Physical Description: Slender and refined. Late 40s/early 50s. The toll of a failing marriage (and maybe the loss of a teenage son, and that’s what drove Nigel and his wife apart?) is evident in every line on his face. A Geoffrey Rush or Gary Oldman type.
Despite the fact that I’d hated the one movie I’d seen him in, I had no reason to doubt Hamish was a competent actor. I didn’t have any difficulty believing he was more than just a pretty face. I mean, all I had to do was look at how he had sold the Peace Corps and Sri Lanka to Hipster Cowboy. But a Geoffrey Rush or Gary Oldman type he was not. A Geoffrey Rush or Gary Oldman type he would never be.
“Alright, Hamish MacDougal,” I muttered aloud as I crossed my legs under me and adjusted the windows on my screen so my character description document was on one side and a photo of Hamish in some movie without a shirt—Liam wasn’t kidding—was on the other. “I’ll play your game. What would this thing look like with you in it?”
Name: Nigel Patton Jack Mackinnon
Role: As the chief prosecutor newly appointed sheriff of Landing’s Edge, Nigel Jack is faced with the unexpected fight of his life when he unearths a path of corruption that affects almost everyone in town, all the way to the top. Possibly including Nigel’s Jack’s estranged wife . . . the coroner? (The D.A.? A successful businesswoman? Nail this down later.) the deputy mayor.
Physical Description: Slender and refined. Late 40s/early 50s. The toll of a failing marriage (and maybe the loss of a teenage son, and that’s what drove Nigel and his wife apart?) is evident with every line on his face. A Geoffrey Rush or Gary Oldman type. Hamish MacDougal
* * *
I spent the rest of the day working on Landing’s Edge, disregarding the virtual stack of Hanukkah cards that currently sat in my inbox waiting to be edited. By the time Fiona got home, I’d fleshed out enough of the story to know it was definitely not the right vehicle for Gary Oldman. And it was that thought that remained dominant as I made sure my changes had saved and closed the document.
I right-clicked on the file on my desktop, clicked on Rename, and then hit Backspace fourteen times before typing out my new working title: Untitled Hamish MacDougal Project.
February 4, 2006
“Does Fiona know?”
I sniffed, determined to put an end to my tears long enough to enjoy the waffles that had just appeared before me as if courtesy of a wish granted by a Belgian genie. Liam thanked the waiter and asked for more orange juice, and that gave me a moment to think about his question.
Would Fiona even care?
She had gone with Vera Wang to fashion week in Paris and had fallen in love—with Paris, which didn’t surprise or disappoint me, and with some forty-nine-year-old designer she hardly knew named Luc Pierre, which did both. It was doomed to fail, and throwing away her life in Los Angeles for some guy she had just met was the most irresponsible thing she could possibly do. But it was awfully difficult to convince her of that when Vera Wang was offering her a dream job running her Parisian office. She’d packed up her things, accused me of being so miserable in my own life that I couldn’t cope with her getting everything she could ever want, and left for France. That had been four months ago, and we hadn’t spoken since.
“No,” I finally replied after the waiter walked away. “She doesn’t know. You know I haven’t talked to her.”
He nodded. “Yes. I know. That’s why I asked.”
“Oh, Liam. Don’t start that again.”
In her absence, I’d moved from West Hollywood to Los Feliz, where I found a great deal on a studio apartment and began living by myself for the first time in my life. In her absence, I took on some freelance writing jobs to bring in more income—and to keep me busy. In her absence, I took a trip to Napa Valley and discovered I possessed a covetable nose and palate for fine wine—which was a complete waste since, in her absence, I discovered I didn’t like wine much at all. And, in her absence, I met, fell in love with, and had my heart broken by Malcolm Larcraft.
In her absence, Liam was the person I talked to about all of it.
“I just think it will be a shame if you don’t get in touch with her while you’re in the area.” He had run out of juice again, so he reached over and grabbed my coffee and took a sip.
