Before A Perfect World: Movie Trilogy, Book Two (The Movie 2)

by Kimberly Adams

  “Hmm,” I deadpanned, sitting back and stretching my legs out. “I’m not sure that I take you seriously.”

  “Keaton,” Vivian hissed, sitting back in her seat as the doctor let go of her hand.

  “Tell me why, Keaton,” Dr. Grey encouraged.

  “I need someone who knows how to make everything perfect for the next nine months. In here,” I pointed at Vivian’s stomach, and then her head. “Not up here. If I wanted the fucking Dalai Lama, I’d have called him.”

  Vivian glared at me. “Really?” she demanded, obviously embarrassed.

  Dr. Grey laughed, a hearty chuckle that eased the tension in the room. “Mind and body. The two are connected. Her stress level, and the baby’s health. What I’m proposing is that we do our best to find even ground, so that Vivian can relax and enjoy the way this child is going to change her life.”

  I glanced at Vivian, and she countered with a silencing glare.

  “Fair enough,” I said, finally, turning back to Dr. Grey. “Now, when do I get to see my baby?”

  The Crying Game

  V

  Keaton had a list of questions, many of which I already knew the answer to, but I let Dr. Grey talk for as long as possible to hold off the inevitable.

  Bloodwork. Needles.

  I remembered to lie down on the table while they drew the necessary number of vials, and Keaton let me grip his hand.

  “Do you want me to distract you?”

  “Yes,” I forced in a quick breath.

  “Okay.” He lifted his eyes to the phlebotomist, smiling that excruciatingly charming smile of his. “How much would it cost for you to pierce her ears while we’re here?”

  The woman narrowed her eyes, and I dropped my jaw. “Keaton!”

  “You’ll need a dermatologist,” the technician replied, obviously irritated as she continued to switch vials from the needle jabbing me in the arm.

  “So, not some uneducated mall employee?” Keaton prodded, repeating my words from our conversation in the Ferrari.

  “Right.”

  “I told you so,” I forced, exhaling sharply as she removed the needle. He only grinned my way, and the other nurse returned to take us in for the exam and ultrasound.

  Keaton moved behind me with the paper gown, helping me pull the sundress over my head. I jumped as his mouth lowered to my shoulder for a fleeting moment. He moved around to face me, drawing his kiss over my neck as he circled slowly.

  “Only once.” His breath was hot on my skin, and I closed my eyes. “We only made love that one time.” His hand splayed over my stomach, his touch warm through the paper gown, lingering before he moved to cup my face in his hands. “I must have done something good, kiddo. I’ve never felt blessed before. I used to laugh at that word. Now, I can’t think of any other way to describe this love.”

  “Keaton,” I whispered. I couldn’t answer him. I didn’t possess the words to tell him what was happening inside of my heart.

  He took a shaking breath, moving to tie the gown, his fingers drawing over my bare back.

  The knock at the door startled us both. The doctor bustled in with a hearty smile, and in minutes I was up on the table, legs spread, and trying not to blush. Keaton stayed near my head, watching everything that was happening with a nervous smile.

  “What?” I demanded, wincing as the doctor examined me.

  “Nothing. Everything. I’m fascinated. My baby’s in there. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  I couldn’t resist a smile if I wanted to. Holding my hand out to him, I felt him grip my fingers securely.

  “I understand,” I assured him, turning toward the computer screen.

  I almost didn’t believe it was real.

  The whooshing of the ultrasound machine hypnotized us both.

  Dr. Grey shifted the internal wand slightly, and I smoothed the paper gown over my knees, trying to ascertain some modesty.

  Keaton rested one hand on my shoulder, the other hand holding mine.

  “Right… there,” the doctor murmured, tapping the keyboard to freeze a series of screen shots.

  Keaton’s soft exhale near my ear sounded like God, and I couldn’t turn away from the screen.

  “Everything looks great. I’ll call you tomorrow with the results of your bloodwork. We’ll set the due date for March thirtieth. I know I answered many of your questions earlier, but do you have any more that you can think of?” Dr. Grey encouraged as he pulled the wand away.

  His nurse stepped forward with my clothes, explaining how I could clean up and she’d help if I needed anything.

  “I will,” Keaton promised. “I just can’t… think right now.”

  Dr. Grey washed and dried his hands, nodding and reaching to pat Keaton’s shoulder. “Call me anytime, Keaton. Vivian, relax. Be filled with joy. Alright?”

  I nodded, kind of loving Dr. Grey’s introspective personality.

  When the heavy door clasped shut, I lay still, staring at the monitor.

  “V?”

  The bridge of my nose burned, and my eyes watered.

  I remembered staring at that shadowy circle almost two years ago, with Matthew at my side. He’d lowered his mouth to my ear, whispering softly. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  My thighs were sticky from the gel, and I wanted privacy.

  I was going to lose my shit any second.

  I turned to Keaton quickly, my chin quivering, and he bobbed his eyebrows.

  “We have the whole room to ourselves.” He reached for the light switch, lowering the dimmer. “I see you’ve slipped into that sexy dress I bought you. I have a feeling it’ll be easy to tear right off… but the paper cuts may sting a little.”

