Beautiful Mess

by Herrick, John

  “But the doctor gave him six weeks.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that was two weeks ago. So they estimate only four weeks left?”

  “That’s correct,” she said. “It happened two weeks ago Monday, in the morning.”

  Del tried to recall where he was on that date. He knew he’d reversed his jogging route, and…that’s right, he and Arnie met with a couple of producers who didn’t seem a good match for the project.

  A regular day. He’d awoken and felt so healthy.

  Apparently, so had that Carter man.

  As Del compared his Monday’s events to those of Mr. Carter’s, Del’s seemed superficial by comparison. As it turned out, Del had precious little to worry about in his life.

  His throat went dry. He swallowed, which was so loud, he could hear it.

  With one stealth movement, careful not to let Felicia see, Del wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help it. Why did that patient’s predicament tug at him?

  He tried to smother the emotion and move forward. Keep walking.

  “Sick or not, the guy appears to be hanging in there,” Del said, if for no other reason than to shift his attention away from his own discomfort.

  Felicia nodded, deep in thought. “Mr. Carter has hope.”

  “He does?” Curious, Del hoped Felicia knew a detail about the man’s situation that wasn’t apparent.

  “He looks forward to heaven,” Felicia said. “He looks forward to walking on streets of gold, transparent as glass. He looks forward to touching gates of pearl, walls of jasper and amethyst and sapphire.”

  “Isn’t he disappointed his life is about to end?”

  “It’s an adjustment for him, but a natural one. He’s talked about heaven for many years. Granted, the suddenness of his circumstances have come as a shock. Good-byes are never easy with people you love. But he looks forward to a reunion with his wife and other loved ones.” Felicia gazed ahead as if she were peering into the future, and it brought a smile to her face. She appeared lost in thought.

  As they approached the hospital entrance, she turned to Del.

  “Most of all,” she continued, “he looks forward to being held in the embrace of God Himself.”

  The automatic glass doors parted before them, and they entered the parking lot. After the chilliness of the hospital lobby, Del welcomed the warmth that the California sunlight brought to his arms and neck. Yet he found the sensation difficult to enjoy as he considered the pain that dwelt on the other side of those hospital doors.

  CHAPTER 60

  BY THE TIME FELICIA PULLED into the church parking lot, Del’s mind had gone into a full stream of consciousness. It had begun with the man lying in the hospital bed, transitioned to Felicia’s description of heaven, and morphed into the realization of how short life was. That notion, the brevity of life, had brought Del full-circle to the present. Not only did some aspects of his life feel empty—an uncomfortable struggle, though he hadn’t mentioned a word about it to Felicia—but he had caused an unintentional consequence regarding the memory of a friend. Under his care, people had begun to use Marilyn Monroe all over again, a fresh wave after her death.

  And Del had contributed to that treatment. Heaviness filled his heart.

  “You’re deep in thought,” Felicia said. “You’ve hardly uttered a word since we left the hospital.”

  When Del turned his head, he found Felicia searching him for clues about what traveled through his mind. And he wasn’t ready to tell her.

  He hated when life’s circumstances screwed with his plans. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to let Felicia see what roiled inside him. He had a difficult time trusting people. Chalk it up to pride, habit maybe, but Del Corwyn had lived on his own far too long for that. He had settled into a mode of independence and self-sufficiency. Change wasn’t in the cards for him. Or was it?

  “I’m fine,” he replied. “Just thinking.”

  Felicia turned off the engine. Neither individual moved. She must have been deep in thought, too. Or praying. Although she never made a show of her prayer life, Del had a hunch she did more of it than she let on. He suspected she’d said a few prayers for him, too, which he didn’t mind. God knew, he needed all the help he could get.

  Del unfastened his seatbelt and gazed into Felicia’s eyes. She was beautiful, indeed, yet he couldn’t drop his defenses. He couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable around her. Not because of anything negative, and he knew she wouldn’t judge him. But she challenged him in a way no other woman had. Del Corwyn wasn’t accustomed to that.

