My eyes were swollen from crying, and my throat hurt. The pillow was still stained with tears. I was pretty sure I’d only slept for an hour, maybe less. “Hello?” I said. “It’s Nick.” “Nick?” “Your driver.” “Oh,” I said. “Yes. Hi.” “T know what I want,” he said. His voice was confident. Its strength scared me. I felt so weak right then. But I knew it had been my idea for this call to happen. I had set up the nature of it. Tell me what you want to keep you quiet was what I had said without saying it. “I want you to make me famous,” he said, and when he did, the very last shred of affection I had for stardom drained out of me. “Do you realize the full extent of what you’re asking?” I said. “If you’re a celebrity, last night will be dangerous for you, too.” “That’s not a problem,” he said. I sighed, disappointed. “OK,” I said, resigned. “I can get you parts. The rest is up to you.” “That’s fine. That’s all I need.” I asked him his agent’s name, and I got off the phone. I made two phone calls. One was to my own agent, telling him to poach Nick from his guy. The second was to a man with the highest-grossing action movie in the country. It was about a police chief in his late fifties who defeats Russian spies on the day he’s supposed to retire. “Don?” I said when he answered the phone. “Evelyn! What can I do for you?” “I need you to hire a friend of mine in your next movie. The biggest part you can get him.” “OK,” he said. “You got it.” He did not ask me why. He did not ask me if I was OK. We had been through enough together for him to know better. I simply gave him Nick’s name, and I got off the phone.