  “Keaton,” I protested, exhaling a tearful laugh.

  He went into full swagger as he made his way over to me. “Vivian,” he answered, his voice rumbling low from his chest. “This state-of-the-art exam room cost about two grand, and only rents by the hour. We have about five minutes.”

  I forced a smile as I broke into tears.

  His arms were around me, and I sat up, pressing my face to his neck. He was suddenly the most familiar person in the world to me. I needed him, his humor, his teasing, his ability to make everything matter and nothing matter.

  He lived inside of me- his baby, his spirit- and somehow I felt more confident than last time. Granted, I was scared out of my mind, but I knew that nothing would be as hard as before.

  God couldn’t do that to me twice.

  “Hey, kiddo.” He brushed his hand over my hair. “We’re going to be okay. You know that, right?”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know.” He reached for my sundress, catching my little thong before it fell to the floor. “What the… is this silk? Jesus. Here.” He shoved the clothing into my lap, and I sniffled.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Picking up your undies from the floor was the most sex I’ve had since our jailhouse rock at the park.”

  I vividly recalled him holding me up against the bars, driving into me, and my knees locked together in effigy.

  “Did you just call them ‘undies’?” I asked, my fingers bobbing in the air.

  He sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets with a resigned headshake. “Air quotes. God, I missed you.”

  I burst out laughing, and he grinned, his green and gold eyes sparkling even in the shadowy exam room.

  “Well.” I slipped the dress over my head, pulling the paper gown away. “Now what?”

  “Now,” he replied, his eyebrows rising as I stepped into my ‘undies’ quickly, “we make a movie, V.”

  “And Matthew?”

  “Right. Him. You grow some lady balls and tell him you’re staying with me.”

  I followed him out into the hallway, watching several of the office staff turn at the words “lady balls.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Believe me, V, I’m not fighting anymore. You
can continue this playground shit for as long as you want, but you are mine, you’re carrying my child, and you’re not leaving LA today. Or tomorrow. Or without me.”

  I had almost forgotten how domineering he was.

  My furious obstinacy prickled.

  I dropped my hands to my hips.

  “I need to go home and say goodbye to Matthew. Almost the entire country away from you.”

  “No.”

  “No?” I demanded.

  “No. Let me ask you a question.” He held the door open for me, and I stormed past him to the elevator. “Do you enjoy keeping us both on strings? Does that give you a good ego stroking?”

  “You fucking asshole,” I hissed, my fingernails digging into my palms. “Thank you. You’re making it very easy to leave.”

  “I love you, V, and I love my baby. But I won’t let you walk all over me.”

  “What, like Kelsey did? Are you comparing me to her?!”

  “I can’t compare you to her. You’re not made of plastic.”

  “Be fucking serious!” I nearly screamed, and several people turned to stare at us.

  For once, I finally shook his cool demeanor. His expression sobered, and his jaw hardened. “Vivian, when we leave this building, cameras will be on us again. You’d better plaster that pretty smile on your face and be a good girl.”

  I barely had a moment to recover as he pushed the door open. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he tugged me to his side, grinning charmingly at the cameras.

  Cameras flashing. Paparazzi shouting in our faces.

  “Keaton! Is it true that you’re expecting?”

  He avoided the question, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Everything is perfect.”

  The crowd erupted into chaos. Keaton laughed, leading me to the sleek, black Mercedes again.

  We were on the road for nearly an entire minute before the hum of the press had finally died down in my ears.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His words sounded almost surreal. I turned his way, and he reached for my face, cupping my cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed just below my eye, and only then did I realize that I’d been crying.

  “You’re sorry?” I repeated, almost dumbfounded.

  He leaned in closer, and I took a shaking breath.

  I wanted to rest my forehead on his lips and run my fingers over his stubbly jaw. The earthy scent of him dizzied my senses. “You always smell like summer.”

  His slow smile touched his eyes. “Do you like that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  We stayed just like that for a long moment, with only his hand cradling my face, my eyes closed, and his breath warm on my lips.

  “Tell me what you like about him.”

  My eyes popped open, and my brows furrowed. “Him? Matthew?”

  “Yeah.”

  The car took a sharp turn, and he caught me as I slid toward him.

  “Why, so you can make fun of him? Snap at me?”

  “No.” He dropped his hand, sitting back against the seat. “No. I’ll stop. I’m being unfair, and I realize that. I know that he was… is… a huge part of your life. I want to know everything.”

  I considered his calm words. This new, quiet curiosity was so out of character for him.

  “Why?” I repeated, a little more forcefully.

  He reached for my stomach, his thumb brushing over my dress. “I want this to go deeper than a weekend together. Think about it, V. We spent one weekend together. One weekend in an entire lifetime. One weekend, and I’m ready to spend my whole life with you. I want to understand why I feel this way, and I need to understand where you came from. Your whole character. Am I making sense?”

  “My whole character?” I repeated. “Is this about the movie?”

  He shook his head. “This is about you and me.”

  We were almost back at his office.

  I looked down at the leather seat. “Matthew is loyal. He’s calm. He accepts me no matter what I say or do.”

  He nodded encouragingly. I took that to mean that he wanted me to continue.

