Cara swiped her MetroCard. It took two tries. The turnstile clicked, a rusty, mechanical sound that felt like a welcome home.
The subway car was crowded. It smelled of sweat and old pizza. She held onto the metal pole, her body swaying with the train. Across from her, a teenager was listening to music too loud. It was noisy. It was dirty. It was real.
She got off in Queens. She walked three blocks to a brownstone that had seen better days. She pressed the buzzer marked 3B.
A minute later, the door buzzed.
She climbed the stairs. Her legs were aching.
Toby opened the door. He was wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt with a hole in the shoulder. Tubes. Her childhood friend. The only person who knew Cara Clay before she became Brittain Austin's accessory.
He looked at her face. He looked at her red lipstick, now smudged.
"Rough day at the office?" he asked.
She walked in and kicked off her heels. She groaned as her feet hit the cheap rug.
"I dumped him," she said.
Tubes' eyes went wide. He didn't say anything. He just turned around and walked to his tiny kitchen. He came back with a box of Franzia red wine and two chipped mugs.
"Finally," he said. He poured the wine to the brim. "That guy was a vampire."
Cara took the mug. She took a huge gulp. The wine was sour and room temperature. It was the best thing she had tasted in years.
She sat on his lumpy sofa. She curled her legs under her.
"I told him it's over," she said. Her voice cracked. "But Tubes... it hurts. God, it hurts."
She started to cry. Not the pretty crying she did in movies. Ugly crying. Snot and gasping breaths.
She admitted it then. "I wasn't just acting. I wanted him to love me. I really wanted him to see me."
Tubes sat on the floor next to her. He rested his head on her knee. He didn't try to fix it. He just let her cry.
After a while, the tears stopped. She felt hollowed out.
She checked her bank app. She had the savings from the movie. It wasn't much, but it was hers. He couldn't touch this. This was the money from White Poplar, deposited into a private account she'd opened under her mother's maiden name two years ago. Her escape fund.
"Let's watch trash TV," Tubes suggested.
They sat there for hours, watching a reality show where people married strangers. Her phone vibrated on the cushion.
It was a DM from Brady Roy.
Zack told me you're a free agent. You okay?
She stared at the screen. She typed back.
Ready to put on a show?
Brady replied instantly. Always. Following you now.
She opened Twitter. Brady Roy started following Cara Clay. The notifications started to roll in.
She went to the bathroom. She washed off the red lipstick. She washed off the mascara. She looked at her bare face. There were dark circles under her eyes.
"Hello, Cara," she whispered.
She went back to the living room. Tubes was asleep, snoring softly. She poured herself one last mug of wine.
She closed her eyes and imagined a different life. A life where she was the main character, not the supporting actress.
The next morning, Zack called her. She woke up with a crick in her neck.
"Check the trends!" Zack yelled. "Brady just liked your post from 2021!"
