Harder We Fade (9 page)

Six days later I was back in Ohio, in my parents’ house, and within the first hour or so I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy stay.

Things were still not smoothed over from everything that had happened since I’d moved to LA, and more specifically, since all that happened when my parents and my sister Grace were visiting.

My father — clearly the leader of the family — had seemed to come to peace with it after meeting Max in the hospital, but I guess he and my mom forgot all of that when they got home.

I was staying in my old bedroom. Every time I went in that room was like walking back in time.

Posters of my favorite bands and actors from my high school days covered almost every inch of the walls. My old desk in the corner still held some books from English classes. All of my old clothes were still in the closet and in the dresser.

Despite the fact that I had been a college graduate the last time I slept in that room, this time I felt like I was back in high school. Like I was a teenager who had run away from home, only to come back to the concentration-camp-like setting I’d so desperately wanted to escape for years.

Okay, so it sounds dramatic. But being in that teenage girl mindset, of course my view on things was over the top. I would only be here for a few days, I reminded myself over and over, and then I’d be the adult Olivia again once I got back to my real home in Malibu.

Not helping matters on this trip was the fact that I flew home on Max’s jet. My parents would have much preferred to pick me up at a commercial airline terminal, but instead they waited in the small lobby at the far north side of the airport where all the private jet traffic came and went.

The first night I was back, my parents cooked a big dinner. Grace and her husband came, and of course my little niece and nephew. And, once again, the babies provided a nice distraction from what would have been an otherwise entirely contentious evening.

That didn’t start until later, when the kids had drifted off to sleep. I helped Grace put them in the guest room, which mom and dad had converted to a room just for the little ones.

Back in the den, we all sat around sipping hot chocolate. Mom, as usual, had decorated the house for Christmas in great style. The tree was beautiful, and with the lamps dimmed, it provided soft lighting as we talked.

It was mostly small-talk to begin with, but then mom asked when or if I’d be moving.

“Where?” I said.

“To your own place.”

I sighed. I looked at Grace, who had a look of solidarity on her face, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not.”

My father got up and went through the swinging door to the kitchen.

“You’re making enough to do that, right?” Mom said.

I decided not to answer that question. I wanted to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “I thought you guys saw how good Max is to me after all that went down. That should count for something, right? Or am I really going to have to live the rest of my life making decisions based on what makes you happy rather than what makes me happy?”

My father came out of the kitchen, holding nothing, so I knew he hadn’t gone in there to get anything, he had done it just to get away.

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” he said. “She’s only concerned about what’s best for you. We all are.”

I looked at Grace, who spoke up: “I think she’s going to be okay.”

Grace’s husband, Terry, was an auto mechanic, a quiet guy, always nice enough and I liked him, but there was no way he was taking sides in this. He examined his drink with undue intensity.

I excused myself, went up to my room and lay down on the bed. I felt 15 again.

Grace and I spent much of the next day with Krystal. It had been months since I’d seen her, and she was looking much better — she’d put on some much needed weight that she’d lost while jacked up on coke, and the swollen blackish/purplish bags that used to be under her eyes were no longer there. Her hair was shorter and no longer dyed. She looked like an average, everyday young housewife and mother. That’s what came to mind, anyway, strange as it may be, because she wasn’t married and she had no kids.

Grace had failed to tell me how different Krystal looked, even though she’d seen her several times since Krystal moved back to Ohio. After all, they were really friends before I moved to LA and stayed with Krystal in her apartment. The two of us had never really forged a serious friendship bond, at least until after all that shit went down and Max basically saved her life.

Krystal picked us up in a car that her parents gave her when they got a new one. She used it to get to her new job as a bakery worker in a grocery store, a job she loved and was proud of, unlike the kind of work she had done in LA.

On the way to the mall she was full of questions about how I was doing in LA, and of course she wanted to know all about Max, so I filled her in on the latest.

“You’re not going to believe what his mother gave me for Christmas,” I said, adding, “Grace, don’t tell mom and dad. I want to tell them at the right time.”

“Okay,” she said. “But what was it?”

I told them, and they were both moved by the story.

“That’s so sweet,” Grace said.

“I think his mom is right,” Krystal added. “You two are so going to get married.”

“It’s never been what I wanted,” I told them, something I always hesitated to share with Grace, who was all about marriage and kids, which is why I hadn’t yet told her what I was about to.

“Right, it’s not what you wanted,” Krystal said. “It wasn’t what I wanted, either. I thought I wanted to live the Hollywood dream and look where that got me. I’m a small-town girl. I forgot who I was.”

