was I going to put some stupid soundproof room into his apartment, or any apartment. It was high time I gave up that ridiculous hobby anyway. It wasn’t like I needed the money. When I objected, as you might imagine, he hit me.”
“He hit you,” Dillon repeated, very quietly.
“A solid backhand right across the cheekbone. Just once because once was all it took. I didn’t panic,” she murmured, thinking back. “I can panic in stressful situations, but I didn’t. It was more like a wake-up call. So.”
She shrugged that off. “He apologized, profusely, as I was walking out the door. He’d had a terrible day, he lost his temper, he loved me, it would never happen again.”
She brought the pasta with its fresh basil and Parmesan to the table. “No, it wouldn’t, because he’d never get the chance. I went home, took a selfie of my face in case. Which was handy, as he kept texting or calling, even coming by my apartment or showing up when I was out.”
“He stalked you.”
She knew tenors, pitches, pacing when it came to voices, and recognized a different kind of anger than before. This was iced fury, and definitely more dangerous than the quick, hot blast.
“Close enough. I went to the two detectives who’d investigated Noah’s attack. I showed them the selfie, explained things, asked if they could, at least initially, just have a discussion with him, warn him off. If it didn’t work, I’d file charges. It worked.”
She rolled pasta onto a fork. “Try it.”
He did. “I see why it’s your signature dish. It’s terrific. He didn’t bother you again?”
“No. But about two years later, the female cop—she’d made lieutenant by then—she came by to see me, and to tell me he’d been arrested for battering his fiancée. She wanted me to know I’d made the right decision, and to ask whether, if it became necessary, I’d testify. I said I would, but God, I’m glad it wasn’t necessary.”
She ate some more, decided it really was terrific. “Which brings us to the third and last if you want to hear it.”
“I do.”
“Justin Harlowe.”
“Yeah, I read about that, too. A lot of bullshit about that.”
“Bullshit’s what it was. We did click, and for a good stretch of time. He’s talented, can be funny, is definitely charming. We had a lot in common, and he was riding high at the time, as his series was a hit. He didn’t mind the publicity. Why would he, and half of it revolved around him anyway. He didn’t much care for the Catjus shipping name, but he’d joke about it. We enjoyed each other. I didn’t love him, but it was close. I felt good with him, and for a while it felt good to be able to talk to someone about the business. Someone who understood the demands, someone who actually appreciated voice work because he did some himself. Then . . .”
She shrugged. “The ratings dipped, and the feature he’d done over the season break wasn’t getting good buzz. I didn’t blame him for being moody—it’s a bitch. Then I found out he was sleeping with his costar from that feature, and had been for months.”
After winding more pasta, she wagged her fork. “Which, when confronted, he blamed on me. I hadn’t been there for him, I wasn’t supportive enough. I didn’t like sex enough, name it. Toss in, it’s only sex, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“If it doesn’t mean anything, you’re not doing it right. You dumped him.”
“I did, but made the mistake of agreeing to keep it private while he was dealing with the series. It just didn’t matter to me, but it did to him. It mattered enough that my mother got wind, talked him into taking some whacks in the press. Getting ahead of things by claiming he dumped me because I was jealous, demanding, crazy, and so on.”
She picked up her wine. “So, three strikes.”
“Not from where I’m sitting. The first guy—Noah, right? It wasn’t your fault or his. You didn’t cause what happened to him; he couldn’t handle what happened to him. I’m giving him a pass on that, since he was young and it seems like it was all too much at the time. The second son of a bitch? A lot of women get fooled by men who’ll hit women. A lot of men manage to hide that long enough to cement a bond. And you walked away, you took action. You did it all right. Not on