances that he was staying the night finally worked, and her mother had dropped her off. Which meant Wren, at least until she messaged Felix because she wasn’t stupid enough to ignore medical advice, finally had some alone time.

A few hours later and Wren was on the couch with sushi, something she could eat one-handed with this incredibly frustrating sling, had taken another painkiller, and had Felix sprawled in her armchair as they watched TV.

The light was set to dim in her sunken living room, the sound low on the show they were watching. Outside, the sun had set in a blaze of orange, the night having taken over the sky rapidly after. The burnt look had faded, and Wren wished she’d taken a photo of it.

“Wait, so you dared this girl to kiss you at camp and then shoved her in the dirt?” Felix asked.

Wren jammed a piece of sushi that was more wasabi than sushi at this point into her mouth. Cheeks bulging, she nodded at him.

He guffawed, head back and hand actually slapping his thigh. He was a damn character study for ‘pure amusement.’

“That is,” he rasped, “the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

She swallowed, the sushi squeezing down her throat. “Look, I gay panicked. Leave me alone.”

“How did you gay panic? You were nine!”

“Oh come on, you didn’t kind of know your sexuality as a kid?”

He shrugged, grabbing edamame and biting into the pod, popping some of it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. I didn’t kiss a girl until I was sixteen.”

“I don’t mean kissing or anything. But…a crush. Something like that.” Wren had known she was a lesbian forever. She didn’t remember not knowing.

“Wow. I’ve never really thought about it.” He chewed slowly. “Is this straight privilege? Not dissecting your crushes?”

She chuckled. “Probably.”

“Oh wait! Laura Wong. We were eight. She gave me her juice box and I followed her like a puppy for a week. I think I told my mom it was because I was hoping for another.” He grinned. “I just liked her.”

“See!”

“I didn’t shove her over, though.”

Wren slumped back into the couch, the cozy tan material giving under her weight. The TV murmured away, far too low for them to be able to pretend they were watching. Besides, the show starred Trinity Dray, and she was an incredible actress, but all Wren could see was the girl who had once farted in Wren’s trailer and then been so mortified she’d sworn Wren to secrecy even as they both lost it laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. Got to love recording running late past three a.m. until you were both delirious. And gassy.

“Look. Felix. I panicked. It’s all I can say. And clearly, she remembers.”

“You don’t say?”

Blowing a long strand of hair out of her eyes, she looked forlornly at her empty plate, then eyed his. He pulled his own closer to himself. Fair. “Well, she was an asshole back to me today, anyway.”

“What did she say?”

Picking at a thread on the plush cushion she’d pulled onto her lap, Wren gave a halfhearted shrug. “That I’d come out for attention.”

“Ouch.”

“Yup.”

“Think she was just trying to hurt your feelings? Or she really believes that?”

Wren gave a similar shrug again. “I don’t know, really. She was clearly holding a grudge, so definitely the first. The second? I hope not. But I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve been accused of that since I came out.”

“Which is absurd. There were rumors for years before that. You walked that fine line of not denying nor confirming for ages. How people can then say you’ve faked it I’ll never know.”

“Yet they did. And Madison apparently thinks so, too.” She turned sulkily back to the TV. Trinity was crying. She was really good at that. Managed to get her skin all blotchy and her eyes welled up perfectly. When she could feel Felix’s gaze still on her, she glanced back over. Yup. Staring right at her.

He blinked at her. Something around his mouth twitched, the dark brown skin around his eyes crinkling.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he said, in the manner that clearly meant ‘something.’

“Felix.” She eyed him. “What?”

“I, well—the articles that poured out after you came out never really got to you. They accused you of attention seeking, lying. There was that one that claimed from some kind of ‘source’—” he made quotation marks in the air at that “—that you were in a sex cult.”

She snorted. That one had been her favorite. Felix had sent her quotes from it for weeks after.

“What’s your point?” she asked.

“Well, that, really.”

She stared at him. He blinked at her again. She peered around, expecting an answer to be sitting next to her, piled neatly on the cushions. “‘That’ what?”

“You found it all funny.”

“It was funny.”

“You’re not finding this funny.”

Wren opened her mouth to retort, but found herself with nothing. She snapped it shut again. He looked far too happy with himself. “That’s because this is an actual person.”