  His life wasn’t perfect; he didn’t have answers to the larger questions she posed, but at least he had felt comfortable before Felicia emerged in his life. He couldn’t reconcile the conflict inside him. And Del didn’t like it when he didn’t have the upper hand.

  For a moment, he lingered, drank in the depths of Felicia’s soulful brown eyes. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  “You are beautiful, do you know that?”

  Felicia blushed. With a chuckle, she waved off his comment. “It’s been a long time since anyone told me that.”

  “It’s true nonetheless.”

  She eyed him as though he hid an ulterior motive. “Is everything okay, Del?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know, you seem…I don’t want to say unhappy, but—”

  “Unhappy?”

  “That’s not the right word, but—”

  “Everything’s great,” Del lied. Before he knew it, his defensive instincts kicked into action. “Life is good. They love me right now.”

  Felicia, facing forward once again, rested one wrist on the steering wheel. “They love you?” Judging from her facial expression, she found his response droll. Had she mimicked him?

  “Do I sense derision in your tone?”

  “No, Del. Your choice of words was interesting, that’s all.”

  He didn’t follow. “How so?”

  “I suppose it’s a matter of how you define love,” she replied with a shrug.

  She was challenging him again. She intended no harm, but Del wasn’t in the mood. She wasn’t exactly flawless, after all. They each had their pasts.

  “A matter of definition? As in…” He held out his hand to prompt her for more.

  “Love is outbound, Del. It’s a matter of valuing the other person for who they are, not for what they can do to benefit you.”

  “Are you suggesting that’s what’s happening? I’m being used? Like a pawn?”

  She turned toward him again. “Let me ask you this: Did those people ‘love’ you a year ago, before you found that script in your home?”

  “Everyone has an angle,” he shrugged.

  “And that doesn’t concern you?”

  “Isn’t it a bit naïve to believe someone could love someone else without an ulterior motive?” He lent an edge to his tone to let her know he’d taken a passive-aggressive jab at her words. He reacted that way when somebody scraped his ego.

  Her eyes hinted the next move was his, as though he were supposed to solve a riddle she’d laid at his feet. “Surely someone out there could love you for you.”

  “Yeah, right,” Del chuckled, hardening his heart. “And my Botox treatments are for the pure pleasure of getting stabbed in the forehead with a needle.”

  Felicia reached out and stroked his hand. ”I love you for you, Del.”

  That remark made him nervous, but he didn’t know why. Fear of getting himself tied down to a commitment? And sure enough, his mouth went into action before his brain had a chance to catch up.

  “Surely my persona comes in handy for you, too,” he said.

  “That’s not true, Del.”

  He feigned nonchalance. “Not that it’s a bad thing. People just do it. I’ve grown accustomed to it. Like you said, they derive a benefit from me.”

  She pursed her lips, glaring at him through squinted eyes. Her voice remained steady, soft-spoken. “I�
�ve never used you, Del.”

  He snorted. “Of course not.”

  His passive-aggressive jabs didn’t go unnoticed. Felicia’s jaw grew rigid. Still strapped beneath her seatbelt, she didn’t peel her sight from him.

  “All right, I’ll play along. How did I use you?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I’d love to know.”

  “You need an example?” Del’s damned pride wouldn’t allow him to back down. “How about the hospital visit today?”

  Was he angry at her for drawing closer to him? Was he trying to push her away? Granted, over the course of dating her, he’d grown aware of a hole that existed in his life, a vacuum begging for someone or something to fill it. But Del Corwyn was a fighter. He couldn’t accept the notion that somebody else might pinpoint weak spot in his life before he did. He wasn’t one to let the other person believe they’d won.

  “Del, that man is in the final weeks of his life. He’d mentioned your film in the past. I thought meeting you would bring him a few minutes of joy amid his pain. I never considered that using you. Besides, if you recall, I didn’t plan that visit. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

  “And that makes it look better? If it was spontaneous, doesn’t that indicate you’re taking me for granted?”

