milk & molasses, anna/georgie, r
JENNY: *gets drunk* *writes angsty femslash*
...yeah. That's basically what happened this evening.
Title: milk & molasses
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Anna/Georgie, unrequited Anna/Will
Rating: R
Warnings: Real people, angst.
Summary: A quick calculation tells her it's been roughly six months since they last saw each other. A slower, more detailed one, worked out later with the help of her diary, gives her closer to seven plus a week.
A/N: Set in the summer of 2014. Title from 'Molasses' by The Hush Sound. I honestly have no idea where this came from, so if you have any questions about it I probably won't be able to answer them. :/ I guess it's just that Narnia needs more femslash!!
Anna, trembling, lights a cigarette. Georgie takes it from her with steady fingers and stamps it out on the ground. The tarmac glitters wetly from the rain, and Anna doesn't look up from it as she speaks.
"You're littering," is what she says, wryly, a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.
"It's better than you getting cancer."
A pause. Georgie scuffs her feet, grinding the cigarette under her shoe. "Your hair's blonde," she says after a moment; stating the obvious.
"It's for the play," Anna explains, patting her hair self-consciously. "Did you -- did you like the play, by the way?"
"Not really," says Georgie, always honest, shrugging with one shoulder and glancing up at her. "You should go back to screen."
"Maybe I like stage," Anna says sharply, but Georgie just makes a face.
A quick calculation tells her it's been roughly six months since they last saw each other. A slower, more detailed one, worked out later with the help of her diary, gives her closer to seven plus a week.
Before that ('that' being the BAFTAs, an awkward affair, the four Pevensies reunited briefly to support Georgie's latest groundbreaking movie) it was at least a year, but she doesn't want to check to be sure.
It was nothing drastic; there were no juicy feuds for the tabloids to soak up. They've just drifted apart. Skandar never did anything past Dawn Treader, and is now training to become a doctor up in the north of Scotland. He's busy but he keeps in touch with them the best he can -- or at least, he drops emails to Anna every month or so. She doesn't know about his relationships with the others.
That's relatively simple; the press has lost interest in him by now.
Georgie and Will, though -- that's a lot more complicated.
Georgie comes to the next performance too, waits for her by the stage door like a fan.
"It's growing on me," she shrugs, by way of explanation. "D'you want to go for a drink?"
Cocktails, nearly Midnight. The atmosphere of the pub is dull and dark, and they sit at a sticky table, Anna sipping wordlessly at a Mojito, Georgie drinking down a Choke like it's not even alcoholic.
"Heard from anyone lately?" Georgie asks after a while, half of her drink already gone.
Anna knows that by 'anyone' she means Will or Skandar. Sometimes Ben, but none of them have really spoken to him in years. "No," she says. "I was supposed to have dinner with Will and Ryan about a week ago, but they couldn't make it."
"Ryan?" says Georgie, eyebrows raised. "Thought he was still with Chris."
Anna swallows slowly, shakes her head. Her drink is too sweet, sugary-slick down her throat. "Not for a while now."
"You never got over him, did you?" Georgie says, her voice harsh and low as she leans across the table, forcing Anna to look her in the eye.
"Georgie, don't," Anna snaps. "Come on. It's been ages."
"I'm not the one who needs to be told," Georgie says, slumping back into her seat, sulky. Like when she was little. She brings her glass to her, draining it, her lips wet when she draws back. "I always knew he was gay."
"You always say that," Anna says, temper rising. "Don't be stupid. None of us did."
Georgie looks up, sets her jaw. "I did."
There's no point in arguing, even though she wants to. Georgie never knew. She would've said something if she'd known. Wouldn't have let things go on the way they did. This whole thing -- Georgie's insistence that she knew, and the stupid, immature way she always acted about pretty much everything involving Will -- is most of the reason the two of them barely ever see each other these days.
"Can I stay at yours?" Georgie asks, her words echoing through the tunnels of the tube station.
Anna's caught off guard. "Really? Because things are just going brilliantly so far?"
Georgie rolls her tongue over her lips, gazes off into the distance, in no hurry. "Things are getting really bad with Mum and Dad," she says, eventually, and Anna does feel sorry for her at this.
Georgie's parents are going through some god-awful, drawn-out divorce. It seems like they've been having problems for a few years now, and Anna knows it's been hell for Georgie and her sisters.
"Yeah," she says softly. "Yeah. You can come to mine. But text your Mum and tell her, okay?"
