“People tend to confuse me,” sighs the woman next to you. Shit. What was her name? Not Helen Hunt. Laura… Laura Dern?

“I mean, not that they make me confused,” she laughs, “although they do. They mix me up with other, more well-known actresses.” Linney. Somebody Linney. Stretched out, lazy, toes hidden in the sheets. “And secretly? I use that to my advantage.”

Lean up on your elbow to look at her. Her straight razor is already dipping for your throat.

“Who will they arrest this time?” she muses, washing your lifeblood from her hands. “God, I hope it’s Streep.”