  Stop, Del, before you regret this.

  Felicia made an unsuccessful attempt to disguise her disgust at his latest comment. “You know full well that’s not what it was. Can’t you see I don’t care about that part of your life? Those achievements of yours—I celebrate them because they’re important to you, but they don’t define you.”

  “Surely you can understand why it might appear otherwise. How many others know about your fabulous boyfriend, or significant other, or whatever they call us at our age?”

  “I haven’t told a soul we’re dating, and you know that. I’ve respected you from day one. I didn’t even recognize you on day one!”

  “Like hell you didn’t.” But even Del knew what she’d said was true.

  Shaking her head, Felicia sealed her lips tight and refused to face him. She stared at the dashboard instead. Del watched her eyes glisten. It pricked his heart.

  The couple sat in silence for a minute. Del heard Felicia swallow, the tangled kind that occurs when someone tries to contain their throbbing pain.

  She still wouldn’t look at him.

  “Maybe I overestimated you, Del.” Del detected the hurt that resided in her whisper. And a timbre of finality, which didn’t bode well for the two of them.

  “Maybe so.” His jaw tightened. He refused to back down.

  At last, she turned to him again. Beyond the plea in her eyes, her face remained stone, a cross between pain and anger.

  “I love you, Del. I love you for who you are,” she said, her voice still soft. Soft and wounded. “But I can’t do this. Not with someone who doesn’t trust me.”

  And with that, she fixed her sight straight ahead, staring through the windshield. Her eyes had turned raw. Del could tell it took every inch of her will to resist shedding tears.

  Del didn’t know much in life, but he’d always known he was fucked up. And he’d been happy that way, until he met the woman who sat beside him. The woman he was afraid to love.

  He felt ashamed but didn’t know what to say. He’d never found himself in a predicament like this. He’d never fallen in love until now. And that left him confused.

  When Felicia spoke again, an edge emerged in her voice. “Do you have anything else to say?”

  He didn’t have a clue what to say.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then I think maybe you should go home, Del.”

  He started to reach for her, but she remained rigid and wouldn’t allow their eyes to meet. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then returned her focus to the church building ahead and squinted. She’d planted her hands on the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she gripped it.

  When Del pulled the door handle, it sounded twice its normal volume.

  Without a word, Del climbed out of the car and closed the door with care.

  With one last glance through the passenger window, he caught sight of the only woman he’d loved.

  The woman he’d managed to cut. Just by being himself.

  Felicia. Marilyn. Himself.

  How many more lives could Del Corwyn disrupt before spring ended?

  Yet why couldn’t he let go? Why did fame feel like an addiction to him?

  He climbed into his car, stuck his key into the ignition, then halted.

  On second thought…

  He retrieved his cell phone. Sadness, frustration—whatever he felt, he planned to defy it. Del Corwyn would not be a pushover.

  “Arnie, it’s Del,” he said when his agent answered. “Call Bernie Schulman. Tell him we’ve got a deal.” Film rights, soundtrack rights, distribution rights, a plum comeback role for Del. Hands down, the best offer.

  Arnie, no doubt, had calculated all the deal’s perks and realized, when it came to commission, he would strike the biggest payday of his career. A grin was evident in his voice.

  “Del Corwyn,” he replied, “you’re my hero.”

  PART THREE

  THE MISFITS

  CHAPTER 61

  CAMERA BULBS flashed. The area was packed with women in designer gowns and men in tuxedos. Video cameras and reporters holding microphones dotted the crowd.

  To Del, the evening’s energy was palpable. He hadn’t experienced this in more than forty years. As if that weren’t enough to get people buzzing, he and his date would, without a doubt, be the most talked-about couple at this year’s Academy Awards.