I thought about that for a moment, wondering if she was trying to tell me I was the same. I half-expected Grace to chime in with exactly that thought, but she remained quiet.

“But,” Krystal said, “that’s just me. You’re obviously in a much better situation than I was. I mean, God…sometimes I think back on it and it’s like it wasn’t even me, but it was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was.”

“No,” I said, trying to reassure her. “You lost your way, and all that crap was someone on drugs — not you, not the real you.”

“It wasn’t you at all,” Grace said.

Krystal shook her head. “I take responsibility for all of it. I have to. I see what you’re saying and I appreciate it, but owning up to it is the only way I’ll continue to get better. And speaking of better, I don’t think we’re going to find a better parking spot than this.”

She pulled into the first and only open spot we saw, which seemed to be a half-mile from the mall.

We hit two shoe stores, where I found a few pairs that I wanted, and bought Grace a pair that she said she liked but didn’t want to spend the money on. There was a temporary standoff with Grace insisting that I couldn’t buy them for her, and me finally winning the debate with the reasoning that I’d already seen them, so I knew what she wanted and I knew her shoe size, and she couldn’t stop me from buying them.

Krystal didn’t spend any money. She didn’t even try any on. She seemed distracted the whole time we were walking around, and we finally found out why when we passed a Baby Gap store.

Krystal stopped, and then turned to us and said, “Okay, I can’t keep this a secret anymore.”

On a bench in the middle of the mall, with hundreds of people streaming by us, and jolly Christmas music playing over the speakers, Krystal said, “I’m pregnant.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised, and apparently Grace was in the same position because we both simultaneously looked down at Krystal’s belly. She wasn’t showing. Earlier when I had noticed that she’d put on some weight, I thought it was simply because she was off the drugs and her health was improving. Now, hearing the news, there was obviously more to it.

“How far along are you?” Grace asked.

“Five months.”

Grace said, “It figures that your hot body wouldn’t show at all. By this point in my pregnancy I looked like I had a watermelon under my shirt.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s about when you left LA.”

Krystal looked from me to Grace, then back to me again. “I haven’t told you guys this, but do you remember Darryl?”

“Don’t tell me…” Grace’s voice trailed off.

Krystal nodded her head.

“Is that the guy you dated in high school?” I asked. “I thought he moved to Houston to work in an oil field or something.”

“He did,” Krystal said. “But he was back when I got back and I think I was feeling so lonely…it just happened. But please don’t think I’m regretting this.” She smiled. “I’m not. Not at all. I’m totally in love with him again.”

Grace hugged Krystal. “I’m so happy for you.” With her chin on Krystal’s shoulder, Grace was looking directly at me, with an expression that would qualify as an “OMG” one.

Krystal turned to me. “Congratulations,” I said, embracing her, giving Grace the same look she’d just given me.

I’m certain that Grace wasn’t being nasty about Krystal’s news, and I know damn well that I sure wasn’t. For both of us, it was more along the lines of concern. With Krystal’s recent heavy drug use, would the baby be okay?

My cell phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw that it was Jessica, my assistant. “I have to take this. Sorry.”

As Krystal turned back to Grace and they chatted, I took the call from Jessica, who told me our financier, Jim Tames, wanted to speak ASAP.

Tames was a former top guy at Paramount who had started his own production company, then quickly sold it, and was now exclusively a finance guy. He had contacts all over town and when people needed money, they went to him and pitched their movie. He was an arrogant guy, I always hated dealing with him, but he had a lot of respect for Max’s writing and was always willing to listen to us.

“Give me a second or two,” I said. “I’m in the mall and need to get outside.” It was too loud inside to take an important call like this, so I trudged through the mass of people, shopping bags hitting my legs with each step, and finally got outside onto the sidewalk. “Okay, go ahead.”

“I’ll put him through,” she said, and I waited a couple of seconds until she said, “Ms. Rowland?”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Mr. Tames?” Jessica said.

“I’m here.”

“Thanks, Jessica,” I said. “Jim, what’s up?”

“Olivia, we have a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Randall’s pulling out.”

“Shit.”

He was talking about Scott Randall, the director, who had agreed to do Max’s film, A Disputed Life.

“Shit is right,” Tames said. “I have to tell you, Olivia, this makes me very nervous. We’re 40 days out from shooting. And, by the way, why can’t I get Max on the phone?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know he’s at his mother’s house. Maybe he’s turned off his phone. I haven’t talked to him in a day or so, either.”

