after this night (camren)

6. Lauren

I hit send before the regret washed over me, as it eventually would, I was sure.

......

By the end of the day I wasn't feeling much. I was riding at the perfect levels of blankness. A day in the trenches had done wonders for me, and a night at the gym would drain me of any residual feelings that threatened to resurface.

The next day I did the same, burying myself in business, making sure every t was crossed and every i was dotted, that points were won, and clients weren't just making more money, they were being protected in their business deals. My job was a hell of a lot more than wringing more dollars from networks, studios, and producers. It was checking out the fine print, making sure clients were looked out for when it came to two, three, four years down the road in a deal.

My days followed that pattern for the next week, and the regular routine of work, gym, business drinks or dinner, sleep, then rinse, lather, repeat the next day turned Camila into a hazy blur in the rear-view mirror. Soon, she'd migrated to the back of my mind, and the fact that she'd been relocated there pleased me immensely. A few more days of supreme focus and she would be a distant blip on the horizon.

At seven thirty on the dot on a Wednesday night, I left my office and headed for East Hollywood, threading my way through the crowds of tourists in their I love LA sweatshirts and Property of LAFD nylon jackets, with pretzels and hot dogs in hand, as they snapped photos of the neon signs and famous intersection. I walked past the Cameo Theatre tapping once on the poster for Crash the Moon, feeling a surge of pride for that show's quick success. My friend Alexa had directed it, and it had become a smash hit in the first month alone, playing to packed houses every single night.

I crossed the street, dodging a cab stalled in traffic, as I made my way to the bright lights of the VISTA Theatre where Veronica was playing a lead character in The Usual Suspects. Lucy waited outside the theatre lobby, smiling when she spotted me, and I took some comfort in the reliability of a friend like her. She'd been there through the years, always available for a drink, always willing to chat, or to see a movie or show. She was a good one, steady, dependable, and patently honest. A warm feeling rushed over me with the reminder that there were people you could trust implicitly. She would never dance around the truth.

"Hey you" she said, waving her fingers, and then giving me a quick kiss on each cheek.

"Are we French now?"

"Of course" she said playfully, "We'll grab baguettes and sip espresso after the curtain call"

"That'd be nice" I said, as we walked into the theatre and I handed two tickets to the usher, who led us down the aisle to some of the best seats in the house.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, "Impressive"

"Like this is a surprise? We always get the best seats. Your sister is a Tony-winning director" I said, gesturing for Lucy to take her seat.

"I know. And I don't ever take that for granted. And you" she said, wrapping her hand around my arm, and leaning in close, "are the woman behind the scenes who makes this stuff happen"

I waved off the compliment. I wasn't in the business for compliments, "Tell me about your day" I said, and listened as she shared the details that she could, not breaking any client confidentiality but talking in general terms about her work listening to the woes of others as one of California's finest shrinks. Her voice was calming and soothing, so I barely noticed that she'd kept her hand on my forearm the whole time.

When the curtain rose at the start of the play, she stayed like that, palm wrapped around me. A few minutes into the first act, I almost asked her to move her hand, but then it wasn't really bothering me, and we were old friends. Even if we'd kissed once back in college, it didn't matter that she was touching me, shifting closer. Her shoulder was brushing mine by the time the cast took their bows. She smelled nice, I thought. Some flowery scent to her hair, maybe jasmine? I'd never noticed it before.