Page 34 of Unspoken Tides

But that wasn’t enough of a reason to pull funding for your film project. It wasn’t enough of a reason to ruin so many people’s livelihoods. It couldn’t be.

“Pettiness makes Hollywood go round and round,” Isabella Helin had said numerous times. “It’s our fuel.”

Hilary’s stomach was tied into knots.

After she returned to her trailer to start the endless task of sorting everything and returning it to the warehouses in Boston, Hilary began to cry quietly, wiping her tears on her sleeves. It seemed impossible that the best weeks of her life were now through. On the other side of the trailer walls, she heard the makeup ladies ask each other, “Why? Why is this happening? I just don’t understand,” in a constant refrain. Hilary felt the collective heart of the film players breaking. None of it seemed fair.

Suddenly, Hilary was overwhelmed with a primal rage. She stomped out of her trailer, locked it behind her, and headed for her Porsche. Those who watched her go muttered to each other, “What’s she up to?” Probably, she started another wave of gossip. She didn’t care.

Hilary drove to Rodrick’s house ten miles over the speed limit, her hands clenching the steering wheel. When she cut the engine in the driveway, she mopped herself up, set her jaw, and stomped up the porch stairs. It was unclear if anyone was home, but she rang the bell and knocked on the door for well over ten minutes before giving up. She imagined Rodrick sitting in his kitchen, listening to her as he drank a whiskey. She imagined he was smiling.

Was this really how he wanted to get his revenge?

Eventually, Hilary had to give up. She didn’t want to break in and spend the night in jail. It wasn’t worth it. Her hand tingled. She wanted to smack the door again.

When Hilary got back in her car, her phone was filled with messages from Max. He was back at the yacht. Would she join him?

Hilary sobbed openly on the drive to the harbor. When she got out, she found Max on the top deck with his shirt off, drinking a domestic beer. He looked tan and handsome and carefree. He looked like someone who would surely dump Hilary in five seconds flat and date someone else—a movie star, a volleyball player, or a flight attendant. Someone who looked better in a skirt. But when he saw Hilary come up the ladder onto his yacht, he popped to his feet, wrapped his arms around her, and held her until she stopped shaking. She hadn’t even realized how visibly sad she’d looked.

That night, they ordered pizza to the yacht and ate it under a full moon. Hilary explained her reasoning for why she thought Rodrick had pulled the plug, and Max shook his head with despondency.

“I can’t believe he would end the film just because we’re together,” he said.

“Rodrick is used to getting what he wants,” Hilary said.

“But you haven’t been together in years,” Max said.

Hilary raised her shoulders and took a cheesy bite of pizza. Overhead, a seagull cawed.

“I used to think Rodrick saved me from my mother,” Hilary said quietly. “But lately, I’ve been thinking that Rodrick was just a different version of Isabella Helin. He saw how weak I was with her and wanted to use me for his own reasons. People like that love power. And they love to be around people they can wield it with.”

Max shook his head. “It’s so hard for me to imagine doing that to you. To me, you’re a powerful and independent woman.”

“To Rodrick, I’m still that kid he met at the Oscars in 1990,” Isabella said.

Max cradled Hilary in his arms, and Hilary leaned against his chest and gazed up at the stars. She felt swallowed in his warmth.

“I was finally feeling good again,” Hilary said softly.

“Me too.”

They were quiet for a moment. Hilary sensed something weighing on Max’s mind.

“Marty said she can’t pay me for the past week of work,” Max said. “Not right away.”

Hilary bristled. “Oh. That’s awful.”

She knew it was like that for everyone. It didn’t affect her. She was Isabella Helin’s daughter. She was set for life—where cash was concerned.

“I could help you,” Hilary offered, turning around to gaze into Max’s eyes. She wanted to make him understand that the money didn’t matter to her.

But Max shook his head. “Money complicates everything. It messes up relationships. I’ve seen it too many times to take that risk.”

Hilary felt a sob rise up in her throat. He was right. She couldn’t argue with him.

“I’ll stay here as long as I can,” Max said, scooping her hair behind her ear and tenderly kissing her forehead. “But I’ll have to return the yacht soon. I’ll have to get back to LA to find more work.”

Hilary pressed her lips against his and tried to tell herself to live in this moment. It was one she wouldn’t be able to get back. She would return to it during particularly frigid winter mornings when all she would yearn for would be these strong arms and this heart.

---