by Cassia Leo
Ben and I can pretend we’re getting engaged for Frank’s sake. Besides, if there’s anything I’ve learned since Ben and I got back together it’s that we probably will be together for the rest of our lives. We’re already practically living together in the loft he rented. Ben has worked out a deal with the movie studio to resume filming in two months. Thanks to Ben, Mason was granted temporary custody of Gracie and I have so many new clients that I’ll be interviewing assistants next week. Life is good.
Why do we have to pretend we haven’t spent the last eight years mentally planning our future together?
“You know what you should do?” I begin, squeezing his hand to get his attention. “You should invite your dad to the wedding.”
Ben looks confused. “What wedding? The one you’re shooting this weekend?” he replies, shaking his head. “No. It’s not my wedding. I can’t do that.”
“What if it was your wedding?” I reply, my heart in my throat as I watch him, waiting for him to understand my meaning.
“What? What do you mean?” He looks to me for clarification, but I can barely breathe, much less speak. Then, his eyes widen suddenly. “Don’t… Don’t fuck with me, Char.”
“I’m not,” I whisper, swallowing hard to clear the lump in my throat. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be real or anything. We could just tell your dad we’re getting engaged or something. Just…to make him happy.”
His eyebrows screw up as if he’s in pain. “You want to pretend to get engaged? You don’t really want to get engaged?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just—I thought that—I mean, if you don’t want to—It’s not like it has to be permanent. I mean—”
Before I can make an even bigger fool of myself, Ben grabs my face and plants a tender, lingering kiss on my mouth. As he pulls away slowly, the smile on his face makes a flurry of butterflies flap their wings in my belly.
“I’m sorry, Char, but I can’t pretend to be engaged to you for my dad’s sake,” he replies, and I nod in agreement as I try not to let the disappointment show in my face. “But I can do it for real.”
And the butterflies take flight again. I could float through the ceiling right now.
I laugh with giddiness. “We’re totally ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head in utter disbelief at the insanity of what just happened.
“Better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring,” he says, quoting Marilyn Monroe as he lays a kiss on my forehead and takes my hand in his. “Come on. Let’s share the good news.”
When Frank finds out about our sudden engagement, his tears of grief over Steve Ditko turn into tears of joy. “Come here, kiddo,” he says, beckoning me for a hug.
I lie down next to him, wrapping my arms around his waist as I gently lay my head on his shoulder. He plants a kiss on the top of my head as he holds me like this until another dose of morphine carries him into the dreamworld he’s become so well-acquainted with. I slowly slip out from underneath his skinny arm, wiping tears from my face as I try to imagine what he dreams about these days.
As Ben pulls me into his arms, I’m certain I know who occupies his father’s dreams. I don’t know if I believe in heaven. But if it exists, the person in Frank’s dreams will be the same person standing in the light at the end of that tunnel.
25
California
Now
Charley pulls a plate with a steaming burrito out of the microwave and hoists herself up onto the marble counter to dig in. “Ouch!” she yelps, dropping the burrito onto the plate.
“Most people let their food cool down to somewhere below the molten stage before they attempt to eat it,” I say, opening the refrigerator to grab a non-alcoholic beer.
Charley won’t allow alcohol anywhere near the apartment. Her and my dad think they’re being sly, but I see the looks they exchange whenever I mention getting a drink. They’re conspiring to keep me sober. I pretend to want alcohol more than I actually do, just so I can see the victory in Charley’s eyes when she denies me my crutch.
“I can’t wait. I’m starving,” she replies, tearing off a small chunk of tortilla and popping it in her mouth.
I twist off the bottle cap and chug a bit of sparkling piss masquerading as beer. “If you’re hungry, I’ve got something bigger and juicier than that burrito you can feast on,” I say, setting the amber bottle down and spreading her knees apart as I pull her toward the edge of the counter.
She smiles and kisses the tip of my nose. “Did you see that article on Spin this morning? Sounded like that writer wants a piece of your juicy burrito.”
I smile back at her, trying not to let her see my unease with the topic. The truth is that, after I left Katie’s office in Sherman Oaks, I had to make a surprise appearance at Amoeba Records in Hollywood to create a paper trail, so to speak.
Katie is the photographer credited with taking the picture included in the article. The article on the Spin website is unusually favorable and timely. It took some finesse to get their editor to agree to not only publish the review today, but also to use Katie’s pictures of our acoustic set.
I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off if I didn’t have a favor to call in with one of their writers. Lauren Zaire still owed me from the time I granted her an exclusive when she was just a lowly music blogger. I helped her get the job writing for Spin. It pays to have friends in this business.
Ben Hayes made a surprise appearance at Amoeba Records in Hollywood to perform and record an acoustic version of surprise release “Tidal”, a collaboration with rapper Exodus. The song uses the metaphor of tides and seasons changing as a metaphor for a woman whose feelings are seemingly in flux. The song is an upbeat but gritty electro-pop track with a thumping bass-line, angsty lyrics, and shimmering vocals, which are sure to make it an instant summer hit.
