Thirty minutes later, she and her friend were ensconced in her small Echo Park apartment. Eli had helped her move in a few days before, and the more time she spent there, the more she liked it. It dawned on her that she'd merely allowed herself to get spoiled over the years. The complex was somewhat rundown, but it was well within the standard of places she might have stayed before meeting Otto. And Eli approved of the building security. The door was thick, there were security lights outside, and a guard walked the perimeter from dusk 'til dawn. It was tiny and sparsely furnished, but it was all she needed for now.

After sitting, she signaled her desire to spoon by merely twisting her lovely figure to the right. It was the first time she'd tried that particular pantomime, but he picked up on it straight away. Before long, they were both deeply immersed in the show, comfortably intertwined and needing nothing else. For that briefest moment, the rest of the world could have gone to blazes, and Kate would not have minded.

What she did mind was keeping another secret from Eli. Their relationship had reached that point where she felt comfortable telling him anything—well, almost anything—and she knew he reciprocated. But her meeting with Colin Bouchard, the director of Julien's new script, could not have gone worse. It lasted less than two minutes, the time it took for her to enter, introduce herself, and sit down, and for him to let her know in plain English that the entry price for merely being allowed to read for the part was a blowjob. Payable immediately.

Kate had gotten up, thanked him for his time, and told him he could suck his own dick if he was so desperately in need of relief. She'd then walked out.

Such things long had gone on in Hollywood; that was no surprise. She'd even been approached a time or two herself, subtly. But she'd never been so openly insulted. Even the degenerate Harry Kimball had not been so outwardly coarse or brazen.

The remarkable part was that the incident didn't trouble her. She regretted not being considered for the part, but she had so many other plans cooking that it wasn't the letdown it would have been even two months before. The only truly irksome thing was the manner in which Bouchard had gone back to his desk and resumed work after her refusal, as if the whole grotesque proposition had not been of the least concern to him.

The episode was something she could never share with Eli, not because of some arcane retribution that might befall the asshole director, but because of the real and tangible thumping she feared her best mate would dole out to the man. She'd never seen so much as a single violent impulse in her friend, but there was no doubt what his reaction would be if she were to share that experience with him. So, she put on her very best face and was confident he suspected nothing.

She wasn't so lucky with Julien. Her meeting with Bouchard had been so brief that word of it must have made it back through some assistant or underling, and a somewhat suspicious Julien had called and pressed her about it the same afternoon. After a few denials, she'd finally confessed the details of the short and repugnant interview but had refused his offers to intercede on her behalf. It was her problem, and one way or the other she would deal with it. She'd sworn him to silence.

Still, she marveled that Julien, like Eli, had taken the trouble to concern himself over her welfare. He was a busy and harried man with many irons in the fire. It was a wonder she was one of them, her being nothing more than an actress from his distant past. She'd spent the last days thinking on the matter, pondering whether he had other, less flattering motives. And though her track-record for discerning human character was none too good of late, she'd come to a simple conclusion. Julien was a good guy and nothing more. Friends take care of each other.

A slight tremor ran through her at the memory of Julien's kindness, a sudden emotion that snapped her from her reverie as the final episode of season four ended. It was one she'd seen before. Murder Bird had just engaged in sexual congress with a devious femme fatale bearing the unlikely name 'Duck'—there were one or two such characters every season—and she realized Eli was laughing.

"What's so funny?" She thought he might make some woeful crack about the character in question being a seducktress. It would be like him.

"Shouldn't females be named 'Duckette,' or 'Ducky,' or something like that?" he asked instead

"You're overthinking again," she said as she snuggled closer into the spoon.

"Not something I'm often accused of."

She soon got up, pleading her bladder, and was back in a few minutes, intending to pay closer attention. Season five had been out for several months, yet she couldn't remember how much of it she'd watched. Eli was standing and stretching near the couch when she returned. He seemed happy. They'd spent most of the last three days together, but he'd said nothing of the recent funeral they'd attended. She hadn't asked.

But his moods were becoming clearer and clearer to her, and when they resumed their spoon on the couch, she sensed there was something on his mind. She hesitated before hitting play. For a moment or two longer, he said nothing.

"When the ex showed up a few months ago, it was only partly because she didn't have any other options," he said at last.

"I sort of got that." She spoke quietly and leaned back into him until her cheek nearly touched his.

