Only Good With You

by Zoey Kinsman

  * * * *

  The next morning I woke up for the first time in a long while feeling somewhat refreshed. I’d let go for love. I’d done it willingly. No one had coerced me. I’d given love freely and expected nothing in return. Life would go on no matter how injured I was inside. I had loved enough to let go, and if I kept reminding myself of that fact, I would someday be okay. Those were the justifications of the day.

  The fifty-four messages would have to wait for a day when I could read them and not be affected. I would download them to my computer and leave them there for that day.

  Today was about getting back to work. The work would steady me and push me forward. Getting back into my routine would provide the support I needed to make it. I grabbed a smoothie on the way to the gym for my regular morning yoga class. Getting on that mat felt good, but only until the instructor dimmed the lights and asked us to start with a morning meditation. When I closed my eyes, I saw his beautiful face smiling at me. Opening my eyes quickly, I noticed that the tears had returned rather abruptly. It was a crying jag. Rolling up my mat, I left the room as fast as I could so no one would see the water teaming from my eyes, from my soul. What the fuck was I going to do now? I sat in the change room crying again, not caring who stared. I’d try it again tomorrow. I wasn’t giving up on myself. When I could compose myself, I dressed and went straight to the office.

  I got in before Trish. My chair still had his scent on it. Maybe it was a message from him, saying that he was still with me, always with me. When I finally opened up my computer there were dozens of unread emails. It would take a while to go through them all. Right at the top of the list was one from Paul Wickham. The subject line read: Please speak to me. I moved it to another folder. Still not ready, Mr. Wickham. You’re going to have to wait till I can speak to you, if ever.

  There was a box of Kleenex on my desk. Good thing, I was going through it now. Was there a pill to stop hurting and remembering? Oh, yeah, drugs. Now I got it. They were numbing agents. Well, I was not going down that road, even though a little blow or pot might have come in handy. Even old folks liked to feel numb sometimes. That thought made me laugh out loud in between my sobs. After all, wasn’t it an age thing that kept us apart in the end?

  Trish walked into my office and found me with my chair turned toward the wall, crying uncontrollably.

  “Anne, I’m here. I’m here.” She ran to hug me. I stood and held on.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to make it, but I have to try. I loved him enough to let him go…I loved him enough, Trish. But I’m only good with him.” Remembering that line we shared brought the tears back fiercely this time. The pain wasn’t letting go. The hurt was brutal and unrelenting. The wound that I was working so hard to heal was opening up again.

  “Talk to me, Anne…get it all out.” She had brought me my favorite Starbuck’s coffee. It was warm and comforting.

  I told her the whole story about him and Valerie and their history. She knew most of it from following him on social media. But she thought it was history. I explained that from what I saw, to him it was apparently history but not to her.

  “So you gave him up for another woman?”

  “No, I gave him up because he has unresolved issues with her that he doesn’t want to deal with, and because she can give him everything I can’t.”

  “What are you talking about? She can’t give him you! That’s what he really wants.”

  “And what about down the road when he realizes he could have had children and a family life with her? Will he come to resent me? I couldn’t take that away from him. He deserves the best life possible.”

  “Ugh, are you serious? He’s madly in love with you. You are his best life possible.”

  “Maybe I’m his best possible life now, but not in the long run. I wish I was fifteen years younger and could do the life he should have, but I’m not. I would end up not being enough.”

  The reality of those comments brought hurt again. I had to stop justifying my decision and learn to live with it.

  “You are enough, and let’s just suppose that in ten years he wanted more…you know, that’s called life. But what you’ve done is denied both of you a chance to experience true love, no matter how long it lasted. It could have lasted forever. Now you’ll never know.” She started to cry, too.

  We cried together.

  “Look, I might have felt the same way as you, but you didn’t see them together. There was something there. They weren’t openly romantic, but they definitely had feelings for each other. He called it friendship and she called it love. I don’t know or really understand it, but I do know for certainty that he has to figure it out. I gave him the space and freedom to do it.”

  “There is no arguing with you. You’re impossible. You’ve got it all reasoned out, but you know you could be wrong, right?”

  “If I thought I was wrong, I wouldn’t have left.” Wiping the last round of tears from my face, I offered her some Kleenex for hers. There was nothing left to say.

  “His agent wants to talk to you. He was adamant that you call.”

  “I’ll do it later when I get my bearings.”

  “So where do you want to start?”

  “Just throw me into it. I need to work.”

  She did just that. I was so far behind. She had kept up as much as she could, but it really was a two-person operation.

  In the end, I didn’t call his agent that day. It was too much. Fuck him, he would have to wait, too.

  * * * *

  Paul didn’t give up those first two days I was back. But by day three of my return, the text messages stopped, as did the emails. Perhaps it was self-preservation for him, too.

  The crying jags were less frequent, but not less intense. Any little thing could set me off. But slowly I was able to make it through the day, working away feverishly to get caught up and produce some money-making contracts, networking and speaking to old colleagues. It felt rewarding. As it always did, it filled me with a sense of satisfaction. Looking at the positive, I pushed myself forward, letting each day heal me a bit more.