One night turns into two nights turns into a week, and Anna doesn't so much as raise her eyebrows when Georgie shows up one day with a suitcase.
"I can't stay there anymore," she says, and Anna accepts it without question.
She's starting at the London University in a few months anyway. Anna always thought it was high time she got out of Ilkey, but she never really wanted her to end up sleeping on her sofa, racking up ridiculous phone bills and going out partying every night.
She hates it at first. It feels like the Narnia films all over again, the babysitting and the responsibility. It's not her problem when Georgie stumbles in at 3am, she knows that, but it doesn't stop her staying up, waiting for her, worrying.
They have quite a bit of time, the two of them, but they barely spend any of it together.
Anna's making a name for herself in the theatre, which is a very different thing to the name she made for herself years ago in children's cinema. Georgie's just got herself a part in some new movie, an adaption from a book, and it's a big deal, really controversial, but all Anna can think is that it's the same part she's been playing for the past three years now.
She doesn't tell her that, though, just offers to help her with her lines, and gives support where she can, even through the temper tantrums and the screaming arguments.
It's all she's ever done, really.
Most of the time, they don't talk about Will. Georgie brings him up when she wants to really hurt Anna, when they're arguing about money or space and Georgie wants to get personal. Most of the time, they avoid the topic. There's nothing new to say.
Will rings her up one day, says how about that raincheck? even though it's been nearly a month and a half by now.
She wears her favourite dress and too much perfume. She likes Ryan, but she knows she'll end up gossiping about him to Georgie when she gets back, slagging off his stupid highlights and his crappy taste in wine. It's juvenile, she knows it, but sometimes it makes her feel just that little bit better.
When she gets to the restaurant, though, it's not Ryan on Will's arm, it's a taller man with dark hair hanging in his eyes and a cheeky grin that she can't help but be charmed by.
It doesn't matter what his name is, though. He'll be gone again in two months tops.
Georgie's drunk when she gets back, sloshing Anna's best vodka into a glass of orange juice. Anna goes straight to bed without a single word past goodnight, Will's smile still shining in her mind.
She thinks about him during thunderstorms, remembers the past. She remembers Prague. She remembers his trailer, the two of them taking cover as the rain beat against the thin windows; remembers him stroking her hair.
She remembers how she thought they could really be something.
Georgie slams the door suddenly, shaking her out of her dreams. She watches from the doorway, watches the girl drunk and dazed, stumbling about the living room, undressing for bed. She knows she should turn away.
Georgie's hips are rolling like the raindrops down the window as she writhes out of her dress, her soaked, water-dark hair hanging across her face, her ankles twisting, knees knocking clumsily. She stands, shivering in her underwear and her boots. She's tracked mud across the carpet, Anna realises, and she wants to go in there and scold her, but she's rooted to the spot.
"Enjoying the show?" Georgie snaps suddenly, hands slammed down on pale hips, and Anna jumps.
She shakes her head; grabs a blanket from the bed. "It's cold. Thought you might need this tonight," is all she says.
Her roots start showing, and Georgie offers to re-dye them for her. There's still another few nights of the play, after all.
The bleach burns, and Georgie's fingers are quick and rough, the nails scraping against Anna's head like tiny blades.
She's home early from an audition one day, walks in on Georgie with another girl. They're not naked but they're getting there, sprawled together on Anna's sheets, clawing and clutching at each other like animals. Georgie's not embarrassed, but the other girl is, shy and blushing and apologetic like Anna's Georgie's fucking mother or something, and tripping up on her way to the door.
"That why you keep playing lesbians?" Anna asks afterwards, with more spite than she means.
Georgie rolls her eyes. "Shut up."
On her way back from the gym a few days later, Anna stops off at a corner shop for a bottle of water and is surprised to see Georgie's name plastered all over the covers of the gossip magazines.
She knows it's stupid but she buys one, slamming it down on the counter with her water bottle and hoping the cashier doesn't know who she is. He runs his eyes over the cover, though, then looks up at her for a moment too long, and Anna's heart sinks.
But it's not her he recognises, it's Georgie. "That's the little one from Narnia, innit?" he says, grinning like it's all a big joke, jabbing his finger at the glossy paparazzi picture of Georgie making out with some nameless blonde girl.
"I don't know," says Anna, feigning disinterest. "Think so."
"My girlfriend always said she was a dyke 'cos of all those movies she does," the guy says, chuckling as he scans the magazine in. "Guess it's life imitating art or whatever."