That wasn’t true. I had talked to him, and I knew Max wasn’t taking any business calls for a few days. As much as a micromanager as Tames was, Max probably figured the call wasn’t that important.

“So what is Randall blowing us off for?” I asked.

“A cable mini-series,” Jim said.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope. They’ve greenlit two seasons in advance. They want the first four episodes shot earlier than they thought.”

“So it’s not something he arranged prior to agreeing to do the movie with us.”

“Right,” Jim said.

“Then there’s really no conflict. He’s just blowing us off, pushing Max’s project to the back burner.” I was getting pissed, feeling more defensive of Max’s work — and his professional reputation — than I’d had to deal with so far. “You know what? If he’s that uncommitted to Max’s screenplay, then we wouldn’t want him anyway. I’m going to call you later this afternoon and we’ll straighten this out.”

“I was wrong about 40 days until shooting,” Jim said. “It’s actually 39.”

“I’ll get on it,” I assured him.

I hung up and went back inside the mall to Grace and Krystal.

Grace first noticed the look on my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Work problems,” I said. “I’ll handle it later.” I smiled and hooked my arm around Krystal’s. “Let’s go eat and talk more about this baby.”

Two days after Christmas, I was packing my bags early in the morning when my parents came into the bedroom.

“Need any help?” my mother asked.

“No, I got it, thanks.”

They sat on the bed and after about twenty seconds of silence, my dad said, “Olivia, we’re really happy you came home for Christmas.”

I was kneeling on the floor, folding some clothes. I looked up at him. “Me, too.” I managed to get the words out in a sincere tone because I truly was glad that I had gone to their house for Christmas, but not for the reasons they probably thought. No, I was glad because the trip had solidified in me a resolve to shed any guilt or shame I had about the choices I’d made for myself.

Mom moved off the bed and sat down beside me, putting her arm around my shoulders. “We just want what’s best for you.”

I finished folding the shirt and added it to the stack of other ones. Sighing, I said, “We’ve been over this so many times. It’s really exhausting.”

“We’d hate to see you end up like Krystal,” Dad said.

I felt a furious burning growing inside me suddenly. I looked up at the ceiling, then back down at him. “Really? You’re comparing me to Krystal now?”

“No,” my dad said, “it’s just an examp — ”

“It’s not just an example,” I interrupted. “You’re clearly worried about that. And, by the way, which part? The drugs? Porn? Her getting pregnant?”

My mom looked shocked.

“That’s right,” I said, “she’s pregnant. And it didn’t happen in LA. It happened right here, in this upstanding, conservative, moral town of ours. You know, the same place my ex-boyfriend came from? The one who very well might have killed both Krystal and me if I hadn’t defended
myself
? You guys have the wrong idea about me, about LA, about Max…everything. Let me show you something.”

I opened the side pocket of my suitcase and took out Max’s baby spoon.

“This,” I said, “is what his mother gave me for Christmas. And you know why? Because she said she knows that I’m the one for Max and she wanted me to have this so when we’re married and have a child, something from his childhood will carry on.”

My mother was much more into the spoon than my dad was. Maybe just due to men not being into things like that as much as women are. I don’t know. And, frankly, I didn’t really care. I was making my point, standing firm, letting them know I had things under control.

I said, “The last couple of days, you guys have asked me twice about my work and you seem fine with that. Actually, Dad, you even seemed impressed. I can handle my personal life just like I handle my professional one. I’m not the vulnerable Olivia you guys think I am…or maybe even want me to be.”

“We don’t want you to be anything other than what you want to be,” my mother said.

I looked at her, my eyes widening. “Then trust me. Support me. This is all going to be fine.”

“Damn, I missed you, Dreamgirl,” Max said as he took me in his arms.

“I can see that,” I said. “But maybe you better calm that thing down until we get home.”

We were standing on the tarmac at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank. Max had pulled his car up to the plane. He held me tight and I could feel his erection pressing against me.

“We could get back on the plane,” he said. “Runway sex?” He took my earlobe between his lips and I moaned softly.

“If you’re this excited now, maybe this would be even better when we get home in an hour.”

“An hour. That’s how long it
normally
takes by car.” He turned and opened the door for me. “Better buckle up tight. This is going to be the fastest ride of your life.”

During the drive home, Max asked me how the trip was.

“About as expected. And it made me pissed most of the time. The goodbye at the airport was kind of sad, though.”

