“The doctor’s going to come in here in a bit and tell you that you’re wrist is as good as fucked. I figured I’d tell you myself.”
I looked down at my wrist. It was in a thick cast, suspended up in the air. “How bad is it, sir?”
“Nerves are all shot and you probably won’t be able to move it much, if at all—ever. I figured you could maybe tape your fingers down into a fist and punch with it, so I convinced them not to cut it off.”
I was too high on morphine to care—or maybe I was still too worried about what Lyon did to Ashley.
“Your tour’s over, Daniels. They’re sending you home. They’ll keep you here for a night or two, then transfer you to a hospital in Washington.”
“I figured as much.”
“You were a good soldier. We’re going to miss you over at UA-14.”
“Let’s face it. No one’s going to miss me, sir,” I said.
“Okay, well I’ll miss you. It was nice having someone who wasn’t afraid to lay down the law and get their hands dirty to get things done. I get in trouble if I yell too loud at someone. You know, I got a call from one of the soldier’s moms the other day? She told me to be nicer to her son, that he ‘has an anxiety disorder.’” He shook his head and laughed.
“Who was it?”
“I can’t tell you that or I’d lose my job.” He smiled. “Sorry about your wrist. On the bright side, you’re alive. I unfortunately can’t say the same for the other guys. I’ve got a bird to catch. When I’m back on home soil, we should meet up, grab a coffee.”
“Sir, no offence, but I’m straight.”
His face became red. “What are you implying, Corporal?”
“C’mon, Major. Just admit it—between you and me. Let’s face it, it’s not like I’ll ever see any of the guys ever again.”
His face became even redder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Corporal. Though, I will say, I didn’t mind the view out of my office window.”
It took me a second, and then I laughed and cringed at the same time, realizing the outpost’s gym was outside of his office window. “Ew—that’s too much information, sir.”
“Get some rest, Daniels.” He stood tall and saluted me before turning to leave. He stopped in the doorway. “Oh, I almost forgot. Miss King left a note for you before she left. It’s on your bedside table. Goodbye, Gage.”
“Goodbye, sir.”
He left. I opened the letter from Ashley.
Gage,
I wanted to see you in person before I left, but they told me I couldn’t.
The doctors told me it would be a few days before you came home. I was offered a role on a big movie. I’ll be gone for a long time.
I can’t think of an easy way to say this, but I don’t want you to wait for me. I don’t think that would be fair. I mean, it’s like you said, we barely know each other.
I’m glad we met, and I’m glad you’re okay after the accident. I hope you get better soon. I won’t forget you, Gage.
Ashley
The letter made me sad, then frustrated, then angry. I knew Lyon had something to do with her sudden change of heart. But I couldn’t prove it, and now there was no way to find out. Even if I found a way back to the outpost, Lyon wouldn’t talk. And by the time I tracked down Ashley in America, she would be gone, shooting her big movie.
Despite the morphine, the center of my chest ached. Lyon was right. Beating me up wouldn’t have hurt nearly as bad as losing Ashley.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Stepping onto American soil was both relieving and surreal. That constant, lingering fear of death seemed to vanish all at once. But before I could breathe, I was swarmed by a small army of paparazzi, excited fans, and flashing cameras. My manager had foreseen the pandemonium and hired a limousine and a set of bodyguards to take me from the airport to her office.
Exhausted from the trip, I asked the driver to take me home, but he insisted that seeing Brit was urgent, so I slept in the backseat of the limo instead.
It was comfortable with its ergonomic, heated leather seats and tons of foot room. In my week in Iraq, I’d gotten used to the cramped, uncomfortable metal bench seating inside of the Humvees.
I fell asleep. The driver woke me up with a nudge when we were outside of the Morgan & Sanders talent agency building.
Brit sprung from her seat and hugged me as I stepped into her office. “Oh God, am I happy to see your beautiful face,” she said. “Never again. I should have never sent you out on that stupid trip. Never again, I promise.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I said. I was still half asleep from my doze-off in the limo.
Brit’s eyes were red, bloodshot, sitting atop heavy, dark bags. By the looks of it, she hadn’t slept a wink since I’d left for Iraq. Her desk was a mess of paperwork and empty cans of energy drinks. “Have a seat. It’s been a rough morning. We fired Anthony, but he didn’t go without a fight. The security guards literally had to drag him out of the office. Turns out, it was him who leaked your photo-shoot. And honestly, we weren’t going to fire him. Let’s face it—had the shoot not leaked, you wouldn’t be blowing up right now. But then we found out he was stealing tens of thousands of dollars from the company, so we had no choice.” She spoke quickly, as if she’d just shot all of those cans of energy drinks directly into her veins using a needle and her belt.
