Page 96 of Movers and Shakers

Fuck.I did it again, thinking of Lila as I talked to Rose.

Barry: I’ll let you know what he says.

Rose: Please do. I’m busy this morning, but I’m always available by texting!

Barry: I might need that.

I flipped to the new number and took a deep breath.

Barry: Hi, Wilfred. It’s Barry.

My phone rang. I stared at it, unsure of whether or not I should answer.

Do it,my conscious begged.Answer.

“H-hello?”

“Gosh damn it,” a deep voice said. “I meant to text back. How do you text? I knew these bloomin’ fancy devices weren’t for me.”

A shocked chuckle escaped me. “Saying ‘gosh’ before ‘damn it’ is a new one.”

“My mother would come out of the grave if I said the other version. I swear it. One time, I hammered my thumb and let it slip and all my begonias died.”

“Wow.” It was all I could utter. This was not how I expected this conversation to go.

“We can go back to texting,” he said. “Sorry about bothering you. I know a lot of people don’t like being on the phone.”

I had an out. I could cut this here. But he’d saidsorry.I’d never heard Todd say that word.

Stay,my conscious begged.

“No, it’s fine. Sometimes, we have to jump into things.”

A chuckle came through the line. “I see a lot of things that way,” he said. “Listen, kid. I’m about twenty-six years too late, but I’d like to get to know you.”

“You’re not late if you didn’t know.”

“I consider myself late. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is howyoufeel.”

“I . . . I think we can try. But I don’t know how to do . . .families.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be a dad. So I guess we can try to figure it out together.”

“Yeah. Maybe we can.”

Chapter Nineteen

Lila

The album was finalized and the announcement was ready to go. It was all about new beginnings, but it felt wrong now that Lila was done with Barry. I’d convinced myself that Rose got that new beginning with him, but the feeling of guilt still nipped at my heart.

The only time I was Lila was when I was doing video calls to plan my next few months. Once the heat on my name died down, I would be due back in LA—something I dreaded.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” Malia said one day as we were wrapping up another meeting. “There’s not been one hint of you.”

“I know how to disappear,” I said, already itching to be out of the wig. “And I’m good at it.”

“No kidding. Keep it up. The mystery is good.”

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