by Frankie Love
I get to the club and see the cops there just like I expected. Jordan’s here too, and he’s in a heated conversation with an officer.
I walk toward them and they nod, motioning me over.
“They were only in a few times,” Jordan says. “But I could identify them if you got me the pictures. Though Cal would do a better job of identifying those gangsters than me.”
“You talking about the mob guys who’ve been coming around here?”
“Yeah,” the officer says. “We have a tipoff about a few of them, and I think we’ll be able to get them behind bars for something. They were making a killing from selling photos, using Danny as their puppet. He took the photos; the gangsters would buy them for a pretty penny. But not as pretty as they were turning around and getting for them from news outlets.”
“And why were they so hell bent on knowing who owns this place?” I ask.
The officer looks me in the eyes, not messing around. “Those guys wanted to cover their bases, knowing who the owner would guarantee that, Callahan.”
My jaw tightens and I run my hands through my hair. Dammit.
If I had just told them all those weeks ago, then and there, that the owner was Levi Callahan Mallone, they would have walked away.
They would have found some other shady agent to blackmail, at some other club.
It would have kept them from messing with us.
Jules is right, hiding did nothing for me.
And the fact that Sawyer died?
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.
It’s fucking hard to accept, thinking about in those terms.
Jordan takes a hard look at me. “You alright, boss?” he asks.
I exhale, grateful that Jordan, the man I’ve been trusting for years, has had my back all along.
“It’s been a long few months.”
“But now it’s done,” Jordan says. “Now you get to move on.”
Move on. Right. I get to do that.
But Sawyer? He’s been dead a month. He doesn’t get to move on at all.
The officer walks away writing something down in a notepad and Jordan and I walk around the club. Officers have been dismantling cameras that were in nearly all the rooms. I feel sick inside that this place turned into something so dangerous, so fucking fast.
“Did you see the headlines this morning? Jordan asks.
“Nah.” I shake my head. I’ve been trying hard to avoid that shit—especially today. “Were they bad?”
Jordan smirks. “Damn, people are using the term A-list Fuck Club all over the internet. Crazy, really, considering for so long we really were able to keep tight-lipped about what went on here. Danny’s greed got the best of him. No more photos were leaked, but lots of names were mentioned.”
“My name?”
Jordan shrugs. “Are you pissed?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m gonna do an interview with Exposé this week anyway. Come clean about it all: why I made the club, what happened with Sawyer. My parents. All of it.”
Jordan whistles low. “Damn, never thought I’d hear those words from your mouth. I thought you said you’d always be a bartender.”
“Just because I’m giving them a story, doesn’t mean I’m out of the bartending business. I can make one hell of a lemon drop.” I laugh—and the fact that I can laugh in the midst of all this is fucking surreal.
But we all have to keep moving, right?
One step, then another.
“So, what happens to the club?” Jordan asks. “It fucking sucks that I’m gonna be out of a job, you know.”
I nod. “I talked my attorney on the way over here, apparently there were stipulations in my parents’ will that if there were unforeseen complications, I could have my trust when I wanted it. Meaning now. Which also means, I’d love to use some of my inheritance to invest in a new club.”
Jordan cocks an eyebrow at me. “What kind of club?”
“Not that kind of club. I’m thinking something with bright lights. Beach front. No doors. No walls. Just everything out in the open. No more secrets.”
“Like the antithesis of the Fuck Club?”
“Exactly. You think you can manage it?”
“Will you be the bartender?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I’m thinking of moving.”
“Where? You’ve lived in LA for your entire life.”
“I know, but I’m ready for a change.”
Just then, my phone rings. Seeing Jules’ number on the screen, I excuse myself to answer it.
“What’s up, baby?”
She sobs into the phone. “Cal, it’s Grandma. She died.”
7
“You don’t worry about a thing,” Gretchen says. “Let me pack for you, and you just lie down until Cal gets here.”
My eyes are red, I can’t stop crying.
Grandma is gone.
I never returned my dad’s call last night. Turned my phone off and then the battery ran dry. There had been so much going on at the premiere... and I’ll never forgive myself for not being there for her.
Then when I got back to my apartment earlier this morning, I spent my time doing damage control with Gretchen and Collette. We were hashing out our futures—the two girls want to stay here in LA, and even before I learned about Grandma, I was done with this place.
It took hours for me to call Dad.
When I did, he was choking on his tears... he lost his wife, then his mother, and I’m not there to help him through this.
“You can come back after things calm down in Resting,” Collette says, handing me a mug of tea. “Even if it’s not forever. You still have more jobs lined up, and if you want—”
I cut her off. “I’m not coming back. This isn’t my home.”
Collette nods, wiping the tears from her eyes too. This month has been one thing after another, and we all have so much healing to do. “I know, sweetie.”
Gretchen comes in with my suitcase. “I packed your overalls, but I threw in a nice black dress and heels for you to wear for the service.” She grabs a tote bag and puts in my wallet, keys, and water bottle. Having friends who are here, taking care of me in the midst of this means more than they will ever know.