She doesn't confront her about it.
She intends to, but when she gets home again, Georgie's screaming down the phone at her publicist and Anna just slinks off to her room in silence.
She's the kind of person who likes to get to the bottom of things, but she's not one to start arguments, and she's smart enough to know that if she brings this up, Georgie will lash out.
The magazine lies unread on her desk, and she never mentions it.
She finds herself thinking about Will more, wondering how he'd deal with this. How he is dealing with this. But she doesn't contact him, because he's always been the one to contact her, and there's something in that that makes her want to keep it unchanged.
And so she thinks about Narnia, about going through the wardrobe, about her golden boy, Peter her elder brother. She thinks about that time in Prague when she kissed him, and pretends he didn't pull away.
When it happens, she almost thinks, finally, but stops herself before the word comes.
Skandar's sent Georgie some kind of really expensive tequila for her birthday, and that's how -- Anna supposes -- it begins.
From what she can gather, there's been another huge blow-up at home, but as usual she doesn't ask for details, just waits for Georgie to open up.
And, as usual, she never does.
It seems like it's even worse than it has been, because Georgie stays with Anna throughout her birthday. She doesn't go home. She doesn't even go out. She acts like it's no big deal, says her other friends are all busy, but when Anna returns home from a rehearsal and finds Georgie slumped on the sofa with the tequila bottle open, she knows there's something more going on.
"You should be out celebrating," Anna says quietly, pouring herself a shot and joining Georgie on the sofa.
"Let's celebrate here." Her words are already slurred.
They clink glasses, swallow their shots. Anna feels her throat burn like the bleach against her scalp; she slides her glass across the coffee table and coughs gently.
"We should have limes," she says after a moment. "Salt, too."
They don't, though, and Georgie doesn't seem to care.
"Have you heard from anyone lately?" Georgie asks, a few shots later, dragging a hand back through unbrushed hair. It's become a regular question.
Anna opens her mouth, then shuts it again. "Actually," she says, "I haven't."
It's not quite the truth. About a week ago she received an email from Skandar, a blank one with an attachment of one of those fucking paparazzi photos of Georgie and that girl. The title of the email was something like 'Why is everybody gay now?' and she never replied. She's not telling Georgie that.
They move into Anna's bedroom, taking the tequila with them. They flick through channels on the TV, not speaking to each other, until Georgie hits the off button and turns to Anna suddenly on the bed.
"This is the thing--" she says, and then kisses her, and it's bitter and sour, and awful and inevitable, and Anna just lies back and lets Georgie rock against her, stars bursting drunkenly behind her eyelids.
Sometimes, she wants to say "What the fuck are we doing?" but every time, she just murmurs, "I love you" instead.
It's probably the third or fourth time before Georgie even reacts, and she looks up, says "Really?" in genuine surprise, eyebrow quirked.
"'Course I do," says Anna, laughing softly with her jeans rumpled around her knees. She feels warm, and drunk, and comfortable, and once again she remembers Narnia, remembers the way things used to be. "We're still Pevensies," she says dreamily, "you're still my sister."
"Don't be gross," Georgie snorts, yanking Anna's jeans down to her ankles.
Georgie knows exactly how to touch her, how to curl her fingers and flick her tongue. Anna wants to be sentimental about it, wants to think it's because they've known each other so long or because they're meant for each other, but in reality she knows it's just experience. And Georgie's had a lot of it, probably done these things a hundred times before. Anna can kid herself that she's special, but she has no way of knowing if that's the truth.
Afterwards, she sits on her windowsill and watches the London lights, finishing off a packet of cigarettes. Georgie just sprawls across the bed, kicking off the covers, naked -- shamelessly so, while Anna is wrapped in a robe -- and watching the ceiling.
"I don't like girls," Anna hears herself saying as she flicks ash out of the window.
"Okay," laughs Georgie hollowly, from behind her.
Of course, she doesn't care.
They slip up, kissing each other briefly in the corner of a club. Anna doesn't know that there are cameras around. Georgie probably does, but she doesn't say anything.
There's no way of covering it up. Even their PR agents say it's hopeless. Magazines and newspapers are splattered with the dark, out-of-focus images by the next day, and Anna can't even bring herself to care.
It's okay, anyway. She still gets offered parts in plays. They don't really care about this sort of thing there.
Georgie's already typecast; it doesn't matter.