“I’m happy to see you, Brit, but I’m exhausted, and—”
“—Yeah, yeah, I know,” she interrupted. “Alejandro is here, in LA. He was in town for meetings. He delayed his flight back down to Chile. He stayed in town to meet with you. He asked me to call him as soon as your plane got in.”
Alejandro Florentine, one of the most important living filmmakers, was in town just to see me. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
“I’ll call him now and let him know you’re here. We’ll go meet him together.” Brit picked up the phone without even waiting for my approval.
I could hardly keep my mind focussed on Brit’s rapid-fire speaking, never mind meet with a famous movie director. “I think I need to get some sleep, Brit.”
“Nonsense, he’ll understand. It’s not an audition, after all. He just wants to meet with you, talk details. The part is pretty much yours already.”
“Right, but I wouldn’t mind a quick shower—”
“—Don’t worry about that. Hello?” Brit turned away from me with the phone to her ear. “Yes, this is Brit Sanders at Morgan & Sanders Talent Agency. I’m calling about Ashley King… Yes… Yes, she just got back into town, can you let him know? Uh-huh... Yes, I understand. No, I completely understand. She’ll be there. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and turned back to me. “Okay, your meeting’s in forty-five minutes. Isn’t this exciting.”
The butterflies were bouncing frantically around my stomach now. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’re going to meet him at his hotel, the Ritz-Carlton. We’ll have a driver take you there.”
“I thought you were coming.”
“They said that Alejandro just wants to meet with you.”
I was on the verge of a sleep-deprived panic attack. I’d only slept for a restless couple of hours since our helicopter was hit by the RPG. My nerves were still shot. The last thing I wanted to do was walk into a potentially life-changing meeting with a world-famous director.
But at the same time, I just wanted the meeting to be over with. I knew that, if Brit told me to go home and sleep for a few hours, I would have just lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind mulling over every possible scenario, every single question Alejandro might have for me. It was better that I was getting the meeting done with before the stress of it all sent me into an anxiety-ridden paralysis. Rip off the Band-Aid.
I’d walked past the Ritz-Carlton a thousand times. But I’d never been beyond the parking lot where they only parked their clients’ most expensive cars, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Bentleys. The valet took the rest to the hotel’s underground
parking, where no one could see them. God forbid someone see an Audi parked out front.
“Miss King? Follow me.” A very strong man with a black suit and a rugged face led me from the limousine, across the lobby to one of the hotel’s many elevators. In the elevator, he swiped a hotel access card and pressed the topmost button, which read ‘P’ for penthouse. It turned green.
The man said nothing as he stared at the closed metal doors.
I said nothing either, feeling my stomach sink lower as our elevator rose higher. I was embarrassed by my outfit, the same outfit I’d worn on the plane ride that took me from the Baghdad airport, all the way to the LAX, black yoga pants and a light, baggy sweater.
The elevator door opened directly into the penthouse suite, which was nearly as large and open as the hotel’s lobby. The room had its own bar, more televisions than I cared to count, and a perimeter of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over all of Los Angeles.
“Make yourself comfortable,” the rugged man said, speaking for the first time since he led me out from the limo. “I’ll let Mr Florentine know you’re here.” He walked down the large space and around a corner, out of sight.
I stepped into the room. One could get lost in a space like that. The vaulted ceiling was lined with mirrors. The walls were indistinguishable from the tall sliding doors that separated the main area from the suite’s many bedrooms and bathrooms. One end of the suite was an indoor swimming pool, which extended out to the large balcony, becoming an outdoor pool as well.
I took a seat on one of the many couches and waited.
Alejandro emerged from a back room, dressed in a red velvet robe, panama pants, and slippers. “Miss King. I’m so glad you were able to meet.” He had a radiance about him, standing tall, confident, smiling. I’d seen him in hundreds of photos and watched his Oscar acceptance speeches. Now, he was standing in front of me, opening his arms and inviting me in for a hug.
I sprung to my feet but instantly felt small in his presence. He wasn’t particularly tall, and he was by no means fat, but his presence was mighty. When he hugged me, I could smell the money emanating off of his body—tones of rich leather, mahogany, expensive scotch, cigar smoke. He kissed me on the cheek. I opened my mouth to speak, to say hello, but I was inexplicably overwhelmed. Everything about Alejandro was surreal.
“Please sit,” he said, motioning towards a couch that faced the window. I did.
I could see my face was red through a mirror across the room. “Sorry if I’m coming across as rude. My plane from Iraq just landed a couple of hours ago. I haven’t had a chance to settle back in yet.”
“Of course, of course!” His voice was a roar of excitement. His Spanish accent came through thick. “Thank you for meeting me before I had to run off back to Chile. Production starts soon. There is still lots to do. Lots to do!”
“It’s my pleasure.”
He took a seat next to me and threw one of his arms over my shoulder. He pointed out to the city. “Hollywood,” he said.