  When their limousine door opened, Nora stepped out first and waved to fans who cheered from the sidelines. Dressed in a green, unconventional Armani gown that shimmered in the sunlight, she had attempted to straddle the line between glamour and her own striking personality. She wore her raven hair up, which exposed her elegant, creamy white neck, around which she’d adorned a long, silky scarf.

  Little did she know, the following day, critics would balk at her attire and label her the ceremony’s worst-dressed attendee. Del thought she looked gorgeous.

  But more than Nora’s attire, critics would chatter about that night’s unexpected May-December pairing with Del Corwyn, setting the grapevine afire with speculation.

  Emerging from the limo, Del stood beside his date on the red carpet, where he rested his hand upon the small of Nora’s back. Her muscles felt tight.

  Oh, the spotlight felt so warm on his face. Del Corwyn couldn’t contain his grin if he tried.

  * * *

  Halfway through the ceremony, murmurs of conversation filled the auditorium during a commercial break. As a Best Actress nominee and the expected winner, program planners had assigned Nora Jumelle an aisle seat in the third row, a spot accessible to roving cameramen, who had taken several reaction shots of her applauding already. Del sat to her left, within the scope of those camera shots, too.

  Del leaned over to Nora and whispered into her ear. “Looks like your category is next. Your big moment. Are you ready?”

  Though she responded with a nod, Nora couldn’t stifle the queasiness in her stomach. She had rehearsed her acceptance speech too many times to count and still wasn’t satisfied with it. But she couldn’t do anything about that now.

  The anticipation had gotten to her, but in a positive way. The distinction overwhelmed her. Gratitude filled her heart. And although she wouldn’t admit it to anybody, she had bought into the frenzy. This acceptance from her peers meant everything to her.

  A place to fit. Nora Jumelle—Nora Tasmyn—had longed for that her entire life. To know she mattered. Tonight, she would matter to someone.

  Within a few minutes, the commercial break ended, and the attendees applauded as the host welcomed the prior year’s Best Actor winner to the stage. Nora’s gut flipped. She gripped the armrests of her seat and took a deep breath. She tried to visualize herself at peace, sitting
in the lotus position on a beach in Antigua.

  The actor starting announcing the nominees in alphabetical order. Nora was third on the list. When he announced her name, she fought to retain her composure and offered a smile amid the applause. Like all nominees who preceded her, Nora pretended not to notice a video cameraman standing in the aisle, shooting live footage of her face as she awaited the actor at the podium to break the seal and announce the winner’s name. She began to perspire, which she hoped the camera shot didn’t reveal.

  Del gave her hand a squeeze. That helped calm her nerves.

  When the actor finished reading from the teleprompter, he lifted the mystery envelope.

  “And the Oscar goes to…”

  With that, he unsealed the envelope and removed a solitary card. Nora’s destiny was engraved on that stiff, oversized piece of cardboard. Although the winner of this category was considered a shoo-in, the actor turned astute, teasing the audience with a twist of his lips as he prolonged, for a few ticks of the clock, his status as the only individual in the room who knew the winner’s identity officially.

  Nora fought to breathe, her stomach unsettled, an emotional shroud upon her heart despite the joyous occasion.

  The actor swept the crowd into his gaze.

  “…Charlize Theron!”

  The dark-horse nominee.

  Stunned, Nora’s limbs morphed into a state of paralysis. Then, remembering the broadcast would capture the immediate reactions of all five nominees in a split screen until the winner rose from her seat, Nora summoned her most gracious smile and applauded the winner. But the rejection sliced through the center of her heart. Not disappointment over the loss of an award, but the pain of the little girl she thought was no longer alive inside her. As it turned out, Nora Tasmyn had attended the Academy Awards, after all.

  Once the cameraman moved on—which took him an eternity—Nora closed her eyes. Darkness settled into her soul.

  Del rested his forehead against hers.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear. Rather, it would have been a whisper, but he needed to shout for her to hear him over the applause that erupted throughout the auditorium at the unexpected development.