Skandar stops emailing, and it's not long before she can honestly say that she doesn't really think about Will anymore.
...yeah. That's basically what happened this evening.
Title: milk & molasses
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Anna/Georgie, unrequited Anna/Will
Rating: R
Warnings: Real people, angst.
Summary: A quick calculation tells her it's been roughly six months since they last saw each other. A slower, more detailed one, worked out later with the help of her diary, gives her closer to seven plus a week.
A/N: Set in the summer of 2014. Title from 'Molasses' by The Hush Sound. I honestly have no idea where this came from, so if you have any questions about it I probably won't be able to answer them. :/ I guess it's just that Narnia needs more femslash!!
Anna, trembling, lights a cigarette. Georgie takes it from her with steady fingers and stamps it out on the ground. The tarmac glitters wetly from the rain, and Anna doesn't look up from it as she speaks.
"You're littering," is what she says, wryly, a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.
"It's better than you getting cancer."
A pause. Georgie scuffs her feet, grinding the cigarette under her shoe. "Your hair's blonde," she says after a moment; stating the obvious.
"It's for the play," Anna explains, patting her hair self-consciously. "Did you -- did you like the play, by the way?"
"Not really," says Georgie, always honest, shrugging with one shoulder and glancing up at her. "You should go back to screen."
"Maybe I like stage," Anna says sharply, but Georgie just makes a face.
A quick calculation tells her it's been roughly six months since they last saw each other. A slower, more detailed one, worked out later with the help of her diary, gives her closer to seven plus a week.
Before that ('that' being the BAFTAs, an awkward affair, the four Pevensies reunited briefly to support Georgie's latest groundbreaking movie) it was at least a year, but she doesn't want to check to be sure.
It was nothing drastic; there were no juicy feuds for the tabloids to soak up. They've just drifted apart. Skandar never did anything past Dawn Treader, and is now training to become a doctor up in the north of Scotland. He's busy but he keeps in touch with them the best he can -- or at least, he drops emails to Anna every month or so. She doesn't know about his relationships with the others.
That's relatively simple; the press has lost interest in him by now.
Georgie and Will, though -- that's a lot more complicated.
Georgie comes to the next performance too, waits for her by the stage door like a fan.
"It's growing on me," she shrugs, by way of explanation. "D'you want to go for a drink?"
Cocktails, nearly Midnight. The atmosphere of the pub is dull and dark, and they sit at a sticky table, Anna sipping wordlessly at a Mojito, Georgie drinking down a Choke like it's not even alcoholic.
"Heard from anyone lately?" Georgie asks after a while, half of her drink already gone.
Anna knows that by 'anyone' she means Will or Skandar. Sometimes Ben, but none of them have really spoken to him in years. "No," she says. "I was supposed to have dinner with Will and Ryan about a week ago, but they couldn't make it."
"Ryan?" says Georgie, eyebrows raised. "Thought he was still with Chris."
Anna swallows slowly, shakes her head. Her drink is too sweet, sugary-slick down her throat. "Not for a while now."
"You never got over him, did you?" Georgie says, her voice harsh and low as she leans across the table, forcing Anna to look her in the eye.
"Georgie, don't," Anna snaps. "Come on. It's been ages."
"I'm not the one who needs to be told," Georgie says, slumping back into her seat, sulky. Like when she was little. She brings her glass to her, draining it, her lips wet when she draws back. "I always knew he was gay."
"You always say that," Anna says, temper rising. "Don't be stupid. None of us did."
Georgie looks up, sets her jaw. "I did."
There's no point in arguing, even though she wants to. Georgie never knew. She would've said something if she'd known. Wouldn't have let things go on the way they did. This whole thing -- Georgie's insistence that she knew, and the stupid, immature way she always acted about pretty much everything involving Will -- is most of the reason the two of them barely ever see each other these days.
"Can I stay at yours?" Georgie asks, her words echoing through the tunnels of the tube station.
Anna's caught off guard. "Really? Because things are just going brilliantly so far?"
Georgie rolls her tongue over her lips, gazes off into the distance, in no hurry. "Things are getting really bad with Mum and Dad," she says, eventually, and Anna does feel sorry for her at this.
Georgie's parents are going through some god-awful, drawn-out divorce. It seems like they've been having problems for a few years now, and Anna knows it's been hell for Georgie and her sisters.
"Yeah," she says softly. "Yeah. You can come to mine. But text your Mum and tell her, okay?"
