******053:
In her dressing room, the phone had a light beeping on its square line register. She pressed the button and then answered.
"Hello?" She had no idea who might know she was there, and who might have been buzzed through.
"Hey, it's me." But it wasn't the me she'd been hoping for.
"How's it going?" She asked quietly, politely, not sure how she wanted to react in the light of day. The waves of dizziness had started to recede.
"You okay?"
"Why, did Austin call you?"
"Yeah. He wasn't too happy with me. I repeat, are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I'm sorry it freaked him out. I didn't exactly tell him what happened between us, but he already knew."
"He would have guessed, I suppose. But that's not my real concern, Trace, are you okay?"
"I got dizzy is all!" She snapped. "I'm exhausted."
"Come home. Get some sleep."
"Come home where you can take care of me, right?" She laughed wearily, pulling her fur throw hard around her shoulders as she perched on the stool looking into her mirror.
"I'm concerned about your physical well-being, yes, but I'm more concerned about your emotional and mental well-being." His voice was that concerned, and that in control. He accepted the fact that she may not want to see him or talk to him ever again, at least not intimately, as friends. She could tell he was resigned, and even confident in it.
"You added a whole new scope to my imagination today, Richard. I had a hard time disassociating myself from it." She sighed.
"Thanks for being there for me." He blurted uncharacteristically. "I've thought about it all morning, what I would say to you if you ever called me again. I want you to know I appreciate everything you've done for me."
"Okay then." She laughed again, that very tired tone.
"I'd thought you might not take my call."
"I wasn't sure if I would. But I guess I didn't care if it was you. There was always that risk. I hope you're okay. Are you? Okay?"
"I'm good. Really. I'm fine, thanks." He reassured her and questioned her all in one breath.
"Okay, well, I'm dizzy and exhausted and I have a headache. That scene was murder. I am not an actress."
"You're a beautiful actress." He sighed, and it wasn't like he'd said it to placate her, but as if he were simply murmuring to himself.
She closed her eyes and covered them with a shaking hand. "I'll come home. The least you can do is get rid of this headache for me, right?"
"It would be my pleasure." He reassured her this time, with full intent.
She hung up and sat there. Well, I've spoken to him. I've heard his voice. He's still the same guy. He's not a monster. I can still think of him in the same light, the light of day.
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