Page 160 - The Midnight Library

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Ryan Bailey

Ryan Bailey.

As in the Ryan Bailey. As in the Ryan Bailey of her fantasies, where they
talked about Plato and Heidegger through a veil of steam in his West
Hollywood hot tub.
‘Nora? You there? You look scared.’
‘Um, yeah. I’m . . . yeah . . . I’m . . . I’ve just . . . I’m here . . . On a bus . . . A

big . . . touring . . . yeah . . . Hi.’
‘Guess where I am?’
She had no idea what to say. ‘Hot tub’ seemed entirely inappropriate as an

answer. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
He panned the phone around a vast and opulent-looking villa, complete
with bright furnishings and terracotta tiles and a four-poster double bed
veiled in a mosquito net.
‘Nayarit, Mexico.’ He pronounced Mexico in a parody of Spanish, with the

x as an h. He looked and sounded slightly different to the Ryan Bailey in the
movies. A bit puffier. A bit more slurred. Drunker, perhaps. ‘On location.
ey got me shooting Saloon 2.’

‘Last Chance Saloon 2? Oh, I so want to see the first one.’
He laughed as if she had told the most hilarious joke.
‘Still dr y as ever, Nono.’
Nono?
‘Staying at the Casa de Míta,’ he went on. ‘Remember? e weekend we

had there? ey’ve put me in the exact same villa. You remember? I’m
having a mezcal margarita in your honour. Where are you?’
‘Brazil. We were just doing a concert in São Paulo.’