I had fought back tears as my mother hugged me. My dad had simply put his hand on my shoulder as my mom and I embraced. I had felt that tingling sensation in the back of my throat that I always get just before I cry, but I had managed to suppress it. Mom smiled through her tears. Dad gave me his best effort at conveying the fact that he cared — lips pressed together in a firm line, head cocked to the side a little, as if to say, “I’m sorry,” but of course he would never actually say the words.

Max put his right hand on my thigh, as his left hand kept the wheel steady. He gave my leg a light but reassuring squeeze. “Sorry.”

“I’m just glad to be home.” Then I paused. “
Home
. It feels good to say that.”

Later, as we lay naked on the bed, Max said, “Falling asleep?”

My eyes were closed and I nodded. “Mmm hmm.”

“It’s only five o’clock.”

“I’m worn out from the trip and from what we just did, so if I fall asleep, you’re partly to blame.”

I opened my eyes as I felt his body shift. He propped himself up with one arm and said, “We haven’t exchanged presents yet.”

I closed my eyes again. “I think what you just gave me is the best thing you could have given me.”

“Good, then I hope you got me something just as great.”

I punched him on the arm. “Fuck you. But seriously, let me get it…” I went to the walk-in closet and retrieved the bag with his gift in it, went back into the bedroom and handed it to him. “It’s not wrapped.”

“Good, then it won’t take me long to get to it.”

He opened the bag and pulled out the gift.

Max looked at it a little strangely. “A big purse.”

“You’re just full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?”

He smiled. “I like this.”

“I thought you might,” I said. “You’re always carrying an armful of crap. How come you don’t have one of these?”

He turned it in his hands, examining the leather messenger bag. He shrugged. “No reason. Just haven’t. But I like this a lot.”

“It’s Ferragamo.”

“Ferra-who?”

“Ferragamo,” I said, falling onto the bed beside him. “Italian. Never mind.”

He chuckled. “I’m kidding, and I love this. Come on, Liv.” Max took my hand and pulled me up. “Jesus, you’re like a rag doll.”

“Thanks, that’s so sweet.”

Wordlessly, he picked me up.

I groaned. “Max…”

“You won’t regret this, trust me.”

He threw me over his shoulder and I squealed with laughter. My head was near his back and my butt was in the air. With his free hand, he smacked it.

“I kind of like this view,” he said, planting a quick kiss on my ass.

Facing the wrong way, I couldn’t tell where we were going. At least until we got to a door and then I looked down at the ground and saw the cement floor and smelled oil, gas and rubber.

“This isn’t going to be much of a surprise, considering where we are right now,” he said, setting me down on the garage floor.

I shrugged, trying to play it off, knowing what he was probably about to give me for Christmas, the only question being: what kind?

Max turned me around and I saw an Aston Martin Rapide S in concours blue.

I stood there, unable to make a noise. My hands flew up to my face. I was excited and embarrassed at the same time — and neither emotion had anything to do with the fact that I was naked.

“I can’t believe this,” I said. “And the color is perfect.” I started to walk toward it.

Max walked and stood right behind me. “I remembered.”

It was the car I had seen on the road one day a couple of months ago and made an off-hand comment about how I loved the pearl blue color. Max obviously made a note of it.

“It’s not just for Christmas,” he said. “Consider this a bonus of sorts. You’re invaluable to me personally, Liv, and I also don’t know what I would do without you working for me. The way you handled the Randall situation was just amazing. You saved the movie. You saved the company.”

The same day that Tames had called to say Randall was opting for the Showtime mini-series, I called Max and we went back and forth for a few hours, coming up with any ideas we could. I ended up calling Lyle, Max’s agent, who immediately suggested that Max direct it himself. It took a little coaxing, but Max finally came around. Writing and producing was all he wanted to do, he told me over and over, but I convinced him that the script was brilliant and Randall pulling out was a chance to breathe new life into it. Do it himself. Do it
right
.

“You were brilliant,” Max said, as I opened the driver’s side door of my new car and sat down. He got in the passenger seat.

“It wasn’t just me,” I said. “It was Lyle’s idea.”

“Yeah, well, you were still brilliant in talking me into it. But I’m not sure how brilliant it is that we’re sitting in your new car with no clothes on.”

I looked over at him. “Fuck it. These windows are tinted. Let’s go for a ride.”

“Naked…”

“Relax,” I said, then gave him one of his own lines: “I’ve got this.”