“Liam, I’ve never been the best at geography—that’s no secret—but I do know that Italy to France isn’t quite like here to Burbank.” I quickly visualized the boot of Italy on a globe and tried to picture where France was, just to be sure. Yep. Definitely farther than Burbank.
“But compared to France from California? You’ll be in the area, Olivia.”
I smiled at him. It was the first time I had smiled in a few days.
“Why do you always call me Olivia?”
He took another sip of my coffee as he looked around impatiently for the waiter. “Do you mind?”
“No,” I answered truthfully, though I wasn’t sure if he meant did I mind that he called me Olivia or did I mind that he was stealing all my coffee. With Liam, I didn’t mind any of it. “But I think you and Fiona’s mother are the only people who have ever called me that on a regular basis. It’s usually Liv.” Fiona called me Livi. That was my favorite.
He finally got the waiter’s attention and arranged for more juice for him and more coffee for me, since he had finished it off.
“I’m just curious,” I continued. “Is it because you want to be different from everyone else? Do you want it to be a special connection shared only between the two of us?” I’d been teasing as I first began proposing that theory, but I’d accidentally gotten caught up in the appeal of it. “That would be a nice reason.”
“That would be a nice reason.” He smiled. “But sadly, no. The truth is nothing quite that charming or dashing, I’m afraid. When we met, you told me your name was Olivia. You never asked me to call you anything different. So I haven’t.”
Ah, Liam. Pragmatic, sensible Liam, who never got caught up in romantic fantasies or unrealistic expectations. With Liam, hidden layers were only waiting to be discovered—not disguised in order to create an aura of mystery. I suspected that any mystery that remained was every bit as mysterious to him as it was to me. What I saw was what I got. After years of Fiona’s romance and rose-colored glasses, I told myself it was nice to spend most of my time with someone who saw the world as I did.
We finished breakfast, and Liam paid the bill. With his generous tip he left a polite note explaining that he would have tipped more, but he did have to wait quite awhile for his orange juice. Then I bundled up in my jacket, scarf, and hat, and we left.
“It’s sixty-eight degrees. You can’t be that cold.”
I sighed. “Sadness makes me cold.”
Despite the fact that I couldn’t allow myself to spend more than five unprotected minutes in the sun without burning and freckling, I loved the heat. Yes, I had moved to California to make it as a screenwriter, and I had grown to love LA for its laid-back vibe and general “chill” mentality, but deep down it was all about the heat. I loved the salty sea air on my skin, and I loved the boost that a few minutes under the sky’s natural heat lamp always gave me. Boston was great—and would always be home—but Boston got cold in the winter. Sometimes, unfairly, Boston got cold when it wasn’t even winter at all. The chill of the air off of the Harbor compared to the warm breeze off of the Pacific? No contest.
Misery and cold go hand in hand, and each results in the other.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Liam said softly, “I’m so sorry about Malcolm. I feel responsible.”
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t once thought, If Liam had never introduced me to him, my heart wouldn’t be crumbling into the million little pieces that it is now. But I didn’t blame him. Of course I didn’t blame him.
“You can’t blame yourself. I should have known better. How could it have ever worked out?”
Boynes & Madison, Attorneys-at-Law, had become Boynes, Madison & Larcraft a year earlier when, at age thir
ty-five, Malcolm became a senior partner. In August of 2005 the new partner made his first hire, stealing Liam Howard away from Kubrick & Coppola—thereby taking away the many opportunities for humor I’d always managed to discover each time Liam’s employer was mentioned.