One night turns into two nights turns into a week, and Anna doesn't so much as raise her eyebrows when Georgie shows up one day with a suitcase.
"I can't stay there anymore," she says, and Anna accepts it without question.
She's starting at the London University in a few months anyway. Anna always thought it was high time she got out of Ilkey, but she never really wanted her to end up sleeping on her sofa, racking up ridiculous phone bills and going out partying every night.
She hates it at first. It feels like the Narnia films all over again, the babysitting and the responsibility. It's not her problem when Georgie stumbles in at 3am, she knows that, but it doesn't stop her staying up, waiting for her, worrying.
They have quite a bit of time, the two of them, but they barely spend any of it together.
Anna's making a name for herself in the theatre, which is a very different thing to the name she made for herself years ago in children's cinema. Georgie's just got herself a part in some new movie, an adaption from a book, and it's a big deal, really controversial, but all Anna can think is that it's the same part she's been playing for the past three years now.
She doesn't tell her that, though, just offers to help her with her lines, and gives support where she can, even through the temper tantrums and the screaming arguments.
It's all she's ever done, really.
Most of the time, they don't talk about Will. Georgie brings him up when she wants to really hurt Anna, when they're arguing about money or space and Georgie wants to get personal. Most of the time, they avoid the topic. There's nothing new to say.
Will rings her up one day, says how about that raincheck? even though it's been nearly a month and a half by now.
She wears her favourite dress and too much perfume. She likes Ryan, but she knows she'll end up gossiping about him to Georgie when she gets back, slagging off his stupid highlights and his crappy taste in wine. It's juvenile, she knows it, but sometimes it makes her feel just that little bit better.
When she gets to the restaurant, though, it's not Ryan on Will's arm, it's a taller man with dark hair hanging in his eyes and a cheeky grin that she can't help but be charmed by.
It doesn't matter what his name is, though. He'll be gone again in two months tops.
Georgie's drunk when she gets back, sloshing Anna's best vodka into a glass of orange juice. Anna goes straight to bed without a single word past goodnight, Will's smile still shining in her mind.
She thinks about him during thunderstorms, remembers the past. She remembers Prague. She remembers his trailer, the two of them taking cover as the rain beat against the thin windows; remembers him stroking her hair.
She remembers how she thought they could really be something.
Georgie slams the door suddenly, shaking her out of her dreams. She watches from the doorway, watches the girl drunk and dazed, stumbling about the living room, undressing for bed. She knows she should turn away.
Georgie's hips are rolling like the raindrops down the window as she writhes out of her dress, her soaked, water-dark hair hanging across her face, her ankles twisting, knees knocking clumsily. She stands, shivering in her underwear and her boots. She's tracked mud across the carpet, Anna realises, and she wants to go in there and scold her, but she's rooted to the spot.
"Enjoying the show?" Georgie snaps suddenly, hands slammed down on pale hips, and Anna jumps.
She shakes her head; grabs a blanket from the bed. "It's cold. Thought you might need this tonight," is all she says.
Her roots start showing, and Georgie offers to re-dye them for her. There's still another few nights of the play, after all.
The bleach burns, and Georgie's fingers are quick and rough, the nails scraping against Anna's head like tiny blades.
She's home early from an audition one day, walks in on Georgie with another girl. They're not naked but they're getting there, sprawled together on Anna's sheets, clawing and clutching at each other like animals. Georgie's not embarrassed, but the other girl is, shy and blushing and apologetic like Anna's Georgie's fucking mother or something, and tripping up on her way to the door.
"That why you keep playing lesbians?" Anna asks afterwards, with more spite than she means.
Georgie rolls her eyes. "Shut up."
On her way back from the gym a few days later, Anna stops off at a corner shop for a bottle of water and is surprised to see Georgie's name plastered all over the covers of the gossip magazines.
She knows it's stupid but she buys one, slamming it down on the counter with her water bottle and hoping the cashier doesn't know who she is. He runs his eyes over the cover, though, then looks up at her for a moment too long, and Anna's heart sinks.
But it's not her he recognises, it's Georgie. "That's the little one from Narnia, innit?" he says, grinning like it's all a big joke, jabbing his finger at the glossy paparazzi picture of Georgie making out with some nameless blonde girl.
"I don't know," says Anna, feigning disinterest. "Think so."
"My girlfriend always said she was a dyke 'cos of all those movies she does," the guy says, chuckling as he scans the magazine in. "Guess it's life imitating art or whatever."