“Nah, you definitely had people you know hint at that. That gossipy charity dinner you had to do a speech at?”

She could have shuddered at the memory. Some events, she loved. Others were filled with people she had no interest in rubbing shoulders with.

“That was hinted there by people you’d worked with for years. You knew this Madison lady for a few weeks twenty-five years ago. And it’s really, really bothering you.”

“Not really, really.”

“Yes, really, really.”

Irritation prickled at her. What did he know? She wasn’t bothered. It hadn’t hurt. Or made Wren second guess herself. Or want to lash out.

Nope.

Not at all.

She paused.

“Shit, you’re right.”

He settled back into the armchair like a cat getting comfortable. “Oh, I know.”

“I never really care what people think of me.”

Well, she did. Everyone did, on some level. Especially in Hollywood. But she knew she was a lesbian. People trying to say she was a typical ‘attention-seeking millennial’ had merely made her laugh. The outpouring of support had been what she’d focused on—she’d had tweets and messages and letters sent thanking her for coming out. Stories of grandmothers that loved her work that were now accepting their queer grandchildren. Stories of bravery after seeing her coming out to come out themselves. On Twitter, she’d lost followers, she knew, but had also gained many. One girl had reduced her to tears in a viral video speaking about how she’d been filled with self-hatred and that Wren coming out had shown her that you could be out and happy and fulfilled. Parents had thanked her for opening their eyes.

It had, frankly, been the most beautiful and overwhelming few months of her life. All of that positivity, that sense of community, had easily drowned out the ridiculousness. Negative stories barely touched her. The stories of her movies now being banned in households. The way her mother kept mentioning that project offers had dropped. It had all barely touched her.

“Well.” Felix grabbed his last piece of sushi. “Madison definitely got to you.”

She really had.

“Maybe it’s because I feel bad.”

“Why?”

“I always felt bad, about doing that. I know I was a kid, but it was such a dick move.”

His lips twitched.

“It’s not funny, Felix.”

“I mean, it is. I feel bad for nine-year-old her, but it’s a little funny!”

Wren wanted to pull the pillow over her face and groan into it, but her very sore shoulder and arm in a sling wouldn’t let her. Instead, she dropped her head back onto the back of the couch and groaned. “I can see how it’s funny!”

“And you care what she thinks.”

She held her hand up, index finger and thumb barely apart. “Only a little.”

She was lying, she realized. She cared quite a bit. If only she could put her finger on why that was.

It couldn’t have anything to do with Madison being wildly attractive.

“And you feel bad about what nine-year-old you gay panicked and did.”

The distance between her finger and thumb increased drastically.

“Why don’t you try talk to her again? You know, now you’re not in the hospital when she’s your doctor— neither of you had any warning you’d be confronted with each other that day.”

She lifted her head off the back of the couch. “Are you suggesting healthy communication and interaction with another human being, Felix?”

“Yup.”

She dropped her head back down. “Ew.”

He reached over and patted her knee. “You’ll be okay. Eat some edamame. Your mom’s messaged me twice to make sure you eat something healthy.”

“Well now I’m not going to eat it.”

“Mature.”

“Oh, I know.”

She took some edamame.

* * *

Three weeks later, and suddenly it was time to be on set. Which was always a blur. But this time, for the first time in her entire career, when Wren slid out of the shiny black car with its butter-soft leather seats, she felt a rush of something akin to the feeling when one came home after a long time away.

She’d never returned to a set before. Of course, she’d returned to certain production offices, worked with some of the same people. But never had she returned to the same project, like she was now. It was an entirely new feeling, but one she found she relished.

She loved movies. She really did. But working on The Downfall had been an entirely different experience. Not exactly like regular TV, Trinity had confirmed that. But different all the same. Now, returning—something none of them had expected to do—was like a warm hug.

If warm hugs had demanding, grueling schedules of up to fourteen hours a day, every day for weeks on end.

She really did love it, though.

Her sling was off, she was a few weeks into physical therapy, and luckily, none of it had affected the filming schedule. The light headaches she’d had for a few days after the crash had faded. She’d done the table read and rehearsals while recovering and was prepped to go. She had her call sheet on her phone, it was five a.m., and she was ready for hair and makeup.

She flashed her pass at security, who were already opening the door for her. She flashed them a smile, too, and greeted them with a sunny, “Good morning!”