Liam and Malcolm had attended Harvard Law together and were part of the same graduating class. After graduation, Liam moved to California, passed the bar, and began working his way up the ladder from one small firm to the next. Malcolm, meanwhile, moved to DC and clerked for a Supreme Court justice before being hired by Boynes & Madison. In addition to all of his legal brilliance, he had this gorgeous blond hair that reminded me of the end of The Way We Were when Barbra Streisand brushed Robert Redford’s bangs out of his eyes and he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms. On more than one occasion I had called Malcolm “Hubbell” and told him his girl was lovely while doing my best Streisand impression. The fact that he kept letting me do that should have been my biggest indication that it was all too good to last.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to go through with Italy. It will be good for you.” Liam made a gallant attempt to divert the conversation away from Malcolm as we reached the stoop of my apartment. My sad, lonely apartment. “I could go with you if you want.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I hugged him. “Thank you. That’s very sweet. Unfortunately, I’m not sure that’s a good career move for you.”
Malcolm had given the tickets to me at Christmas, but we’d put the trip off because he was in the middle of an important case. We were scheduled to leave February 7, but now, of course, I was going alone. When we broke up, he’d insisted I keep both tickets. “Take a friend and have the time of your life on me,” he’d said. As it turned out, my only friend was his employee, who just happened to be another ex of mine.
“How long are you going to stay?” Liam put his arm around me and ushered me into my apartment after he used his emergency key to unlock the door.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. A couple weeks, I guess.”
“I think that’s a mistake.”
“It should be okay. That’s one good thing about my job. I can work from anywhere.”
“No. I don’t think that’s long enough.”
I thought about that as I took off my Southern California winter wear and replaced it with a blanket. I’d just said it myself—I could work from anywhere. I knew Liam would check on my apartment for me and water my plants. Now that I lived in Los Feliz, I was only about two miles from his East Hollywood apartment. Why not stay longer? Apart from the fact that it was just too depressing, of course. I had no way to know for sure, but I had strongly suspected Malcolm was going to propose in Italy. We had only dated for three months, but we’d both fallen hard and fast.
I had. I’d fallen hard and fast. Who knew what Malcolm had felt?
“I was in love with him, Liam.”
“I know.” He sat next to me on the couch and let me cry on his shoulder, as he had countless times over the course of the last week since Malcolm had ruined everything.
I had been completely blindsided. We were together all the time, and when we weren’t, we were calling each other or texting. E-mailing. Writing each other long letters that spanned days. I hadn’t been able to work out how he’d even found the time to cheat on me.
“And I thought he loved me. How stupid am I?”
“You’re not stupid.”
“No, seriously, I am. I let it get away from me.”
He leaned his head against mine. “You let what get away from you?”
“All of it. I think I just wanted . . .”
“What?”
I sniffed. “I don’t know. Maybe all of that stuff Fiona said. I think I wanted to maybe not think so much. Just for a while. To see if she was right. To see if I was keeping myself from being happy by insisting that relationships checked off all my boxes.” I shuddered at the memory of her words and, more painfully, the distance in her eyes as she said them. “I knew he wasn’t my type. I knew I was not meant to spend my life with a guy like Malcolm Larcraft.”
But, hey, what harm could come from spending time with him? From having some fun? From seeing, just for a little while, how the leading men of the world spoil their girlfriends? From being whisked here, there, and everywhere in the name of romance? From not thinking so much for one blasted time in my life?
Turns out a lot of harm could come from it. I should have paid more attention to the lessons being taught in The Way We Were rather than focusing so much on how pretty Robert Redford was in his prime.
“I wish I knew how to explain how it feels, Liam. Can you even imagine? Knowing that this is the person you will be with forever. Knowing—I mean knowing—that this person prizes you above all others. And then finding out that you had it completely wrong. Finding out it was one-sided? It’s humiliating.”
I exhaled as I patted him on the knee and stood to go to the kitchen to make coffee.
“You’re right,” he called after me. “That is humiliating. But that’s not the case here.”