  After a week back, I did call his agent. Maybe it was a bad move, but professionally it wouldn’t reflect well on me not to return the call.

  “Hey Anne, how are you doing? I understand some intense shit went down in Belfast. I have a broken man, both physically and emotionally, to deal with.” Spoken like an agent looking to make a buck as opposed to an agent who was also a friend.

  “What do you want to know, Marty?”

  “What went down?”

  “Nothing much to speak of. He needs someone his own age, and he doesn’t need the scandal now. He needs to focus only on healing and getting his career in order.”

  “You’re right about that. I told him that it wouldn’t be good for him to be with you, but he wouldn’t listen. He was in love and that’s all that made sense to him.”

  “So how is it looking for him? Are you going to be able to secure some other work for him when he’s good to go again? You know the show wrote him out.”

  “Yeah, they’re assholes! Well, they are paying for it, trust me.” Oh, I did trust him. “I already have people lined up and ready to work with him when he’s good to go. But don’t worry about him financially. I made sure he’d be okay till he’s physically ready.”

  Of course you did, you prick.

  “That’s great, I’m happy to hear you’ve got his career under control. He’s a brilliant talent, and the accident shouldn’t hurt him more than it already has.”

  “Well, I think you’ve hurt him more, to be frank, but I get why you did it, and I have to say that you did the right thing for him, even if he doesn’t see it now.”

  “Thanks, Marty, got to go, but keep in touch, pleasure speaking with you.”

  “Pleasure is all mine, ciao for now, bela.”

  Ugh, what a sleaze ball. But he was good at his job and he had Paul’s back, even if it was money motivated.

  The nex
t day I also had to deal with a text message from Valerie. She must have snuck my number off Paul’s cell when he wasn’t looking.

  She told me that Paul blamed her for sending me away. He was mad as hell at her and wouldn’t even talk to her. She said she tried to reason with him and told him it had nothing to do with her, but he wasn’t buying it. He wasn’t giving her a chance. She begged me to speak to him and tell him she had nothing to do with my leaving. I didn’t answer her. I left. That was enough. Deal with it, bitch!

  * * * *

  I had been back for two weeks when I made the decision to leave.

  There were too many times when the pain was still unbearable and unending. When I thought that healing was happening, there proved to be no mercy for my aching and tarnished soul. Everything was muddied now. Instead of feeling better, clarity was lost on me, and I started to question myself. I reckoned a fresh start might be in order.

  During one of my calls with a New York colleague, he told me about a collective of agents that had their own practice, but shared space and admin costs to save money. He said it worked out really well until one of the agents was growing too big and needed more space than they could offer. He said they had an office available and inquired if I knew of anyone who could take it.

  I was going.

  It would be an affiliate office. Trish would run L.A. and I’d run New York. We would become fifty/fifty partners, both agreeing that she would pay back her portion of the shares slowly. She was only too happy to take it on. I helped her move into my office on my final day, as we both prepped the new admin assistant. I would start small in New York and add staff as needed. I was going to throw myself into it.

  Besides, there would be no more having to deal with all of his smells everywhere, not having to see him in my mind’s eye all over L.A. or imagine him in my bed. I put my house on the market, lock, stock, and furniture. I wanted no reminders except that one piece of clothing of his that I’d taken home from Belfast, and of course all the pictures on my cell that I couldn’t erase. My work computer was coming with me, too. It also had a few special reminders.

  I took an apartment in Manhattan close to the new office. It wasn’t cheap, but it made me want to work harder. All my personal belongings were boxed up, and Trish would make sure they got to New York. I ordered a new bed from Pottery Barn, and it was due to arrive the day after I arrived in New York. I would sleep in a hotel the first night. It was all so very organized. There was much to do, and I reassured myself that there was much to look forward to.

  Just one more long plane ride and I’d be free. At least that’s how I rationalized this big move.

  New York was so different than what I was used to, and it would take some time to adjust, but in Manhattan there was a strong literary vibe that was so welcoming. In the beginning I just walked the streets like a regular tourist and took it all in. As the hustle and bustle of the city became more familiar to me, I started to feel more at home. Besides, the holidays were fast approaching, and Christmas in New York was just so unique.

  Although I felt acutely alone, having left all my friends back in L.A., the city’s excitement kept me going. I went to stage plays and movies with colleagues from the new office. They were so kind and welcoming. And then there was the issue of settling into a new job and a new place. My days were full.

  By mid-December I was fully entrenched in my new life. The conglomerate of like-minded people made it easy for me to fit in. It felt right. The pain was easing. Now his memory was a blessing.

  It didn’t hurt as much when I thought about him. I even let myself look up information about him on the Internet, but I wasn’t as good at finding it as Trish. When she knew I was ready, she would send me the headlines. He had recovered well, was looking at new parts in movies, and was back in L.A., continuing his rehab. He had sent out a special message to all his fans, thanking them for their support and for sticking with him. That was probably Marty’s idea. I clicked on the link Trish sent and there he was in the flesh, talking and smiling for the camera. There was a touch of emptiness behind his eyes. I let it go.

