chapter 12
CHRIS
I stare out at the endless blue of Lake Michigan as the car passes the sea of people pushing strollers and running alongside the lakefront and generally living their lives. When I see a jogger run past with a sweater-clad dog, I smile. Dogs remind me of Hallie. The lake reminds me of Hallie. The snow-covered sand reminds me of Hallie.
Who am I kidding? Everything reminds me of Hallie. For the past week, every cup of coffee and seemingly mundane task has turned into a hidden minefield of memories. It’s exacerbated by the fact that my ridiculous photographic memory makes it possible to examine my mind for little details that I thought I had forgotten long ago. I’m considering a lobotomy. An exorcism. Something.
“She’s not going to be there, is she?”
There’s uncharacteristic panic in Marcus’s tone, and I know that he isn’t thinking about Hallie. That makes one of us.
“Considering that Eva is Hallie’s agent, I think it’s probably a pretty good bet that she will be there.”
“Don’t mention that spider’s name in my presence again. She probably cast some kind of spell on it. She’s just waiting with her little poisoned apple. I need a food tester. Isn’t that what the kings of England have?” Marcus accompanies his words with an exaggerated shudder and wink, which brings some much needed comic relief.
I manage a small grin in response, but my fingers fiddle nervously with my phone. I’ve been nervous for a week, and I’m never nervous.
The car stops abruptly.
“We’ve arrived, Mr. Jensen. Is there anything else you’ll require today?”
The driver is peering at me expectantly through the rearview window. There are plenty of things that I’ll require today, but I’m pretty sure the man in the front seat isn’t going to be able to provide any of them.
“No, we’re all set. One of us will call if we need a ride.”
“Very good, sir.”
He comes around to open the door. After thanking him, Marcus and I step under the awning and into the hotel.
“I’ll check us in. You just try to stand over there and look inconspicuous. If anyone recognizes you, just play dumb. Maybe Chris Jensen has a twin somewhere. Go with that. You know, if you had just listened to me about the security team, we wouldn’t have to worry about staying incognito this weekend. But no. No security. Dumbass.”
“It will be fine. Just check us in and spare me the lecture, okay?”
He rolls his eyes before making his way over to the check-in area. I pull the knit cap over my eyes as I look for a good spot to hide out. I’ve been to this hotel before, years ago, when my mother had dragged Diana and me on one of her little shopping expeditions. It seems like nothing has changed. Well-dressed women pass me with bulging bags holding the spoils of a few hours of shopping on the Magnificent Mile, just as my mother did, so many years before. I ignore them and make a beeline for the darkest corner of the lobby instead.
I scope out an empty couch but before I can reach it, I hear two very familiar voices. I duck for cover.
“That jackass.”
“He’s not a jackass, Eva.”
Shit. I’m not ready. I need a minute to prepare to see her, but I have to know who isn’t a jackass? Me? That might be too much to hope for.
I can’t see the pair of them, but the voices are tantalizingly close. They must be somewhere behind me.
“Oh, f*ck yes, he is a jackass.”
“Eva, come on. There are kids around here.”
“Well, their f*cking mothers should know better than to bring their grubby children, no offense, to a f*cking grown-up hotel where grown people have too many f*cking martinis at lunch.”
Hallie laughs, and it’s not the clipped laugh of the woman I saw in New York, the Hallie-but-not-Hallie. Instead, it’s filled with mischief and happiness and teasing. It takes every scrap of will in my body not to spin around and yank her into my arms. I murmur what I hope is a silent thank you and strain to listen to her words.
“You are so drunk right now. I never pinned you as a girl who couldn’t hold her liquor.”
“Oh, so now you want to be spunky again? All of this teasing is starting to freak me out. I forgot that you even knew how to make a joke, and here you are, coming back with zingers left and right. I miss the old Hallie. Put on the mopey face. For old times’ sake.”