I could give a fuck about a good review. I just needed to confirm to Jordan that I was in L.A. that night, and I was with Katie. If my plan worked, he will have contacted my lawyer as soon as I texted him the link to the article this morning. He’ll be eager to hash out the details of our non-disclosure agreement now that he knows I was dead serious when I said Katie and I are working together.
When Katie called me a few days ago to say she’d gotten the results of the DNA test, but she wasn’t certain whether she wanted to come forward yet, I was disappointed. But I wasn’t surprised. Which is why I asked her to help me put the alternative plan in place with my lawyer Pete Nellis.
I have more lawyers than I can keep track of these days, but Pete is the first attorney I worked with when I signed the agency agreement with Jordan at the tender age of sixteen. Pete has been my dad’s lawyer for almost twenty years and he’s based in San Francisco, so it seemed like a no-brainer to use him for a non-disclosure agreement between Jordan and me.
The details of the agreement are pretty basic: Jordan is not allowed to publish anything containing me or Charley’s name, image, likeness, or voice on the internet, in print, or any format. In turn, I agree to do the same for Jordan and Wesley. In California, the statute of limitations on sexual assault not involving a deadly weapon is six years, so Katie and I are already precluded from filing charges. Fear of Katie’s corroboration, and how harshly Jordan and Wes will be judged by the court of public opinion, is the only weapon I have to keep that sex tape from getting out.
It’s easy to dismiss one accuser. It’s difficult to dismiss two accusers when one is a man with everything to lose and the other has DNA evidence.
“I think Lauren wants my juicy burrito about as much as she wants an actual burrito. She and her wife are vegan,” I reply, sliding my hand underneath Charley’s tank top and unsnapping her bra with a snap of my fingers.
Her eyes widen. “It’s scary how good you are at that.”
I slide my other hand under the front of her shirt and cup her breast as I lean forward to kiss her neck. “It took a lot of practice to get good at that.”
She gas
ps and shoves me away. “You’re such a whore.”
“Reformed whore, baby,” I say, positioning myself between her legs again despite her half-hearted attempts to push me away. “My whore days are over. In fact, I was thinking… How about we take my dad down to City Hall on Monday and make it official?”
She stops trying to fight me off and looks me in the eye. “Monday?”
“Yeah, I know you have the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, then the wedding the next day on Saturday. City hall is closed on Sunday, but I don’t see why we can’t go in on Monday. Sign some papers, say some vows in front of a judge, enter into a lifelong contractually binding agreement.”
She blinks. “Well, as romantic as that sounds, are you sure you’re not suggesting this for the wrong reasons?”
I place my hand on her face and softly brush my thumb across her bottom lip. “What are the right reasons? Love? Security? Friendship? Which one of those are we missing?”
She breaks into an easy smile as she coils her legs around my hips and pulls me close. “Well, for one thing, we’re missing a ring and a dress,” she says, her eyes locking on mine. “Are you being serious?”
I wipe the smile off my face and fix her with as serious an expression as I can muster. “As cancer,” I say, prying her legs from around my waist and getting down on one knee. “Marry me, Charlotte. Marry me, and I swear I’ll give you the wedding and diamond you deserve after my dad is gone. I’ll stop at nothing to give you everything you want. I’ll set the world on fire for you, Char.”
Her eyes glisten with tears as she looks me in the eye, and I brace myself for rejection. Then, I swear, I hear angels singing in my head as she nods, apparently unable to speak. I kiss the inside of her calf and stand up to pull her into my arms.
She whimpers as she tightens her arms around my neck. “I love us.”
“I love us,” I murmur into her ear. “So much.”
She lets out a congested laugh as she releases her hold on me and reaches for her plate. “Michelle is going to flip her shit.”
My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I wait for Charley to get lost in her burrito before I head to the bathroom to check the notification. It’s a text from Pete.
Pete:
Jordan is flying in to sign the NDA tomorrow. We’ll meet in my office at 6:30 p.m. Does that work?
Me:
That’s perfect. Charley will be working tomorrow night, so she won’t even know I’m gone. See you tomorrow.
I don’t like the idea of Jordan being within a hundred miles of me or Charley. It’s like inviting the devil into your home. But sometimes you have to take calculated risks to vanquish your demons once and for all. And after tomorrow, I’ll never have to worry about Jordan or that fucking video ever again.
26
Running
Now
It doesn’t surprise me one bit that Jordan and his lawyer are late to our 6:30 p.m. meeting at Pete’s office. The guy couldn’t get his head out of his own ass with a crowbar.
Pete and I sit at the mahogany conference table in his sixth-floor office on Sansome Street in silence. Though we both expected Jordan to back out of signing the non-disclosure agreement, we expected him to do it earlier in the day. Despite the text messages he’s sent saying he and his lawyer Daniel Ulrich are on their way here from the airport, I’m highly skeptical they’ll even show.
“If they’re not here by seven, I’m out of here,” I declare, leaning back in the leather swivel chair.
Pete nods as he undoes the buttons on his wrist cuffs and begins rolling up his sleeves. “They’ll show up. Dan knows the gravity of the situation. He won’t let Jordan back out.”
I roll my eyes. “I highly doubt Jordan gives a shit about anything but money.”