"She told me that when she and I split that ... I don't know. I guess it was when things began to go bad for her too. I know she married a few more times, but who knows how many. From what she said and everything I'd heard, her behavior just became more outrageous and erratic, and it was just one wretched experience after the next, burned bridges, broken vows ... the works. By the end, she'd even alienated her family, though I'm not sure how she managed that. It must have been something horrendous ... even by their standards."

"What was wrong with her?" Kate interrupted. "People just don't become like that out of the blue, not even the rich and shameless."

"Oh, who knows? Maybe it was something more than her sense of entitlement. I always knew she was wild. It was part of what attracted me to her at first. And she was always conscious of the way she was, and I think at some level her behavior bothered her. She was ... smart, wicked smart, but had virtually no impulse control." For several moments, he hesitated. "Most people like that are ... well, they've been damaged in some way."

"Did you think she'd been abused or molested as a child?"

"You know, I confronted her about that once toward the end of our marriage. It didn't seem to shock her that I brought it up, and she was quite civil when I did. She denied ever having been abused. But that was a point in our marriage in which there were few calm conversations. I was never certain."

"But you thought she was too calm in her denials?"

"Yeah. Maybe. I dunno." He shook his head several times. "Around her, I was always stumbling around in the dark. I mean, I wouldn't put it past her father, but, again ... she had no self-edit button, never hesitated to say what was on her mind, no matter how shocking. I always imagined her as the kind who would've talked about being molested ... boasted about it even. But maybe I'm wrong. We all have our limits when it comes to pain."

"Why did she come back to you?" she found the courage to ask.

"I don't know for sure. Maybe it was ... some sort of .... I told you she contacted me every few years after we split. They were always short but affectionate notes or texts. She even suggested getting back together a few times, called me her soulmate," he snorted. "What bullshit. Her twisted little communiques were always at times when I knew she was with someone else. I just put it down to more of her bizarre antics."

"But ...," she whispered.

"Like I said, our split was when things went sideways for her, or so she led me to believe. You know," he said, his voice agitated in a way she'd never heard, "she always had this gift for knowing what I wanted to hear." It took a moment for him to continue. "Anyway ... when she got to LA, she as much as told me she thought of our marriage as her one real chance at happiness ... at normalcy."

It was clear Eli was building to something, but as anxious as Kate was, she now opted to remain quiet and let him continue. He did after several long breaths.

"She checked herself out of the hospital in Italy and got on a plane to LA. I don't know how she made the flight. She was in terrible shape when she got here and wasn't perfectly lucid all the time." He kissed Kate's ear. "I think her coming here was just a loopy stab at winning me back, at trying to turn back the clock. The reason, the real reason, I didn't want you to know about her was because she'd somehow convinced herself during those last few months that she and I were back together. She never said as much, and I didn't try to disabuse her. I didn't have the heart."

"It's okay," she whispered after she returned his kiss. To Kate's surprise, tears were streaming freely down her cheeks. She left them to dry. "She was still looking pretty good."

"Oh, stop."

"I'm just saying," she whispered.

"I always slept on a cot, but sometimes when the nurses were on break, I'd lie in the bed next to her and we'd talk ... about the past, whatever. But that's all."

"I know," she said. Of course, there'd been nothing between them, but it was nice to hear him say it. She wasn't ashamed for pressing the issue.

"What would Murder Bird have done in my place?" he asked.

"That wily bird's always managed to dodge the altar. But if he did have an ex, he would've done the same thing you did."

"He really doesn't deserve that name. He's actually a pretty good duck."

"Now you get the point of the series," she whispered. The remote was still in her hand, but before she flipped it to begin season five, something came to mind. "Let's go to Oregon in July."

"What?" he replied with a laugh.

"Let's go to Oregon. There's a Bigfoot festival up there in July. I can swing five or six days off then."

"And what would this festival consist of?"

"You know, meeting people, listening to speakers, taking guided walks, getting out in the woods and looking for signs ... that kind of stuff."

"Have you ever been camping before?"

"No. But I want to try."

"Won't you be afraid?"

"Of Bigfoot? No, of course not. They're not dangerous."

"I meant the bugs."

"Uhhh ...," she nearly cried, "I can do it."

"And I can swing a week off in July. But we need to make a plan."

They didn't get back to Murder Bird that evening.