“You are not even about to turn this around to make it about me. Not this time, drunkface. I cannot believe you didn’t tell me that you had history with Marcus. I also can’t believe that it took a three-martini lunch to pry that out of you. You were the one harping on me for neglecting to mention certain historical events.”
“I wouldn’t call it history.”
“Oh, then what would you call it?”
“A youthful transgression.”
“That you’ve been repeating for, oh, just the last ten years or so?” Hallie clucks her tongue. “For shame, Eva. For shame.”
“It’s seven years, not ten. With the jackass. I swear, there’s a special place in hell for him and his kind.”
“Marcus isn’t all bad.”
“We’ll see about that at the meeting tonight. Just wait until he starts shredding your screenplay. He’ll make mincemeat out of Ben’s work. He’s going to try to turn it into a Chris Jensen vehicle. That man’s career is the only thing in this world that Marcus cares about, other than making money and chasing tail. Even when we were in bed, it was always, ‘What do you think about this for Chris’s career? What about that?’ I swear, those two should just get married and be done with it. It would save us both a lot of trouble.”
“Save you a lot of trouble, you mean. I don’t have a horse in this race.”
Marcus suddenly appears before me with his arms crossed, and I raise a finger to my lips. He shakes his head and points behind me to an oversized pillar. After pulling the hat further over my eyes, I turn around and sneak a quick look in the direction of the voices.
I catch a clear glimpse of her face as she turns around to glance down at her phone. It’s only been a week since I’ve seen her, but she’s transformed. She’s still too thin, but her shoulders are ramrod straight and her hair has regained some of its luster. Even from this distance, I can see some of the old light, that sense of wonder at the world around her, reason # 482 that I had fallen in love with her in the first place.
She glances once in my direction, and I inch behind the pillar. When I look up again, she’s absorbed in her conversation with Eva, seemingly oblivious to my presence. I breathe a quick sigh of relief.
“No horse in this race, huh? So, you’re telling me that it’s just a magical coincidence that you decided to return to the land of the living after your little rendezvous in New York. That none of this newfound snarkiness can be attributed to Chris Jensen.”
“Yep, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Sell it to someone who’s buying.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Be careful what you wish for. If I were more informed on the subject, I might back off a little, you know. You still won’t tell me what happened between the two of you. Was it a whirlwind romance gone bad? A steamy love affair that ended in tears? Did he cheat on you? Run away with your best friend? Was it Hollywood that dragged the two young lovers apart?”
“You’re getting Hollywood endings confused with reality again, Eva. I’m sure Marcus could whip you into shape. But for your information, it was none of the above.”
“Don’t you dare mention that man’s name. You’re too cruel. You at least owe me the short version. I’ll get the long version another time.”
“I will tell you the short version under one condition. Two conditions. You have to promise that you’ll get a few cups of coffee before tonight’s meeting and you have drop the subject completely for the next month. No more badgering.”
“I promise on both counts, even though the thought of not badgering you is unpleasant.”
“We were together. It was great until it wasn’t.”
“Come on. Not fair. That’s a non-story.”
“He’s Chris Jensen. He’s colossally talented, looks like a Greek god, and had the whole world wrapped around his little finger, even back then. I thought…”
Her voice catches and I can hear the sharp intake of breath from across the lobby.
“What?”
“I didn’t realize that I was living in a fairy tale. The jackhole broke my heart.”
Her voice is suddenly filled with naked emotion and I lean back. I want to disappear.
“Every girl’s got one of those in her past. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Hallie’s voice is teasing again, but the barely concealed hurt is still audible. “And bad breakups are the best diet ever. They need to put that one in the magazines.”
“Unless your break-up strategies involve a lot of Ben and Jerry’s.”
“Fair enough.”
There’s a bit more teasing back and forth and then I hear the rustling of chairs and I know that they’re leaving. As they pass our hiding spot, I take a deep breath and move closer to the pillar, even as my eyes follow the pair of them. I’m not alone. A number of interested onlookers watch as Hallie bends down to rustle in her purse for the key card.
