Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) Read Free

that.”
    “Ever the optimist.”
    Harry took the reed straw in his shaking hand. A little more and it would be better. Just a little more and then things wouldn’t look so hopeless, wouldn’t feel like they were closing in on him, wouldn’t haunt him the way they did these days.
    Everybody was always trying to get a piece of him, dig a segment out of him. Paul, Johanna, the production company. Those shitheads in Hollywood. Why couldn’t they all just leave him the hell alone? Why couldn’t they have a little faith in him? He could work another miracle. He had done it before, taking a nothing film and making it into the blockbuster of the year, to be cheered by the public and critics alike.
    He could do it again. He would do it again. He just needed another hit to make it all clear to him, that was all.
    Paul lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. He had given up smoking twice this year. Working with Harry always made him start again. He watched the man he had once admired lean over the coffee table, hovering over the crooked white lines.
    “That garbage is destroying your brain.”
    Harry snorted. “A hell of a lot you know. This is the only thing that keeps my brain going.”
    Paul debated throwing in the proverbial towel, packing up and going home to Denise, to his kids and to his sanity. It was getting to the point where he didn’t know why he was staying on, why Johanna was staying on. The man on the sofa bore little resemblance to the man they had both once known, both once loved.
    “If you believe that, you’re in worse shape than I thought.”
    Harry was sick of people talking at him, telling him what to do, what not to do. Who the hell did they think they were, anyway? “Don’t knock it until you try it.”
    “I don’t have to try pointing a gun to my head to know it’s suicide to pull the trigger.”
    “Nice line. Save it for your next script.”
    Paul crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table with an irritated movement. “I’d like to save you for my next script.”
    Harold looked up slowly at him and malevolence spread across his face. All the support that Paul had given him through this difficult project was totally forgotten. This latest slight encompassed his whole being. He didn’t remember that Paul had come to his rescue and taken a cut just to help out. He remembered only that Paul had written the last film he had produced. And it had sunk like a lead balloon.
    “Write a good one and we’ll see.”
    It was everyone else’s fault he was going through this. He blamed everyone else for the awful spate of bad luck he was having with his films. It was just bad luck, that’s all. Nothing more. He hadn’t changed. He was still as capable as ever.
    God knew, he tried, but everyone kept failing him. Paul, Johanna, Sam, everyone. And they all expected so much, so damn much out of him. A pound of flesh wasn’t enough anymore. His soul wasn’t enough. He had nothing left to give and still they cried: more, more, make it better.
    Well, he would, he’d show them. He’d show them all. Harold B. Whitney wasn’t meant to be a has-been, a failure. He was a genius.
    The white powder went into the straw and exploded inside his nose. For a moment, just for a moment, he was at peace and yet vitally alive. Bits and pieces of projects flashed through his brain. All star-studded, all wonderful. He was wonderful. It was going to work. It was going to be all right.
    It was going to be more than all right.
    Somewhere in the distance, he heard a bell ringing, but couldn’t place it, couldn’t place himself. All he wanted was for the rush to go on, to take him spiraling to lands that lesser people only dreamed of. To places that were getting harder and harder to reach.
    “It’s Johanna.”
    Harold blinked. Reality was calling him. With extreme difficulty, he tried to focus his mind. “Where?” He looked around the suite. It swam before him, but he didn’t see her.
    “On the phone.” Paul