Page 56 of For Better or Hearse
“Like I tell my operations team, my managers, my marketers, when the so-called shit hits the fan,” Augustus says, his tone calm with reflection, “I don’t care about your mistake. I don’t care about what went wrong. All I care about is that you fix it.”
Ash’s eyes land on the beach again.Fix it.
There has to be a way.
Ash trudges down the beach, sand in her boots. Research. Due diligence. It’s what she should have done three fucking years ago.
Delaney’s on the beach, snapping selfies in poses that look more like scenes from a torture museum.
“DeeDee, hi,” Ash says as she approaches. Before she can work up the nerve to say more, her shin is violently smacked.
“Fuck,” she mutters as a frisbee falls to the sand in front of her. The sharp sting of plastic burns.
Eyes narrowed, she scoops it up and flings it back in the direction of Chucky. Hopeful of a direct hit to the face. Little menace.
Delaney snaps a bubble. In her visor, dark glasses and floral beach cover-up, she looks like a sexified version of a poker player. “Oh goody, you are nasty.” She contorts her arm. Another selfie snap. Then a fast scroll through her phone. “Ugh, my IMDb page is so lackluster.”
Ash sits on the edge of Delaney’s beach towel. Scoops up sand in her hand and lets it fall. “So, uh, I hear you’re an actress.”
Delaney’s face lights up.
“And, uh, I was wondering.” Ash screws her face up, pretending to think hard. “I thought I saw a movie with you where you had blue hair and this, like, sequined bikini…”
Delaney perks up. “Oh yeah. That wasNeon View. I was a stripper called Belle Beaver who was fighting for custody of her kids.” Forgetting about selfies, she tosses her phone onto the towel. Sits beside Ash. “I also had a torrid affair with the director, but don’t tell anyone.”
Ash can’t help but smile, despite her internal turmoil. She’s beginning to understand Delaney. The woman is a master at dramatic words, exaggeration, and affairs.
“Can I show you something?” Ash asks, holding up her phone. “But it’s like the CIA. You can’t ask questions, or I kill you.”
Delaney breaks out in a wicked smile. “I’ll bite.”
On her phone, Ash scrolls back to her downloaded images. Pulls up the photo she used to bring Nathaniel Whitford down.
Drawing back, Delaney wrinkles her nose. “Ew. This photo.”
True to her word, DeeDee doesn’t ask where she got it. She’s more concerned with—
“Why does it look like I’m grinding my brother’s crotch?”
Ash laughs. “I had similar thoughts.”
Delaney taps the screen. “I remember this day. This was on set. We filmed at Go Go Girls.”
She knows the place. Ash drives by the legendary LA strip club at least once a month on her way to the cemetery.
Delaney frowns, her brows bunched. “Nathaniel was in town. He had just gotten leave from the rig.” A happy smile tugs at her lips. “He always tries to see me when he can. He brought me lunch from Tender Greens.”
Ash’s stomach sinks farther. Fucking fantastic. Every single tidbit of information she’s receiving about how great Nathaniel Whitford is ups the guilt factor. Already, she’s annoyed.
Delaney makes a face. “God, this photo isyikes.” She and Ash both squint, tilt their heads. A misplaced angle that looks so much like a lap dance. A stolen kiss. “Those booths are like trying to cram into a sardine can.”
“Fuck,” Ash bemoans. She collapses beside Delaney. Guilt’s a hurricane-level spiral. “I fucked up his wedding.”
Still looking at Ash’s phone, Delaney moans even more pitifully. “I fucked the director, and he never cast me again.” She tilts her head. Brightens. “I still have those shoes, though.”
They share a laugh.
Nathaniel passes by in her periphery. She avoids eye contact, refuses to let her head swivel in the direction of his chiseled body. To let him see the guilt in her eyes. The utter fuck-up that she is.