Connor heard Joanne as she came into the apartment. They had been there a month living in Angine’s luxurious little cage downtown and he had barely seen her. It had seemed like a sweet deal at first; live in luxury with everything he wanted at his fingertips. No paparazzi, no schedules, Joanne just down the hall, and all he had to do was pretend to be a Jedi every day when Angine put in an appearance. Connor would use his acting ability to grimace, and concentrate, and make convincing faces to show he was trying to lift that block, read someone’s mind, squeeze water from a stone, whatever the man in black wanted. But he got sick of the charade very quickly, and so did Angine.

“You’re not really trying, Connor. You’re not such a good actor that you can fool me.”

The Senator had finally stopped coming so often the last time he had told Connor that he could get in touch with him when he thought he was ready. “Don’t wait too long, Con,” he had purred, “Or I might have to give you some incentive.”

Connor had spent the last two weeks eating frozen pizza and avoiding the elliptical machine in honor of Call of Duty and Halo. He was already getting a little soft, and that was okay. Maybe he’d put on a hundred pounds and grow a beard. Then he could go out in public without being recognized. The world at large thought he was in rehab, and in a way he guessed he was.

He wrapped a sheet around his waist and threw open his door. “Nice of you to drop by,” he said to

Joanne.

She spun around with a scowl on her face. Her hair was a mess, her makeup sneaking off of its usual spots. “Geez, Connor, you gave me a heart attack.” She pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Nice sheet.”

“Where have you been?”

She turned around and headed back toward him. “It’s not like we’re married,” she snapped pushing past him and stalking into the kitchen. He followed her in and watched as she poured herself a glass of wine and drank half of it.

“So where were you?”

“With Angine.”

He kept his eyes trained on her, stormy and unrelenting. “Playing Lolita with him?”

“Lolita was twelve.”

“My bad.”

She poured the rest of her wine down the sink. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Sure you do.”

She pulled herself up to sit on the sink. She was wearing pantyhose he noticed. He didn’t even know they still made those things. “I love you,” he said. He really didn’t mean to tell her just then, it slipped out. He liked her better like this, soft and vulnerable, a little rundown and angry. It made her real, not just the image she had cultivated for her career.

“I know you do.”

“And…”

She picked at her nails refusing to look at him. “I used to love you too.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah, back when you weren’t such a jerk, when you were innocent, I guess. And you had plans and dreams, even if they were only getting a recurring role.” She did look at him then. “Now you’re like a pet rat or something. Stalking around in this apartment watching old TV shows and surfing the net and just… what are you doing here?”

“Ask Angine. He’s the Obi Wan Kenobi around here.”

“You know what I mean.”

He was angry then, angrier than he had been in a long time, and somehow even that felt okay because it felt like something, anything at all. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what any of this means. Why am I here? Why are you here? What’s happening to us?”

“We’re being used.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

He went to her, stood as close as he could. “I do. What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing. Forget about it.” She laid her head on his shoulder. She smelled like cigar smoke, not like Joanne at all.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” he whispered into her hair.

“Men always say that, but it’s not true.”

“You know a lot about men all of a sudden.” He was picking at her again and he didn’t want to. That had always been their way, hadn’t it? That’s what had made it exciting.

“I don’t know anything at all.”

He sighed from somewhere around the bottom of his feet. She didn’t love him anymore. And he didn’t love her either really, just the idea of her, what they had been together back when they were tabloid stars, young and beautiful and on the rise.

“I’m moving out tomorrow.” She said it so softly he thought he might not have heard her right. “Angine thinks it’s a good idea if I have my own place. He thinks I’m a distraction to you. He thinks if you’re alone you’ll be--”

“Easier to use?”

She slid off the counter against him and then ducked under his arm. “Goodnight, Con,” she said. “I’ll see you around.”

He used her glass, and he didn’t pour any of his wine down the sink.

Later, when he was asleep again he felt someone approach him. Joanne leaned down and put her mouth on his ear. “He has everything bugged,” she whispered. “Don’t say anything, just listen. Do what he says, whatever it is that you can do, do it. Use it or he will kill you. If you can get away, go. There are people in the mountains somewhere; I’ve heard him talking about them. Try to find them and they’ll take you in. There are others like you.” He felt the intake of breath, a hesitation, as though there was more she wanted to say, then-- “Goodbye.”

He reached for her, but she was gone.