I start crying all over again. “I feel weird leaving you guys here after everything last night with Danny. You need a new agent and...”
“Shhh,” Gretchen says. “None of us need anything right now beside one another. We will figure out the rest later. Okay?”
Her words calm me, and Collette braids my hair while we wait for Cal. Gretchen is reading articles, and giving us updates on what the press is saying. It keeps me from continually sobbing if nothing else.
The most shocking is when a news source reveals the true identity of Cal.
“Holy fucking shit,” she says, reading the article aloud.
“Hollywood legends, Jen and Thomas Mallone, died tragically in a fatal car crash after being trailed by paparazzi. At the time of the crash they were with Sophia and Henry Bennett, parents of recently deceased Sawyer Bennett.
The loss of those silver screen pair was felt around the world, but none more so than by their son, Levi Callahan Mallone. Levi went into hiding after his parents’ deaths and has never given an interview about the beloved couple that had won America over.
Now, he is thrust into the limelight for the first time in a decade. As the owner of the exclusive underground nightclub, dubbed the A-List F*ck Club by the celebrities in Los Angeles, he has come under heat for the leaked footage at his private venue. It’s not so private anymore—and when Levi started throwing punches last night at the supposed culprit of the photos, all eyes were on him...
She stops reading, shocked by the information.
“Did you know?” she asks.
I nod. “I found out over the weekend. He had reasons to keep it a secret.”
“It’s all so sad,” Collette says, shaking her head at the revelation. “His parents... then his best
friend.”
I can’t swallow my tears, they flow freely again, thinking about the losses I’ve experienced too. Mom, now Grandma. It’s all too much.
When Cal gets here, he wraps his arms around me and lets me cry against his chest.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says, cradling me in a comforting hold. My friends watch, stunned at both our genuine care for one another and the fact that the man I am in love with is the son of one of the most famous couples Hollywood has ever known.
With my bags in hand, he leads me to a car in front of the apartment complex. He’s already arranged a pilot to meet us at his jet to fly us to the farm. The fact that Cal has taken control of the situation is a relief. That is what I need right now. I don’t have the energy to deal with anything besides my grief.
With a pang, I realize that is exactly what Cal experienced a month ago when he lost Sawyer. My roommates follow us out onto the sidewalk and say their goodbyes while wrapping me in heartfelt hugs.
“You’ve been an amazing friend to us,” Gretchen tells me. “I know the city and this job haven’t turned out the way any of us thought it would but I’m really glad we met.”
“Me too,” Colette says. “And you better come back. But if you don’t, that’s all right. Gretchen and I will come find you.”
I hug them again. “I love you,” I say, meaning it. How my heart could be so tightly connected to these two who, on the surface, are so unlike me is a miracle in and of itself.
When we met, I didn’t believe I had anything in common with them besides being built for a runway. But that is a testament to what friendship can be. Because what’s inside, at our core, is what matters. And Gretchen and Collette, they may have gotten caught up in the hype of this job—but at the end of the day, they are here holding me up when I need them most.
At Grandma’s service, I wear the black dress Gretchen packed for me, and Daddy holds my arm, Cal has me at the small of my back—neither of the men in my life is letting me go.
When the casket is lowered into the ground we’re all in tears. But later, when we are back at the farmhouse, and friends of Grandma’s come with casseroles and berry crisps, I feel the warmth I remember from when my mom passed.
The community gathering around us, reminding us that we aren’t alone in our grief.
Cal slips his hand through mine. “This is why this town is special, isn’t it?”
I nod, my eyes rimmed in red, and I lean against Cal’s chest. A few people have mentioned the headlines that cover the truth about his family, and the club he ran in LA, but no one mentions my role in anything, and no one says the name Fuck Club—at least not in our presence. Though I’d be a fool if I thought for a second that everyone here isn’t wondering about it.
Dad wondered about it too. We hadn’t been here a half hour before he started asking questions. Pointed ones at the man I brought home with me for the second time.
Daddy wanted to know Cal’s intentions, wanted to make it crystal clear that I wasn’t an object—I was a beloved daughter and friend and that no man ought to think of me any differently.
My face got red and blotchy and I tried to stop the conversation but Cal wasn’t letting himself off the hook.
“I understand your concerns, Johnny. You love your daughter, but so do I. I know the scandal that is in the news isn’t something you want Jules to be a part of—and neither do I. But I want you to know that I am getting out of the business I was running. I never intended it to become a place so dangerous.”
“And what kind of business do you want to get in, then, son?” he asks.
Cal smiled—which is saying something considering the interrogation taking place.
“I want to be an honest man who can provide for his family.”
My dad’s eyes narrowed. “Family?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
“From what I’ve heard, you have plenty of money,” Daddy pressed, not easing his stance.
