Her lungs are seriously burned away

“Dylan scared you.”
“He didn’t move for along time,” she said.
“Were you worried you’d tied him too tight?”
She released the hair but kept her gaze low. “Honestly, I can’t tell you,even now what his motivation was. Maybe he really was unconscious, maybe he waspunking me a hundred percent. He’s…it was really his idea, Doctor. I promise.”
“Dylan thought the whole thing up?”
“Everything. Like getting rope and where to go.”
“How’d he pick Latigo Canyon?”
“He said he hiked there, he likes to hike by himself, it helps him get incharacter.” The tongue tip glided across her lower lip, left behind asnail-trail of moisture.
“He also says one day he’s going to have a place there.”
“Latigo Canyon?”
“Malibu, buton the beach, like the Colony. He’s crazy intense.”
“About his career?”
“There are some people who put everything into a scene, you know? But laterthey know when to stop? Dylan can be cool when he’s just being himself, buthe’s got these ambitions. Cover of People, take the place of Johnny Depp.”
“What are your ambitions, Michaela?”
“Me? I just want to work. TV, big screen, episodic, commercials, whatever.”
“Dylan wouldn’t be happy with that.”
“Dylan wants to be number one on the Sexiest Man List.”
“Have you talked to him since the exercise?”
“No.”
“Whose decision was that?”
“Lauritz told me to stay away.”
“Were you and Dylan pretty close before?”
“I guess. Dylan said we had natural chemistry. That’s probably why Igot…swept along. The whole thing was his idea but he freaked me out up there.I’m talking to him and shaking him and he looks really…you know.”
“Dead.”
“Not that I’ve ever seen anyone really dead but when I was young I liked towatch splatter flicks. Not now, though. I get grossed out easily.”
“What’d you do when you thought Dylan looked dead?”
“I went crazy and started untying the neck rope, and he still wasn’t movingand he held his mouth open and was looking really…” She shook her head. “Theatmosphere up there, I was getting freaked out. I started slapping his face andyelling at him to stop it. His head just kept flopping back and forth. Like oneof those loosening exercises Nora has us do before a big scene.”
“Scary,” I said.
“Scary-terrifying. I’m dyslexic, not intense dyslexic, like illiterate orillegible, I can read okay. But it takes me a long time to memorize words. Ican’t sound anything out. I mean, I can memorize my lines but I really workhard.”
“Being dyslexic made it scarier to see Dylan like that?”
“Because my head felt all scrambled up and I couldn’t think straight. and then being scared blurred it. Like my thoughts weren’t making sense—like beingin another language, you know?”
“Disoriented.”
“I mean, look what I did,” she said. “Untied myself and climbed up that hilland ran out to the road without even putting my clothes on. I had to bedisoriented. If I was thinking normal, would I do that? Then, after that oldguy, the one on the road who…” Her frown made it as far as the left side of hermouth before retracting.
“The old man who…”
“I was going to say the old guy saved me but I wasn’t in real danger. Still,Was pretty terrified. Because I still didn’t know if Dylan was okay. By thetime the old guy called the rescue squad and they got there, Dylan was out ofthe ropes and standing there. When no one was looking, he gave a little smile.Like ha-ha, good joke.”
“You feel Dylan manipulated you.”
“That’s the saddest thing. Losing trust. The whole thing was supposed to beabout trust. Nora’s always teaching us about the artist’s life as constantdanger. You’re always working without a net. Dylan was my partner and I trustedhim. That’s why I went along with it in the first place.”
“Did it take him a while to talk you into it?”
She frowned. “He made it like an adventure. Buying all that stuff. He mademe feel like a kid having fun.”
“Did he explain why he’d planned it that way?”
“We really didn’t talk about it. It was like…we did so many exercises before,this was just another one. I felt I had to use my right side. Of my brain. Norataught us to concentrate on using the right side of the brain, just kind ofslip into right-brain stuff.”
“How do you think she feels about what happened, Michaela?”
“I know how she feels. She’s pissed. After the police took me in, I calledher. She said getting caught was amateurish and stupid, don’t come back. Thenshe hung up.”
“Getting caught,” I said. “She wasn’t angry at the scheme itself?”
“That’s what she told me. It was stupid to get caught.” Her eyes moistened.
“She won’t return my calls. So now I can’t go to the PlayHouse. Not that itmatters. I guess.”
Tears ran down her face. “I can’t afford to study, ’cause I’m broke. Gonnahave to put my name in with one of those agencies. Be a personal assistant or ananny. Or flip burgers or something.”
“Who’s gonna hire me for a good job when I need to go out on auditions? Andalso untilthis is over.”
“I sure wasn’t out to hurt anyone, believe me, Doctor. I know I should’vethought more and felt less, but Dylan…” She drew up her legs again. Negligiblebody fat allowed her to fold like paper. With that lack of insulation, two nightsup in the hills must’ve chilled her. Even if she was lying about her fear, theexperience hadn’t been pleasant: The final police report had cited fresh humanexcrement under a nearby tree, leaves and candy wrappers used for toilet paper.
“Now,” she said, “everyone will think I’m a dumb blonde.”
“Some people say there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
She fixed her eyes on mine. “I was stupid and I’m so, so sorry.”
“Being out there in the cold. No bathroom.”
“That was gross, ” she said. “It was freezing and I felt likecreepy-crawlies were all over me, just eating me up. Afterward my arms and legsand my neck hurt. Because I tied myself too tight.” She grimaced. “I wanted tobe authentic. To show Dylan.”
“You had to figure the story would get exposure. Did you consider how otherpeople would react?”
“I honestly felt she’d respect us. For having integrity. Instead she’spissed.”
“She doesn’t read the papers but I guess if it’s in the Phoenix Sun and somebody shows it to her.”
“She can’t do anything to help me.” She mumbled.
“She’s sick. Lung disease. My whole childhood she was sick with something.Even when I fell on my head it was a neighbor took me to the doctor.”
She glanced to the side. “When she was stoned she’d hit me.”
“Mostly weed, sometimes she’d take pills for her moods. Mostly, she liked tosmoke. Weed and tobacco and Courvoisier. Her lungs are seriously burned away.She breathes with a tank.”
“My childhood. I don’t like talking about it but I’m being totally honestwith you. No illusions, no emotional curtain, you know? It’s like a mantra. Ikept telling myself, ‘honesty honesty honesty.’ Lauritz told me to keep thathere, right in front.” A tapered finger touched a smooth, bronze brow.
“What did you figure would happen when the story got out?”
“Reality TV. Like a mixture of Punk’d and Survivor and Fear Factor but withno one knowing what’s real and what isn’t. It’s not like we were trying to bemean. We were just trying to get a breakthrough.”
“I didn’t think, period…maybe down deep—unconsciously—I thought it mighthelp get through the wall.”
“The success wall. You go on auditions and they look at you like you’re notthere, and even when they say they might call they don’t. You’re just astalented as the girl who gets called, there’s no reason anything happens. Sowhy not? Get yourself noticed, do something special or weird or terrific. Makeyourself special for being special.”
She got up, circled the office. Kicked one shoe with the other and nearlylost balance. Maybe she’d been telling the truth about being clumsy.