  “When I was pregnant with Rory,” I began slowly, carefully, refusing to let those emotions surface, “my mom and dad cut me out of their lives. They judged me, and judged my decision to keep our baby. They were pissed that I quit school. But the headaches… God, I felt like my head was going to explode sometimes,” I poured, remembering the intensity of the pain. “I was so close to my parents. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. When my parents turned their back on me… I lost so much… trust.”

  His eyes remained focused, and he nodded encouragingly.

  “Matthew was there. He was always there. And when I… after everything happened, after the baby died, I was a wreck. I couldn’t eat. I screamed at him. I screamed at him, and said horrible things, and I…”

  “It’s okay, kiddo.”

  I let him pull me into his arms. The effort to hold back my tears was too overwhelming.

  “I hurt him. His heart was broken too. He was so excited about a son. And his parents… they’re wonderful. His mom and dad kind of took over the place of my parents, dropping by with food and things for the baby… and I hurt them, too.”

  We stopped in front of his building. I turned for the door, but he caught my arm.

  “We’re fine here, V.”

  The driver got out of the car, giving us privacy.

  “Keaton, there’s nothing else to tell.”

  “There’s more.” He smoothed my hair, and I rested my head against his chest.

  I stared at the busy pedestrians in the street, watching a taxi wait for a woman to cross.

  “My best friend, Theresa, kind of just… stopped talking to me. I don’t know if she didn’t know what to say after the baby died, or if she just had her own shit to work out, I don’t know. We just started talking again right before I met you… it was her book that I was editing.” I sighed, closing my eyes.

  “It was raining the day I left,” I managed. “I drove all the way to Gram’s in the storm. I went down to the basement and sat on that trundle bed and just… cried. For two days. I wanted Matthew to come for me. I’m so dramatic,” I cried, laughing through the tears as I brushed at them with the back of my hand. “I told him not to come. I told him that I needed time and space. And then I was mad at him for not coming.” I squirmed at the sudden nausea brewing in my stomach.

  “And now?”

  His quiet voice eased my nerves. “Now? I feel like we’ve finally healed a little. It’s time for us to move past what happened. But… this is your baby, Keaton, not his. And I’m in love with you. It’s a mess.”

  He smiled at that.

  After a long pause, he backed away with a resolute nod. “You never had closure. I understand that now.”

  I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

  “Go home, Vivian.”

  Startled, I reached for a strand of my hair, twirling nervously. “Home?”

  “Home.” He glanced at his watch, and then at his building. “We can negotiate your contracts over the phone. Marcus is a great agent, and he’ll make sure that you have everything that you need. I’d like to talk to Matthew before you go.”

  This new, mature Keaton was blowing my mind. I sniffed, lifting my eyes to his. “You’re okay with me flying home on the weekends?”

  “As long as your plans fit my schedule, you can do what you want.”

  I froze. Was he writing me off? I had no idea what was going on in his brain now. Finally, I reached for my purse. “Should I call Matthew?”

  “Yes. Let him know I’ll send a car for him.”

  He got out of the car, and the driver opened my door for me. Keaton shielded me from more press, leading me toward the building.

  I called Matthew, trying to keep up with Keaton’s long strides.

  “Vivian?”

  “Hey,” I began, joining Keaton on the elevator. “Keaton is sending a car for you. Can you come here, before we leave?”


  “We?” he clarified.

  “Mm-hm.” I glanced up at Keaton, but he was staring at the floor numbers as we approached his office.

  “I’ll get a cab.”

  I sighed deeply. “Matthew, please.”

  After a long pause, he finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

  Once we were back in his office, Keaton handed me the folder that the doctor had given us. “I want you to keep your appointments here, though. I like this doctor.”

  “I do too. I will,” I assured him.

  He opened the folder, pulling the photos of the ultrasound out. “Can I keep one of these?”

  I took a step closer to him, confused by the sudden wall he’d erected between us. “Of course you can.”

  “Thank you.”

  Before I could reply, he was at his bar, pouring a drink.

  I lowered gingerly to the couch, staring at my hands. I couldn’t find the right words to express what I was feeling. He wanted me to go home.

  Which was what I’d asked for, right?

  “Here.”

  I lifted my eyes to his as he held out a piece of paper.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “He’s an acting coach. I want you there, three times a week over the next three weeks.”

  I read the address, suddenly enthralled by his handwriting.

  Big, bold letters. Even and commanding.

  Directing.

  “I like the way that you write,” I said softly.

  He reached for my face, tipping my chin to look up at him again.

  “He’s a friend of mine. This shouldn’t be a long drive for you, right?”

  “No, it’s less than twenty minutes.” My pride prickled under his scrutiny. “Is this… standard practice? To have an acting coach? Do you feel like I need the extra help? I feel like such an amateur.”

  “Confidence,” he encouraged.

  Startled, I narrowed my eyes. “I’m confident, Keaton.”

  “Not when you act.” He downed the dark liquid in his glass, and my brain tried to piece together the time of day with his behavior. Not even noon, and he’s drinking? “You’re all in here.” He leaned forward, his mouth pressing to the side of my forehead, near my temple.