I hide my face as she glances in my direction. She can’t know that I was listening to that. Marcus lets out a long, low whistle as the elevator doors close on them.
“Damn. Hallie Caldwell, all grown up. I take back what I said, Jensen. If I knew she was going to look that good, I wouldn’t have tried to talk you out of your machinations. I would have helped more.” He shoots me a sympathetic look. “But look on the bright side. She called you a jackhole. Means that there are still strong emotional feelings there.”
“You’re the jackhole, you know that?”
“I would let Hallie Caldwell call me a jackhole any day, but I’m not taking that kind of abuse from you. Listen, I have to meet with one of the set design guys at the restaurant in a few minutes. You think you’ll be able to make it to your room without assistance? Or, do I need to come along to wipe your ass for you?”
“That’s really funny, Marcus. Original, too. Go.”
“Eight o’clock. On the dot, man.”
“Got it.”
With a quick wave, Marcus darts off to the restaurant. The sounds of him barking orders at some hapless assistant over the phone echo throughout the lobby. Voice modulation has never been his strong suit. I shake my head and yank the cap down over my face as I join the crowd that’s waiting at the elevator bay. When the bell dings, I move towards the open doors and take a sideways step to avoid the rush of people tumbling out.
The elevator is nearly emptied when a woman and her a half-asleep Pomeranian careen into me in a rush to squeeze themselves on. The dog lets out a sharp bark as the woman’s arms loosen and instinctively, I reach out to catch him. I put him safely back into her arms with a little smile.
“Thank you. I don’t know why I’m so clumsy today. Buster says thank you, too.”
The woman’s arm flutters over mine in a gesture of appreciation, and I smile at both her and Buster, although hearing the dog’s name rips a tiny little hole in my gut.
“No problem, ma’am.”
When I try to get on, I realize the elevator filled to capacity while I was busy rescuing the damn dog. I wave off the woman’s protests.
“I’ll catch the next one.”
“Oh, you’re such a dear thing. Say goodbye to the nice man, Buster.”
I’m still watching Buster when I feel a pair of eyes on my face. Great. It’s probably a fan. I quickly pull up the collar of my shirt in the hope that I can remain incognito, but the heat of the stare is still there a moment later.
Hesitantly, I look up. It’s not a fan.
Hallie Caldwell, in the flesh.
“Of course, that dog would be named Buster,” she says eventually. “The universe sure has a great sense of humor.”
“Or a lack of one.”
“Or that. I can’t figure out why anyone would want to call a Pomeranian Buster. I can’t figure out why anyone would want a Pomeranian, period. A yellow lab, a pug, maybe. But a Pomeranian? Named Buster?”
She chuckles nervously and when she meets my eyes, I smile at her.
We say the next words at the same time.
“Buster’s a good name for a beagle.”
* * *
Atlanta
6 Years Earlier
Her voice, full of unbridled enthusiasm, rings through the tiny house.
“I found him. The most perfect Buster ever to walk this earth. I saw him at the shelter when I went to drop off the donations from the fundraiser and I almost just got him and put a little red bow on his neck and brought him home, but then I thought, a dog is a big grown-up move and I shouldn’t be making these kinds of decisions on my own. But he’s Buster. There’s no doubt about it. We need him. I mean, he has the name Buster written all over him. Buster’s a good name for a beagle. A beagle is a real dog, not like one of those…”
Her talk abruptly stops when she finds me in our little kitchen. I tap my foot on the stone floor and glance up at her.
“What’s wrong, Chris?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” I quickly try to assuage her worry, but a line crosses her brow anyways.
“I know that look. That’s a ‘Marcus just called me’ look.” She sighs and places her hand over mine and moves to sit across from me at the rattan table. “Just tell me.”
“No. Finish the Buster story first.”
“No way. Out with it. Marcus said what exactly?”
