Fauxmance in the City

Chapter 17

An hour later, dressed in a royal-blue Derek Lam minidress and blue suede ankle boots, my hair and makeup camera ready, I'm staring at the hot pan, the ingredients lined neatly on the counter beside me. David, the director, is hovering over my shoulder, inspecting everything on the counter, then going back to the camera to go over the shot. He gives the cameramen some instructions before nodding to Karen, indicating he's ready.

I swivel my head around to survey the kitchen. Max isn't here, and I'm wondering why. I thought the entire point of this was for him to be involved in the making of the home-cooked meal in case the smells triggered a memory. But when I mention it to Karen, she brushes me off.

The lights the crew set up in the kitchen, combined with the hot stove, make sweat beads form at the nape of my neck. I swipe at them and then wash my hands while Mandy, the makeup artist, blots at my shimmering forehead.

"Remember, Catie," Karen says from the other side of the island, beside camera one, "it's just like in the studio, except we're not live. It takes the pressure off."

Karen steps back. David makes a few adjustments with the cameraman he stands next to, then nods at me when the camera is rolling.

My notes for the recipes are taped to the counter out of view from the camera. Natalie's been passed out in the small back room since the paramedics left. I'm hoping I can pull this off with a little Catelyn Bloom flare and the help Sam's promised.

Except, he's not here. He's been outside on his phone for the past twenty minutes.

Metal crashes against the floor, and I gasp. Natalie stands in front of the counter by the refrigerator, the silverware drawer—and all its contents—spilled at her feet.

"Oops."

She plops cross-legged on the floor, haphazardly scoops the silverware up with her left hand, and tries to organize it into the drawer, missing every other time. Pressing her tongue against her bottom lip, she tries again. When that fails, she begins to giggle.

"What's wrong with you?" I hiss, my heartrate picking up pace. Her eyes are hazy, and they don't quite meet mine. "How many painkillers did you take?"

"Two. No, three. No, two. No...I don't remember. Oh!" Natalie yelps as she misses the stool she was climbing on, then crashes to the floor. She begins laughing uncontrollably.

"Natalie," I say. "Natalie!"

But she's lost it.

I consider sinking to the floor to meet Natalie in her hysteria. The current of desperation runs like a mighty river through my veins, and part of me wants it to take me under so this will be over. But I know I can't do it. When Natalie recovers, she'll blame herself for any repercussions, even though it's my fault we're all in this ridiculous mess.

Natalie's manic laughter dies down. She rests her head on my shoulder, breathing deeply.

"Nat? I know you're hurt, but I need you to get up."

"I want to help, Little Bee."

Hearing my pet name from childhood makes my chest tighten, and I press my lips together to stop the emotions from rising past my throat.

"What's she doing here? Get her out of the shot." Gillian hovers above us with her hands on her bony hips.

"I'm her assistant!" Natalie stands on wobbly knees, and I grab her elbow.

"Get out of the damn shot," Gillian says.

Scowling, I keep my face turned away from Gillian. Natalie doesn't budge. This could escalate quickly, so I make a decision.