  There was no talk about a girlfriend or Valerie. He appeared very single. It made me sad. I’d left so he could move on. Maybe Valerie wasn’t the right one for him in the end. With time, someone would steal his heart and give him what I couldn’t. I had to believe it would happen. But I didn’t want to see those pictures. I already knew what he looked like when he was in love.

  And so it would go. I worked and found a touch of joy here and there.

  Chapter 13

  On Christmas Eve, people were packing up early to head out to family celebrations. I usually spent the holidays with Trish and her mom back in L.A. Even though I had invitations from office friends, this year was different. At least I thought I had to make it different, since this was a new start. I’d do the “alone” things I enjoyed most, like lighting my little tree in the apartment, eating take-out turkey dinner, and watch It’s A Wonderful Life. Perhaps it really was a wonderful life.

  I decided to work a bit later than most, because there really was no rush to get home. At around four o’clock, as I started to put things away in the credenza behind my desk, I heard someone enter my office. It was commonplace for workers to walk right in and out of each other’s office every day, seeking a second opinion or just wanting to compare notes.

  “Hey, Merry Christmas. Hold on, I’ll be right with you. Tell me how I can help while I’m putting my stuff away…”

  “Will you write my memoir? How I found the love of my life…how she let me go, but my love for her wouldn’t leave. So I had to find her and tell her that she is the one, and I’m only good with her. I am only my true self when I am with her. Can you help me tell her, tell the story of me with her?” His voice cracked, and he couldn’t go on any further.

  Taking a minute to breathe, I slowly turned my chair back around to see Paul standing there all gorgeous, statuesque, and beautiful, with those steely blue eyes that pleaded with me to acquiesce. His suit matching the eyes was deep and rich in color, and over it he wore a camel colored winter coat. After my initial first impression, shock overtook me.

  “Will you please talk to me?”

  I nodded agreement.

  “Did you hear me Anne?”

  I nodded agreement.

  “Will you please have and hold me forever?”

  I nodded agreement.

  “Come here then.”

  I was in his arms in seconds, wailing and sobbing like a baby, trembling and crumbling from all the months apart filled with torturous anguish. My arms found his waist and clung to him, my tear stained face messing up that fabulous suit, but he didn’t seem to care. His own tears fell freely between us. That erotic scent of want and desire that was raw and innocent enveloped us.

  “Help me, please…please help me, Paul. I am only good with you.”

  “Love doesn’t have an age attached to it, Anne, it is timeless. Understand that our love is right, because it is timeless. You’ve been looking at it through the wrong lens, my love.”

  Then he lifted me onto my desk and we kissed passionately, as if the world was unfolding her wisdom before us. Love escaped from my mouth to his, and his reciprocated. There was no greater feeling than knowing that love was not about possession nor age, but more about appreciation. We chose each other.

  I reached to touch his face and hair, and then realized that his locks were gone. He had cut all of it off. My hand traced the new shorter haircut. It actually really suited him well. He looked even younger and more hip. He watched me looking him over.

  “You like?”

  “Very much. Why?”

  “Like you, I needed a change. I’m doing some modeling work now to keep me busy till I can work again. Thus this outfit, too.” He twirled to show off the look.

  “You look perfect to me in anything.”

  He kissed me once more, but I couldn’t get enough of him.

  “I’m not leaving, An
ne, no matter what you say or what kind of so-called logic you throw at me. Know that I am not ever leaving you or letting you leave me. It’s bullshit. We belong together. We are better together. I’ve come for you and you will be mine.”

  I nodded agreement. Then I smiled from pure happiness.

  I looked around to see if he had a cane with him for walking, but there wasn’t one. He had made it all the way back. I always knew he would.

  “Look…” He pointed out the window. “It’s snowing wildly outside…it’s a beautiful white Christmas just for us. The heavens are happy for us.”

  “You are so romantic, Paul…so romantic.” Pressing my body back up and into him, inhaling his essence, I could have stayed right there locked in his arms forever.

  “I’ve got the limo downstairs waiting for us. Let’s go back to your place and make all those plans we were meant to always make. Forever starts today for us, too.”

  The meaning wasn’t lost on me.

  “Forever.”

  He went and got my coat and helped me on with it, and then I grabbed my stuff as he took my hand and escorted me to the limo. He climbed in and then took my hand and helped me in, the same way he always did. Both covered in snow from the few minutes exposed to the elements, we didn’t care. We were together, and it overtook all senses, mixed and meshing. We found each other wet and wonderful, no longer so wounded, but healed by the other’s curing touch.

  Groping, looking for a way in to feel flesh, throwing my hair back, I invited him to touch me wherever he wanted. I was his unabashedly, wanting to only be with him at any cost.

  “Soon, baby…I will make you mine all over again. No more leaving me…no more.”

  “No more, my love. I am yours…you own my heart, and if you break it, I will die, that is my truth. I’m just telling you that this love is greater than the two of us. I barely survived leaving you in Belfast. If you are here, then you know it’s for always.”