She doesn't confront her about it.
She intends to, but when she gets home again, Georgie's screaming down the phone at her publicist and Anna just slinks off to her room in silence.
She's the kind of person who likes to get to the bottom of things, but she's not one to start arguments, and she's smart enough to know that if she brings this up, Georgie will lash out.
The magazine lies unread on her desk, and she never mentions it.
She finds herself thinking about Will more, wondering how he'd deal with this. How he is dealing with this. But she doesn't contact him, because he's always been the one to contact her, and there's something in that that makes her want to keep it unchanged.
And so she thinks about Narnia, about going through the wardrobe, about her golden boy, Peter her elder brother. She thinks about that time in Prague when she kissed him, and pretends he didn't pull away.
When it happens, she almost thinks, finally, but stops herself before the word comes.
Skandar's sent Georgie some kind of really expensive tequila for her birthday, and that's how -- Anna supposes -- it begins.
From what she can gather, there's been another huge blow-up at home, but as usual she doesn't ask for details, just waits for Georgie to open up.
And, as usual, she never does.
It seems like it's even worse than it has been, because Georgie stays with Anna throughout her birthday. She doesn't go home. She doesn't even go out. She acts like it's no big deal, says her other friends are all busy, but when Anna returns home from a rehearsal and finds Georgie slumped on the sofa with the tequila bottle open, she knows there's something more going on.
"You should be out celebrating," Anna says quietly, pouring herself a shot and joining Georgie on the sofa.
"Let's celebrate here." Her words are already slurred.
They clink glasses, swallow their shots. Anna feels her throat burn like the bleach against her scalp; she slides her glass across the coffee table and coughs gently.
"We should have limes," she says after a moment. "Salt, too."
They don't, though, and Georgie doesn't seem to care.
"Have you heard from anyone lately?" Georgie asks, a few shots later, dragging a hand back through unbrushed hair. It's become a regular question.
Anna opens her mouth, then shuts it again. "Actually," she says, "I haven't."
It's not quite the truth. About a week ago she received an email from Skandar, a blank one with an attachment of one of those fucking paparazzi photos of Georgie and that girl. The title of the email was something like 'Why is everybody gay now?' and she never replied. She's not telling Georgie that.
They move into Anna's bedroom, taking the tequila with them. They flick through channels on the TV, not speaking to each other, until Georgie hits the off button and turns to Anna suddenly on the bed.
"This is the thing--" she says, and then kisses her, and it's bitter and sour, and awful and inevitable, and Anna just lies back and lets Georgie rock against her, stars bursting drunkenly behind her eyelids.
Sometimes, she wants to say "What the fuck are we doing?" but every time, she just murmurs, "I love you" instead.
It's probably the third or fourth time before Georgie even reacts, and she looks up, says "Really?" in genuine surprise, eyebrow quirked.
"'Course I do," says Anna, laughing softly with her jeans rumpled around her knees. She feels warm, and drunk, and comfortable, and once again she remembers Narnia, remembers the way things used to be. "We're still Pevensies," she says dreamily, "you're still my sister."
"Don't be gross," Georgie snorts, yanking Anna's jeans down to her ankles.
Georgie knows exactly how to touch her, how to curl her fingers and flick her tongue. Anna wants to be sentimental about it, wants to think it's because they've known each other so long or because they're meant for each other, but in reality she knows it's just experience. And Georgie's had a lot of it, probably done these things a hundred times before. Anna can kid herself that she's special, but she has no way of knowing if that's the truth.
Afterwards, she sits on her windowsill and watches the London lights, finishing off a packet of cigarettes. Georgie just sprawls across the bed, kicking off the covers, naked -- shamelessly so, while Anna is wrapped in a robe -- and watching the ceiling.
"I don't like girls," Anna hears herself saying as she flicks ash out of the window.
"Okay," laughs Georgie hollowly, from behind her.
Of course, she doesn't care.
They slip up, kissing each other briefly in the corner of a club. Anna doesn't know that there are cameras around. Georgie probably does, but she doesn't say anything.
There's no way of covering it up. Even their PR agents say it's hopeless. Magazines and newspapers are splattered with the dark, out-of-focus images by the next day, and Anna can't even bring herself to care.
It's okay, anyway. She still gets offered parts in plays. They don't really care about this sort of thing there.
Georgie's already typecast; it doesn't matter.
Skandar stops emailing, and it's not long before she can honestly say that she doesn't really think about Will anymore.