“Money, sure, but I want stability. I want to offer my future wife the life she wants.”
At that, Dad seemed satisfied. He nodded curtly, and told Cal if there was anything else he’d like to discuss, he could always find him in the barn, for a heart to heart.
That was three days ago.
Now we’re in the kitchen of the farmhouse, Grandma’s knitting club and the ladies from Bridge are here, everyone telling me how much they loved her.
“So, what are your plans next?” a gray-haired woman asks, stirring sugar into her coffee. “We all saw the Sports Illustrated issue.” She raises her eyes and gives me a smile. “Striking poses, really.”
My cheeks are warm, and I catch Cal’s eye across the room, He is in a conversation with another woman who I recognize as being one of the ladies who volunteered with Grandma. She’s unabashedly wrapping her arm around Cal’s bicep.
“I want to stay here for a bit.”
“And then?” the woman presses.
I shake my head, not knowing. But knowing I will be alongside Cal no matter where I end up.
Later, Dad finds me in Grandma’s room where I am looking through her old photo albums.
“You doing okay, Jules?”
I shrug, frowning slightly. “Even though I knew it was going to happen eventually... it’s hard to believe she’s really gone.”
Dad sits next to me on the bed. “She left a letter for you. Well, her hands had been flaring up for a few days before the clot, and she couldn’t write anymore, her fingers were too tight, but she told me what to write.”
“A letter?” My eyes furrow. “Where?”
Dad pulls the letter from his pocket. “I’ll let you read it alone.”
I nod, taking the slim envelope from him.
“You know,” he starts, standing and headed to the doorway. “Cal came out to the barn to have a talk with me.”
My eyes raise. “Yeah?”
“He’s a good one. I know the papers are saying crazy things about that club he was running—and I don’t know anything about that stuff, you know me, I’m a simple guy. But there have only been a few things in my life that matter. The women in my life and this farm.”
I can see that Dad is struggling to keep himself composed. “And I guess what I’m trying to say is, it seems like Cal feels the same way as me.”
“He cares about this farm?”
“He went to the bank and paid off our mortgage. That tells me he cares an awful lot.”
“That’s too generous,” I say, shaking my head. “We can’t accept it.”
“I’d have said the same thing a year ago. Hell, six months ago even. But right now, with the farm paid off, that means my daughter isn’t going to be tied to this place anymore. You can be free to go live the life you want.”
I bite my bottom lip. Hating how it always circles back to this. “Can’t this be enough?”
In the doorway of Grandma’s room, Dad slaps his hand to the hardwood. “Read the letter, then tell me what you think.”
I open it, spreading the white stationary in my lap. Reading it, in my dad’s handwriting, I try to imagine my Grandma dictating the words for him. But as I read it, I mostly only cry.
Dear Jules,
Growing up is hard, no matter your age.
Here I am, lying on my deathbed, yet I am faced with the same questions as you. What next? What do I regret? Is this life I am choosing to live enough?
I don’t have all those answers. What I do know is this:
Yes.
Choose yes.
Saying no, resisting, pulling back, living in fear—those are the easy choices in life.
But they are also the ones that will make you small.
And Jules, you are more than that.
We all are.
For years I’ve told you to leave this farm, to take a chance. A leap.
You’re still scared. You want to come back to the land you know.
You’re scared of missing out on the things that matter most if you c
hoose something other than this farm.
I’m going to tell you something: you won’t miss anything if you know who you are.
And you’ve already figured that out.
It wasn’t easy—there were awkward years and uncomfortable times where you were learning how to be comfortable in your own skin, but you are your mother’s daughter and your daddy’s girl and you carry that with you wherever you go.
You are loved, and that has allowed you to look within, not out, for validation.
Life gives you opportunities when you least expect it, in places you never imagined.
Follow them.
And remember that your family will always be where your heart is.
Now go take a chance and see what might happen next.
I love you, always,
Grandma
8
When Jules finds me sitting on a tractor, her eyes are gleaming, and I know she’s been crying again.
I want to tell her the tears will stop soon, but I can’t guarantee that.
Seeing her in pain this past week has told me everything I need to know about the woman I love.
She is soft in all the right ways. She knows who she is, where she comes from, and she knows what it means to stick by the sides of those you love.
And I also know I need her to be my wife.
“Cal,” she says, pulling herself up onto the tractor, sitting beside me. “What on God’s green earth are you doing out here?”
“Trying to think why people stopped being farmers. It’s fucking gorgeous here.”
“I’m guessing people stopped being farmers because the work is hard as hell,” she tells me, laughing. “But you’re right, it is gorgeous.”
She leans back in the seat beside me, and my hand slips through hers. Not meeting my eyes, she says, “Dad says you paid off the farm.”
“Are you mad?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head. “No. But it was more than you needed to—”
I cut her off. “Jules, it’s the least I could do. I brought his daughter into a fucking sex scandal. I owe your dad. Especially considering the question I asked him.”