I sigh. “There’s a part that I wanted, and I didn’t tell you, because I knew it was going to go to someone else. And it did, of course. Go to someone else, I mean. Except…”
She knows what I’m going to say before I say it. She tries to cover her disappointment, but it’s written all over her face.
“The actor they cast had to drop out and the movie starts shooting in a week. They need someone to step in.”
“And they want you.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
“What’s the movie?”
“It’s an adaptation of a play that was on Broadway a few years back. About club kids from New York.”
“Ecstasy.”
“Yeah.”
“The Danny Mills project.”
I look at her in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“Marcus and I talked about it a few months ago. He sent me the script, and I read it for him, because I’m still not convinced that Marcus even knows how to read. I guess this was probably when they were casting it the first time.”
“I’m fairly certain that Marcus does not know how to read.”
“Maybe not. His taste in scripts isn’t much better than yours.” She gives me a wicked look. “Hmmm…a movie about rich, bored kids who party too much. What’s the tagline? ‘If you live life in the fast lane…you learn to live life in the fast lane.’ There’s your deep thought for the day.”
“Yeah. The tagline sucks. But the movie should be good.”
“I don’t know why they would ever think of you. It’s not like you have any firsthand experience with being a bored rich kid on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.”
“I’m from the Upper West Side. Get your facts straight.”
“Oh, that’s right. You have East Side envy when you’re not pretending to be just like the rest of us. Tell me about that again.” She raises her hands to shield herself before I can even throw the napkin that I have waiting. “I surrender. You once bought a shirt at Goodwill. You’re a regular guy. I totally believe you.”
“You’re such a reverse snob. What do you think of the play?”
“The writing’s great, except for the tagline. Story’s fine, I suppose, but I think the characterization is really what made the play. I’m guessing you’d be Garrett.”
“You guessed right.”
“Are you going to take it?”
“I don’t know. I thought the plan was to hide out here for the rest of the year and then to see if I could find a movie this summer before we have to come back to Atlanta next year.”
“Before I have to come back to Atlanta, you mean. I still haven’t decided whether or not I’m letting you come with me. But that’s a conversation for another time. You should take the part, Chris.”
“But what about Buster?”
“We can’t actually get a dog. You travel too much, and I’m trying to take this overload so that I can finish school early. I’ll be at school for about twelve hours every day for the whole semester. I wouldn’t be here to train him, so it would be highly irresponsible to get Buster now. Maybe next year.”
It’s a rational argument, but her disappointment is palpable.
“I don’t have to take the part. I can stay here and I can train him.”
“Come on. You’re bored out of your mind here, sitting around and waiting for me to come home from school. All you do is read scripts and putter around the garden. And honestly, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but you’re not a very good gardener. I can’t have you killing another one of my rosebushes.”
She’s right. My thumb is the color of ink. Besides that, I really hate gardening. But I refuse to let her win on that one.
“Like you could do better. It would take a ninja to keep those things alive. A gardening ninja.”
“Which you are not.” She smiles. “We both know that you should take the part. Besides, James Ross comes out in a few months, so it’s not like we could waste away in our little haven forever. You have to think about the rosebushes. Maybe another one can avoid death. Take it.”
I reach out to touch her hair, which is coming out of its messy bun and making tiny curls all around her face.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now, are you going to take the part willingly, or am I going to have to kick you out of our house?”
“I’m going to take it. But that doesn’t mean that I have to like leaving.”
She stands up and nestles herself into my lap. I take her face into my hands, crushing my lips over hers.
“When do you leave?” she whispers into my ear.
I stiffen slightly and look up to meet her eyes.
“When, Chris?”
She runs her fingers through my hair, mindlessly curling it between her fingers, a vague expression dancing across her features.
“Tonight. I have to be in LA by tomorrow morning to go through the contracts with Marcus.”
She breathes in once and gives me a rueful smile. “If this is going to be the last time I’m going to see you for months, then I better ravage you good, then.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I thought you might.”