Five a.m., and already the halls were full of people. She wound her way through them, nodding at people she knew and stopping to chat with a few of them. Most of them hadn’t seen each other since season one and recognizing so many left warmth in Wren’s chest. She found her dressing room, far oversized for her needs—not that she was complaining—and dropped her bag on one of the couches there. The room was well lit, a window to the outside letting in the weak light that was trying to take over the sky. A plush couch and equally plush armchair took up the corner of one side of the room, a door near them leading to the bathroom that came with a shower (heaven) and the small kitchenette equipped with whatever she’d need. If she were honest with herself, she’d only use it to make herself coffee.

While not needing so much space, having somewhere so comfortable to escape to on a long day of shooting—or, worse, an overnight shoot—made this something she let her mother insist on in her contracts. Trinity had something similar.

Opening a cabinet in the kitchenette, she grinned when she saw the Pop-Tarts taking up a shelf. Strawberry. Her weakness. Maybe she’d be using the kitchenette for more than just coffee.

The first time she’d ever been on set there’d definitely been no Pop-Tarts. Or dressing room. Many times after that none of this had been there. She ran her fingers over the fancy coffee machine. Amazing, where one started and where one could end up.

There was a rap at the door. “Come in!”

A tousled head peeked round the door. On the shoulder making its way through the gap was a badge that said ‘they/them.’ “Miss Acker, hi. Glad to catch you so early. I have today’s sides for you.”

She walked over to grab the pages they would be filming today. “And so it begins.” She grinned. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll try to have them here for you as early as I can at the top of each day. If you’re not here, is it okay to leave them for you on the table?”

“For sure. What was your name?”

“Xander.” Xander held a hand out. They also looked twelve. Was this the curse of mid-thirties? Anyone a few years younger started looking twelve? “Nice to meet you.”

Wren shook their hand. “You, too.”

They were already ducking out, places to get to quickly, a day on set involving more than the actors’ lines. Far more, actually.

“Just wanted to say that your coming out was awesome.” They turned their head back, their grin huge. “I ordered that shirt you were wearing immediately.”

Wren laughed. “I own it in three colors.”

Their laugh reached Wren even through the closed door. There were a couple of pages in her hand. Barely anything. But this short scene would take hours to shoot. If they were lucky. She scanned them, flipping them over one after the other. Not a lot of changes from what she’d studied the night before. A couple of lines. Nothing that would change anything drastically.

She smirked as she read. Trinity had a small joke now. She’d love that. The show was mostly drama, but the odd dry bit of humor had mostly fallen to some side characters. Trinity had been bugging everyone for more humor since they were halfway through filming the first season. Wren had left that to her—she wasn’t the best at humor. On the red carpet? Sure. In an interview? Easy. But on film? She fell into the tragic. It settled over her like a blanket. Playing a doctor desperate to protect her sister as the world fell apart to a natural disaster had been easy for her. Trinity, as the younger, bubbly sister, had been easy to play alongside. She was glad no one was handing the humor to her. No, thank you.

She found her way to hair and makeup, the room one of the brightest in the building. The room was lit up, lights around the mirrors radiating heat. Chairs spread out in front of the mirrors, facing so much makeup Wren wouldn’t be able to name it all. Lipstick, she knew. Mascara. Maybe eyeliner. After that she got lost, and she definitely had more than that put on her for a day on set. Slipping into the seat, she grinned when Alicia threw a plastic sheet over her.

“You’re back!” Wren exclaimed.

“I am.” Alicia was immediately pulling Wren’s hair out of its ponytail, fingers gentle, brush pulling through the strands. “Season two—who’d have known, huh?”

“Definitely not me.”

“I love the scar,” Alicia said.

Wren’s hand shot up reflexively. The doctor had done an amazing job at stitching it, but no scar was impossible with something like that. It was still a little pink, and every time Wren saw it, she thought of Madison, and her stomach twisted.

Probably because she noticed the scar a lot. And thought of Madison a lot. The woman would not leave her mind.

Was it Wren’s need to have everyone like her? Definitely could be. Was it that she was just so very attractive? Yes. That was part of it.

“Pretty badass, right?” Wren asked.