As I mindlessly made coffee, I thought that through. I’d known Malcolm and I could never work—I’d known it from the beginning—but somewhere along the way he’d convinced me otherwise. It hadn’t been easy for me to accept that he loved me in the first place. Or, going back a bit further, that he was even interested in going out with me. I’d seen him, that night we met, surrounded by women who fit with him. The Fionas of the world who sought after the epic love story and seemed right at home within its pages. But he was also surrounded by supporting characters, like me. Unlike me, those other kooky best-friend types didn’t seem to know they didn’t get to ride off into the sunset with a Redford. They clamored for his attention while I watched from a safe distance, offering humorous commentary for Liam’s benefit. If only I had managed to keep my guard up. If only Malcolm hadn’t convinced me, for one glorious season of my life, that a Redford wouldn’t always choose a Michelle Pfeiffer or a Demi Moore or a Meryl Streep. At some point along the way I’d allowed myself to believe that sometimes a Redford chooses . . .
“Joan Cusack.” A bitter laugh escaped as I walked back in and stood by the window.
“I’m sorry?” Liam asked.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head.
“He loves you, Olivia. He didn’t want it to end . . .”
His voice trailed off, and I turned to him. His eyes darted away from mine, and I stared at him in desperate shock.
“He talked to you?”
“I shouldn’t have said any—”
“Did he tell you that?” It didn’t matter. He’d cheated on me. I’d gotten it wrong. I was better off. All true. And how nice it would have been if all of that truth had been enough. My voice trembled as I whispered, “Liam, what did he tell you?”
He groaned, then stood and walked toward me. “Okay, listen to me. And I mean listen carefully. If we’re going to have this conversation, it’s not going to be without some ground rules. You know my loyalty is to you, and I will tell you whatever you want to know. Yes, he talked to me. Unfortunately. He talks to me about, well . . . far too much.”
“Do you know who she was?”
He raised his hand to silence me. “I will tell you whatever you want to know. But anything you learn you can’t unlearn, Olivia. Do you understand what I’m saying? All I’m asking is that before you ask me any questions, you make sure you want to know the answers.”
Of course I wanted to know. Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? The bigger consideration in my mind was what did I want to know? I wanted to know how he could do that to me. I wanted to know who she was. I wanted to know if he loved her. I wanted to know why he’d wasted his time on me in the first place.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
No. Liam was right. Whatever I found out, I would always know. What good would any of that newfound—yet eternal—knowledge do me, apart from breaking my heart anew? Yet to have answers—there was tremendous app
eal in the possibility. Each night, as I inevitably tossed and turned and made feeble attempts to count sheep, my brain only ever found distraction by compiling an ever-growing list. So many questions. The desire to receive even one answer for a change felt irresistible. But which answers could I handle? Which ones were better left unknown?
I stared into Liam’s eyes for the longest time, trying to decide how much I could handle.
Finally, I laughed through my tears. “I don’t know what I want to know!”
“Okay, then,” he said quietly. “How about I tell you what I think you need to know?”
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I silently nodded.
“He loves you. I know you’re doubting that, but don’t. He’s fully aware you were the best thing that ever happened to him. He screwed up. It was a one-time thing that didn’t mean anything. And yes, I know how trite and predictable that sounds, but I don’t think they’re just empty words in this case. I’m pretty sure he would give anything for it not to have happened. And probably the most important thing you need to know is that he still doesn’t realize that you and I used to date, so he has no idea how awkward it is for me when he tells me all this stuff.” He smiled and winked.
I grinned at him and felt a swell of pride and appreciation, as I always did when he was funny. And, as always, that swell of pride led to resurfacing guilt—and questions about my own sanity. How much longer would Liam and I have stayed together if I hadn’t seen the writing on the wall? Fiona had always questioned my sanity, I was pretty sure. She had never understood why I couldn’t go along for the ride in relationships and see where they took me. She’d never been the biggest Liam fan, but she’d also never understood why I chose to walk away from him just when, in her mind, he was beginning to get interesting. With the end of that relationship, she had finally granted me full-blown admittance to the Fiona Mitchell Dating Disaster Sanitarium.
Plot Twist Page 5
