Chapter 1
Julian Clement never held my hand in front of other people.
Even in our most intimate moments, the faintest footstep outside the door made him jerk away as if electrocuted, as though my existence were a shameful secret.
During our three years together, he recast my identity to suit every occasion. The one role he never gave me was "girlfriend."
On set, I was the new production assistant who brought him coffee, carried equipment, and absorbed everyone's abuse.
At investor receptions, I was a longtime script consultant relegated to a corner to hold his coat.
At film-industry forums, I became a friend who had helped a little, unworthy even of a credit.
Julian had a gift for beautiful words. Somehow, "partner" had vanished from his vocabulary.
"You have to understand, Alyssa." Whenever I questioned him, his deep, melancholy eyes made him look like the injured party. "I'm new to the industry, and this world is ruthless. If people learn that I'm involved with someone outside the industry, they'll think I'm unprofessional. They'll say I'm ruled by emotion instead of my work. Once I'm established and win that damned Horizon Independent Film Award, I'll announce us. I'll make sure the whole world knows you."
Silvercrest's glamorous film world was full of fools willing to believe that story.
I wasn't one of them.
I wore a faded sweatshirt, cooked eggs at a breakfast stand, hauled sandbags on set, and endured Julian's indifference for reasons that went beyond blind love. I was pursuing an almost foolish ideal.
I had chosen Julian as the test case for that belief.
Only three years earlier, beside the Arden River, he had been so poor that he could afford only one hot dog. Still, he draped his only coat over my shoulders and shivered in the cold, his eyes bright with conviction.
"Alyssa, a real movie doesn't need much money to capture something true. Even if it kills me, Julian Clement will never bow to capital. When I succeed, I'll make a documentary about you and tell the whole world I love you."
There had been light in his eyes then. I thought I had found Silvercrest's last true artist, a genius who would never compromise with money.
I joined his crew as a production assistant, handled every menial task, and used my own credit card to pay every bill he claimed art required.
Today was our third anniversary. It was also the day his crew said it would disband if it couldn't pay the location fee.
So I secretly maxed out my credit card to pay for the Regent Hotel's top-floor suite.
When the charge cleared, only 56 dollars remained in my account.
This was the final test of Julian's character and the ultimate challenge to my own ideal.