“Totally badass.” Alicia grabbed the already-heated curlers. “Have they told you? We won’t have to cover it much. You were injured in a similar spot in season one. The writers got all excited when they heard you were scarred, it’ll be mentioned in one of the early scenes.”

Wren’s eyebrows shot up. “Makes your job easier.”

Alicia, over six foot tall, leaned over at her side, squinting at the scar. “It wouldn’t have been too hard to cover up—but yeah, definitely easier. Shorter sessions for you, for sure.” Alicia’s hands were busy, already wrapping Wren’s hair in curlers. “Are you excited for your injury episodes?”

“I am.”

“Bet I can guess why.”

“You don’t even know me,” Wren winked.

“The fake blood?”

“Fine, maybe you know me a little.”

Wren loved the injured scenes, even if it meant an extra hour minimum in hair and makeup.

As far as starts to being on set went, this wasn’t the worst. Alicia worked her magic quickly, and Wren was summoned to speak to Charles, the director. He was already on set, the script open in front of him with Erin, the assistant director, standing next to him, pointing to some lines in the script that were highlighted in yellow. As Wren approached, Erin looked up and winked. Her long hair was all chopped off, the platinum strands in a strong angled line to her jaw. It suited her. Erin glanced back down at Charles, grimacing.

Wren got it immediately. He was in a mood.

“Charles, hi.” Wren stopped in front of him, the table between them. He wasn’t a bad director to work with, even if he had a low tolerance for bullshit. One night, Trinity and Wren had kept getting so overtaken by hysterical giggles as one of them couldn’t get their line out that he’d almost shut down the set before they’d gotten the take. Which had been unfair, as they’d been working sixteen hours and both Trinity and Wren were known for being professional on set on most occasions.

Charles turned his attention to her, floppy sandy hair over his eyes and thin lips pressed even thinner. “Wren, fantastic to see you.” He said it more like he was remembering a line he was supposed to say. “I heard a rumor.”

Wren almost twitched. Her gaze flew to Erin, who shrugged behind him. She looked back to Charles, whose blue eyes narrowed. She racked her brain. She hadn’t done anything. In fact, in the weeks since the accident she’d been so swept up in rehearsals that she hadn’t had time to do anything.

Was her coming out suddenly a problem?

She hadn’t heard anything about that for this project, except from Dan, one asshole producer. Every single other person hadn’t seemed to flinch nor even consider pulling her from the second season. They’d have been stupid to do it. She didn’t mean it arrogantly, but it was her that pulled the numbers. Test screenings, polls—it all showed it. Her and Trinity? Even stronger pull.

But that little part of her, buried under the confidence around coming out, buried under the ‘I don’t care about the haters’—that little part of her was terrified her career could be destroyed.

And nothing else, nothing at all, was coming to mind that it could be about. “Is it a rumor about how fabulous your hair looks?” she asked.

He really took a moment and appraised her. Erin closed her eyes for a moment as if to find some strength.

Wren internally winced at herself and waited.

Finally, he took a breath. “No. Everyone knows that already.”

“They should. Your hair really is fabulous.”

It was.

He eyed her for a moment. “No. The rumor I heard was that you were saying this series has a lot of medical inaccuracies.”

Wren froze. She hadn’t said that. Had she said that? When had she said that? Heat crept into her face. “I didn’t say that.”

“I may be paraphrasing.”

Around them, people hadn’t stopped moving. Lights and microphones were being wheeled in, moved, adjusted. Someone was rigged up and in the scaffolding overhead, adjusting angles of some of the lights up there, people underneath shouting instructions. There was banging as the set walls were moved.

“You’ve got to help me out, Charles.”

He placed his fingertips on top of the script and leaned forward. “Apparently, an actual member of medical staff ‘joked’ to you that the show had not been accurate.”

Wren blinked rapidly. Then it came to her. “Oh! You mean what Doctor Friedman said to me?”

“I don’t know who that is, but yes.”

She racked her brain again, and it finally came back to her.

“Oh! I may have mentioned to Trinity that one of the doctors that treated me had made a face when I asked how we did.”

Considering large parts of the show were based in a hospital, and then later with Wren’s character Riley outside playing the role of medic under horrifying circumstances, it was important and came up.

“Why didn’t you let Dan know? Or myself?”

“I didn’t really think about it, to be honest; I’d mostly thought we were joking around and she’d been trying to put me at ease after the accident.”

