her journey is coming to an end. She looks around the room and concludes that her life hasn’t amounted to much. Her eyes come to rest on the pile of unopened mail sitting on the coffee table: white paper rectangles, with tiny plastic windows revealing her name.
Maggie O’Neil.
Except it isn’t really hers.
Knowing a person’s name is not the same as knowing a person.
She’s used that name for so long now, sometimes she forgets it was secondhand, borrowed, stolen. She wonders if perhaps Aimee feels the same way too. Maggie stares into the flames and starts to think she has more in common with other people than she previously believed. We are born alone and we die alone, and we’re all a little bit afraid of being forgotten.
Maggie wasn’t always Maggie.
Maggie was just who she became in order to hide.
You can’t find a butterfly if you’re only looking for a caterpillar.
As soon as she is reunited with Aimee, Maggie will go back to being who she was before.
Fifty-nine
A meeting with my agent is something I could really do without today, but Tony was quite insistent on the phone and said it couldn’t wait. I don’t think I’m looking my best, but perhaps that doesn’t matter anymore. The dress Jack bought for me isn’t something I would ever have picked out for myself. The figure-hugging plum material is flattering, I suppose, a little more revealing than the sort of thing I normally wear. My hair has dried into its natural curls and I’m not wearing any makeup, because it is all still at my house, and I daren’t go back there anytime soon.
I walk into the restaurant and see him straightaway. Tony eats out a lot, and he has a favorite table everywhere he goes. He’s reading the menu, even though he always chooses what he is going to eat beforehand, and he looks a little stressed.
He’s going to dump me.
I’m sure of it this time, and I don’t even blame him after everything that has happened. Nobody will want to work with an actress accused of murder. Maybe this is what agents do when they decide not to represent you anymore—take you out for a slap-up meal to soften the blow. Just as I start to back away towards the exit, he looks up from the menu and sees me. I’ve left it too late to run away.
“How are you?” he asks as I sit down. He looks genuinely concerned, and I’m not sure how to answer. He carries on speaking without waiting for one, but I’m still thinking about the question. The truth is, I’ve never felt this close to oblivion before. I’ve never let myself. I’ve never let life break me, despite all the numerous occasions when it has tried so hard to. I’m proud of myself for that. Proud for staying strong, at least on the outside. The armor I’ve worn to hide what’s on the inside has grown heavy over the years, weighing me down, so that it has become increasingly difficult to pick myself back up. People are always so jealous of me, but they wouldn’t be if they knew the life I’d had to live to get the one I lead now.
“… so, I thought we could just have lunch and see what happens?” says Tony, as I tune back in to what he is saying. My tired mind has wandered again, leaving both me and it a little lost.
“Lunch?” They make great chips here, but I think I’m too anxious to eat.
“Yes, that’s right, lunch. You look like you’ve lost weight, but you do still eat, don’t you?”
“I thought you were dumping me.”
He frowns. “Why would I do that?”
“I let you down.”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t let me down, and besides, I’ve told you before, all publicity is good publicity. I’ve had seven scripts offering you lead roles just this morning. Even JJ’s people have been in touch.”
I came close to working with JJ last year and was so excited, but then it didn’t happen.
“I thought JJ said no?”
“I guess he’s changed his mind. Four of the scripts that have been sent are worth you reading. I have a favorite, but, as always, I’ll let you decide. I expect all this is the reason Fincher moved the meeting forward.”
“Forward to when?”
“Lunch. Here. Now. Have you been listening to anything I have been saying?”
I stare down at the unfamiliar dress and see my hands resting on my lap, my unpolished nails reflecting my entire