“It’s a beautiful view.”
“It’s okay. You want to see a beautiful view, come visit my house in Salamanca. You’ll never want to leave—the way the old buildings light up at night and the water shines gold.”
“It sounds lovely.”
“It is. I assure you. Can I offer you a drink?” he asked.
“I’m okay for now, thank you.”
“There are a lot of cities in America, but Los Angeles is special. There’s a lot of power in Los Angeles. It’s the only place on the planet where peasants can become kings. I started with nothing, Miss King. I struggled for many years, and then I came here, and I fought for my place at the throne. Now, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. Have you dreamed of being a princess, Miss King?”
“I guess so, when I was a kid.”
“May I call you Ashley?”
“Sure.”
He inched his body in closer and pulled my body in tighter. “Ashley,” he said. “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely upfront with you and your agent about this project. I feel as though I’ve deceived you, somewhat, and I want to make things very clear.”
His voice lowered and his beaming excitement became quiet and serious, as if he was about to tell me some dangerous government secret.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I still want you to lead my film, be the face on all my posters. More than anything, that’s what I want.” He looked back down at the city. “All of this, right now, it’s all mine. For how long, I don’t know. Dynasties come and dynasties go. One day, there will be a new king. For now, the throne is mine. Ashley, I want to share that throne with you. I want you to be my princess—my queen.”
A chill overwhelmed my body. His arm suddenly felt heavy across my shoulders, too heavy to move. The leather, mahogany, scotch, and cigar odour that emanated from his body suddenly smelled cheap, fake, like some overpriced ‘fake-man’ cologne.
“I know this sounds forward, but I saw your photo the other day, and I knew in my heart that you were going to be mine. I felt a connection, a connection I cannot explain, Ashley. And something tells me, you feel it too. In my heart, I know you feel it too.”
The hairs stood on the back of my neck. I wanted to throw his arm off of me and jump up from the couch, but to do that meant throwing away my big break. I remained paralyzed, just like I was when I was on the ground in that little Iraqi town, when the man bombarded me for an autograph.
“In my country, we say, fue amor a primera vista, fue un flechazo. Love hits like an arrow, through my heart. We will make beautiful movies together. We will conquer the world.” He was prepared to give me everything I’d ever wanted—my big break, times one thousand. I wouldn’t just be getting role offers, I would be able to take whatever role I wanted with ease.
In my mind, I saw Gage’s face. I saw us sitting on a couch in a small home, in a small Washington town. The sink in the bathroom was leaking and the walls were thin, not insulated. We had three blankets covering us, keeping us warm because we couldn’t afford to crank the heat. Gage held me close, and he was warm. We didn’t have much. But we were happy.
Alejandro was handing me what I’d asked for, but now I didn’t want it. When I was a child, I used to love jumping through the sprinkler. Every weekend, I would beg my mom to set up the sprinkler so I could jump through it. One day, shortly after my eleventh birthday, I went outside and set the sprinkler up myself. I watched it rotate back and forth but suddenly had no desire to jump through it.
Alejandro stood up and began to pace the room. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so forward. I understand this must be very overwhelming to take in.”
“I—I’m sorry. I’m really just looking to act.”
“You must think about the offer. Think about it very seriously. And make sure you look very deep into your heart before you make any decision, because I know you feel it to. I know you feel the arrow. Fue amor a primera vista.”
The image of Gage’s face remained at the forefront of my mind. “I’m sorry, Mr Florentine. I’m going to have to pass. I should probably be going now.”
“This makes me very sad,” he said, turning and looking back down on Los Angeles. “But my offer still stands. Search into your heart and I know you’ll feel it too. In Spain, they say that souls are connected. Almas gemelas.”
The man in the black suit said nothing as he took me down the elevator and led me back to the limousine.
Saying no to Alejandro meant more than losing my big break. It probably meant losing any possibility of breaking out in Hollywood. Alejandro was the biggest name in the industry. When he said “Jump,” the town jumped. When he said “Don’t cast the little brunette,” the town didn’t cast the little brunette.
I’m sure Alejandro was a nice man. I’m sure he would have given me everything, made my life into a fantasy, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted to be with Gage. Sitting in the back of that limo, my mind mulled over scena
rio after scenario, and only when Gage was present did I crack a smile.
“What’s your home address, Miss King?” the driver asked.
“Take me to the airport, please.”
“You got it.”
I think Alejandro was right. Souls are connected. I could feel it between Gage and I. My heart was pulling me, telling me I was making the right choice.
I didn’t feel nervous about Brit finding out I lost the role, and I wasn’t stressed out about my name being blacklisted from the industry. I felt hopeful, excited to see Gage’s face once again. And whatever would happen after that, would happen—and it would happen with Gage at my side.
GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 15