“Exactly!” Pete agrees enthusiastically. “They’re probably just sitting in their car waiting for you to agree to a settlement.”
I glare at him. “He raped me and I’m supposed to pay him? Do you know how fucking sick that makes me?”
Pete’s thin face is etched with regret, but he doesn’t pull any punches with his words. “You’re not paying him because he raped you, Ben. You’re paying him because he’s blackmailing you with something that can hurt someone you care about.”
I shake my head and stare straight ahead at the glass wall separating the conference room from the corridor.
“I know it seems counterproductive to give him anything he asks for when you did nothing wrong,” Pete continues, adjusting his gold-rimmed eyeglasses. “But he’s losing his biggest client, which means he’s losing a ton of money by signing this NDA. Don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s going to take that lying down. Be smart about this, Ben.”
I shake my head. “I’m so fucking tired of trying to be smart about this. I just want this piece of shit out of my life for good.”
“Then, give him this one thing.”
I let out a long, seething breath. “Fine. But I’m not giving him five mil. That’s fucking ridiculous. One-point-five mil is as high as I’ll go.”
After texting Jordan our settlement offer, he and his lawyer arrive within ten minutes.
“Sorry for my tardiness,” Jordan apologizes, as if any of us believe he wasn’t sitting in his car waiting for me to offer him some money.
“Save your apologies,” I reply. “I just want to get this stuff signed and get the fuck out of here.”
Jordan’s eyebrows shoot up as he undoes the button on his sports coat and sits across from me. “Important plans tonight? Playing house with your wifey?”
“Don’t you fucking mention her,” I warn him in a low growl.
Jordan rolls his eyes as his attorney shoots him a look. “I’m pretty busy myself,” he continues as Pete hands me a pen to sign the settlement agreement first. “I’m juggling a few projects. That’s why we were late. Can’t be at two places at the same time. Or, as some might say, you can’t dance at two weddings at the same time.”
Pete’s paralegal takes the pen and settlement agreement from me and hands it to Jordan.
“What did you say?” I ask, but Jordan doesn’t reply. “What the fuck did you just say, Jordan?”
A slimy smile spreads across his lizard-face. “I said you can’t dance at two weddings at the same time.” He signs the agreement and looks me in the eye. “I’m sure Charley is going to have a great time reliving the past tonight. Maybe it will help give her some inspiration for your wedding.”
I lunge at Jordan across the table and the paralegal gasps as Jordan falls backward in his chair, breaking the glass wall separating the conference room from the corridor. Only one thought is running through my mind: Kill the rat bastard. Kill him.
I coil his silver tie around my left hand to hold him in place as my right hand pummels him. I don’t know how many times I’m able to strike him, but every time I hear him laugh, I hit him again to try to make it stop.
Laugh. Crunch.
Laugh. Thump.
Laugh. Crack.
Silence.
Pete and Dan pull me off Jordan and I look back and forth between my bloody hand and Jordan’s bloody face like I’m waking from a dream.
“I… I have to go,” I say, pushing them out of the way and jumping over Jordan to dash into the corridor.
By the time I’m in my car and racing down Cesar Chavez toward Immersive, the streets are packed with traffic. I pound my horn, but no one moves and people start honking back at me and flipping me the bird. I remember Charley saying something about a concert or festival near Immersive.
Fuck it.
I hop out of the car and skirt my way around the stalled cars, ignoring the sounds of people shouting and hammering their car horns at me. I take off down Cesar Chavez toward Marin Street at a full sprint, hopping fire hydrants, dodging slow-walkers and dog-walkers. Some people yell at me to slow down, some transients cheer me on like I’m running in a fucking marathon.
As I run, I try to call Charley, to warn her, but
it keeps going straight to voicemail. It feels like I’m in one of those dreams where you’re running in place. I nearly get flattened by a cab as I cross 3rd Street, but I manage to cross Illinois unscathed.
As I race inside the Immersive event center, I realize I can’t fucking remember the name of the couple she made the video for. I rush over to the security guard behind the reception desk, who’s listening to chatter on a two-way radio.
“I’ll be right there,” he shouts into the radio and leaves the desk before I can ask him where to find the rehearsal dinner.
And it dawns on me. I’m too late.
27
Numb
Now
I arrive at the Immersive event center on Marin Street as soon as they open at 5:30 p.m. on Friday, to avoid getting caught in the traffic that will surely jam the streets as soon as people start arriving for the Soulstice Festival across the road. The festival starts at seven p.m., the exact same time I will be showing the video of Gina Garber and Michael Yates’ love story. Immersive is an event venue with various ballrooms and arenas complete with holographic projectors and outrageous event planners who strive to make their clients feel as if they’ve been immersed in an experience.
I thought the bride, Gina Garber, was kidding when she told me she wanted to screen their montage video here before the rehearsal dinner, which will be held in an adjacent ballroom. But Gina wants her three-hundred-seventy-five guests to “feel their love.” Yes, it’s narcissistic, but my job is to capture the couple’s love on camera. This experience of telling the couple’s story in a venue akin to an IMAX theater — as if it’s some sort of blockbuster film — might actually net me some more clients. If this is the way they want to spend their money, I’m not complaining.