She laughs and throws her head back. I try to capture her in my mind, just like that, but all I can concentrate on is her touch on my skin and the fire that’s building deep in my gut. I lift her and carry her into our sunny bedroom, watching her face with every step.
She pushes me back onto the bed and places feathery kisses over my torso and abdomen, moving lower and lower until she slides her body over mine and I move into her. I let her set the pace, slowly at first, until the slowness starts to drown everything out of me and I push her urgently beneath me.
My lips meet hers for a long, deep kiss. Our tongues tangle together, harder, deeper, until we are consumed. I try to put all of my fears about leaving and coming back to find that she’s changed without me, that she’s left me behind, into that kiss, because I can’t say them aloud. I feel her entire body tense and I slide more deeply into her, letting her warmth envelop me and pull me under.
We stay just like that, locked together, pretending that the rest of the world never existed, until the sun dips below the horizon.
An hour later, I’m still lounging against the pillows as she carefully folds clothes and stacks them neatly into my suitcase.
“Are you really packing for me?”
“You don’t like it when your clothes are wrinkled.” She grins. “But you never learned how to fold your own clothes, and I don’t see an army of personal assistants around here, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”
“I thought it went against your feminist principles to play housewife.”
“When did I ever say that I was a feminist?”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
She grabs an old hoodie from the closet and places it gently on top of the second suitcase.
“I guess. If we’re talking equal rights, equal pay, I’m all about it. Give me my sign and I’ll show up for the march. But honestly, I think you should take care of the people you love. And if that means doing some cooking and some cleaning and some packing, then I’ll do those things, whether they’re excluded from some feminist manifesto or not. I don’t think ideologies should be an excuse for getting out of chores.”
“Is this some kind of test? Am I supposed to jump up and start packing my own clothes or something?”
“Stay in bed, lazybones. I hear Danny Martin works his actors even harder than Alan does, so you’ll have enough work to do soon enough.”
She leans over and places a light kiss on my forehead. I breathe in the faint smell of honey and mint and hold my breath until she laughs and tosses the hoodie at me.
“You’ll want to wear that one, I bet.”
“Did you wash it?”
“I did. Say thank you, domestic goddess.”
“Thank you, oh heavenly domestic goddess. Now, let me get out a gigantic piece of meat and I’ll slap it on the grill.”
She laughs before giving me a pensive look.
“Promise me that you’re going to take care of yourself, okay?” Her tone is light, but there’s an urgency in her eyes and something else. Fear. I tread lightly.
“You mean when I pull out that piece of meat or when I slap it on the grill? Afraid I’m going to get burned? I can handle myself. I know we’ve never used the grill in the backyard, but that doesn’t mean that I’m a novice with the barbecue.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She bites her lip, and I can tell that she’s trying to figure out if she can say more. “I read the play, Chris. Garrett’s an alcoholic, which means that you’re going to spend the next three months trying to get into the head of someone whose whole life is dominated by alcohol. You have some history with that. We never talk about your dad.”
“Why would we want to talk about my dad?”
“Because he died.”
“I’m well aware of the fact that he died, Hals.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not so sure about that. There are times when I lose you, when you stare out the window or play in the garden or you’re reading, times that you just drift away, and I wonder where you’ve gone. The movie worries me. That’s all. Danny Martin is notorious for making his actors fall into the characters, for making them live the lives of the people that they play. I just don’t want you to…”
I tense. “What? You don’t want me to become an alcoholic? I can assure you that it’s not going to happen.”
She stands up and backs away from the bed. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that I want you to take care of yourself. You get so wrapped up in the characters. Remember? When we were in Prague, your nickname for me was ‘Boss,’ because James Ross went around calling everyone that. I’m not saying that you’re like some crazy method actor that only talks in tongues because he’s playing some psycho killer who thinks he’s an ancient Egyptian or something, but you just get so absorbed in the characters you play. That scares me a little bit. It’s like you can’t step out of the movie world.”