“I can’t accept this. We had a medical advisor check the script.”

“A good one?” Wren asked.

Charles looked to Erin, who gave a nod and said, “I mean, he was one of the best. He’s been doing it for decades.”

“But is he a doctor?”

That question made them both turn from each other to her as if they were curious owls. It was unsettling.

“He was one. He’s also a script doctor. He’s worked on a lot of projects.” Erin shrugged.

“Maybe he hasn’t worked as an actual doctor for a while?” Wren ventured. “And things have changed, or he’s lost his edge? Shouldn’t Dan be organizing this? He’s the producer.”

An awkward pause. Then Charles said, “He wanted me to confirm with you first. In case it had been a joke and nothing more.”

More like he didn’t want to talk to Wren because he was a big old homophobe. “Sadly, not a joke. I don’t think she was joking.”

Charles looked to Erin again and they spoke telepathically. It was creepy. They did it a lot. Then he spoke with words. “We need more eyes on this script. Better yet, we need a medical advisor on set.”

“Agreed,” Erin said. Despite his prickliness, she almost always agreed with him.

Also, to be fair, Charles was very good at his job. There was a reason the first season won Best Direction in five separate award shows.

“Have you thought of hiring someone who is currently a doctor? Like, working in the ER? My doctor really knew her stuff and I think she’d been working in the ER for years, like Riley has been.”

They turned from each other to stare at her like owls again. “You know a doctor?” Charles asked.

“I guess.”

“One we could use?”

Panic flittered in her chest. Wait. “I mean, I don’t think she—Madison is—”

“You’re friends? On a first-name basis?”

Oh, no. What was happening? Why did Wren say that? She did not know a doctor they could use.

Except she did. One she’d just sat and thought about while staring at her own reflection in hair and makeup.

As she had since she’d left the hospital.

“I mean, I know her name, but we’re not besties or anything. She was only an example.”

“What’s her name?”

“Uh, Madison Taylor. She was the attending doctor when I had my accident. Also, I know her from outside that.” Wren was doing this why? Why was she giving more information? Madison would not want anything to do with her. Or was that why she was doing this? She wanted a shot to get Madison to like her? Why did Wren have this constant need for validation? Maybe it was better not to ask these questions.

Wren, what the actual fuck?

“Madison Taylor? Which hospital was she at?”

“Heart’s Grace—but I didn’t mean her, just someone like her.”

Though maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Stupid Wren’s need for validation.

Wren shouldn’t want to see her again. The whole memory was something Wren was happy to move on from and it could haunt her at three a.m. occasionally, when she needed to sleep but would instead think about the fact that she’d pushed a girl in the dirt in her utter gay panic.

Charles turned to his PA, whom Wren hadn’t even noticed so far. The poor guy was pressed to the wall to Wren’s right, a phone in his hand and wireless headphones in his ears. He was dressed head to toe in gray and blended in with the wall. He was probably no more than nineteen. As if he felt Charles’ eyes on him, he stepped forward eagerly.

“I want the information for an attending in the ER at Heart’s Grace Hospital, Madison Taylor. Then pass the information on to Dan as soon as you have it. Also, I’d love a latte.”

Wren almost reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt to yank him back as the kid nodded, immediately back on his phone, and headed toward craft where all the cast and crew could find sustenance, winding his way past people without even looking.

“Thanks,” Charles directed to her. He started to go back to the script, but stopped. “How you feeling? Any nerves?”

Wren gave him a grin. “All good. They usually start up right before you shout ‘action.’”

Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Not nerves about filming, though.

He winked. “That’s what I like to hear.”

With that, his attention was back on the script, a laptop open next to him, which he scrolled through, then pointed out something on the screen to Erin, who found that point in the hard copy in front of them.

Wren turned to head back to her dressing room.

Why the hell had she given them Madison Taylor’s name? That had spiraled.

Was Wren interested?

She scoffed to herself, drawing some odd looks.

No, that wasn’t it. Besides, Madison was probably straight and wanted nothing to do with Wren. That last part she’d actually made quite clear. The first part was perhaps an assumption, but she was so weirded out by Wren’s coming out that it made sense.

Did Wren really need approval so badly that she was wanting Madison, someone who clearly didn’t like her, to come back?