I bristle at the presumption. “So, what you’re telling me is that you think I can’t handle myself without you. That you think I’m some kind of baby who needs protection. That playing a character who drinks a little too much is going to turn me into an alcoholic. Alcoholics are born, not made.”
She gives me a long, measured look. “I never said that, and I don’t think you’re going to turn into an alcoholic. But playing Garrett in this movie isn’t like playing James Ross. It’s fraught with history for you, and it’s going to be personal.”
“History. Always with the history. Why can’t you understand that being in a movie is a job? I swear, people, even you, think that the movie business is some kind of magical place where people become trapped in Neverland. Such a ridiculous notion. You’re being ridiculous.”
I’m angry, and the words were harsher than I intended, maybe because somewhere, deep inside, there’s a tiny piece of me that thinks that maybe she’s right, that maybe taking this role isn’t such a good idea after all.
“I’m sorry, Chris. I couldn’t let you leave without at least trying to say something. It’s not you that I’m worried about. It’s the character. And the industry.”
She doesn’t sound sorry. She sounds terrified, which, for some reason, makes me angry.
“That’s all a part of me, too, you know. The me who makes movies is part of the same person who’s been sitting with you in this house for the past four months. Maybe you think that it can just be the two of us, playing house, while I watch you troop off to school every day. That just ain’t going to happen. It couldn’t last forever.”
“I never said that. You’re being completely unfair.”
“Maybe I am.”
“I’m the one who’s been trying to talk you into getting back to work. I want you to make movies. It’s what you were born to do, and I would never try to come in the middle of that. Never. I love you. I love you so much that I worry about you, and maybe it’s not even you that I’m worried about. Maybe I’m worried about me. Maybe I’m worried that you’ll be off in Hollywood, dancing all night and making friends with your costars, and you’ll forget about me. And maybe that’s the way it should be.”
“Stop.”
I stand up and take her into my arms, putting my finger across her lips.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Hals.”
“And I don’t want to fight with you.”
I take her chin in my hand and watch her face as the light dances across her skin.
“You’re beautiful. Did I ever tell you that?”
“About eight million times a day.”
I feel her relax in my arms.
“I should tell you eighty million times a day, then.”
“That might be overkill.”
“I don’t have to go.”
“Yes, you do. It’s just three months. I really don’t want to hear anything else about it. You’re going. That’s that.”
“You probably won’t even notice that I’m gone.”
“Nope. I’m planning on forgetting about you completely.”
“Well, that’s not going to work. We’ll talk every day. Twice a day. We can make plans for a summer trip around the world. Maybe we can go backpacking in Nepal.”
She scrunches her face up. “I’m not really the backpacking type. You know, the camping, the hard ground, the making your own meals, the no showers for a week, none of that sounds very appetizing. I used to camp, back in high school, and I hated it every time. If you turn the tent into a fancy hotel in Nepal, maybe I would be more easily persuadable.”
“Okay, so no backpacking. I’ll let you plan the trip.”
“I’m a very good trip planner.” She hesitates. “You’ll tell me if anything is wrong while you’re on set, right? If there’s anything that you need. I can be in LA in a matter of hours. It’s not like I have to take the Pony Express.”
I try my best Darth Vader voice in an effort to lighten the mood. “I promise. I will tell you if I think I’m crossing over to the dark side.”
It’s apparently a poor approximation, because she bursts out laughing before her face turns grave again.
“It’s only three months, right?”
“Three months, and I’ll be right back here with you. Or on a mountaintop with you. Or on a beach with you. It doesn’t matter where. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?”
“Right.”
Still, she doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
* * *
Chicago
6 Years Later
“Jinx, Hallie.”
She’s staring off into the distance and she doesn’t hear me.
So, Buster wasn’t meant to be.
When she turns to me with a wistful smile, I allow myself to hope that she and I don’t have to share that fate.