Five for Forever

by Ames, Alex

  Louise opened her eyes again and saw the Roots starting up “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” She picked up her agent’s call first.

  “Fantastic! That was brilliant. Your videos will go viral—both the roast and also the Fallon piece. Awesome. You’ll reach new target groups. Speaking of which, I happen to have picked up the right project from the stack that we could utilize with viral fame and game.” Izzy Goldfarb and his usual machine-gun style of talking.

  “Izzy, that was terrible—like a head transplant mixed with time travel,” Louise said.

  “What do you mean? It was hilarious. Both the Madge Hardy reel and Fallon’s retort.”

  “But that wasn’t me in those videos. That was a young girl, fresh to Hollywood, learning steps. Not what I am today.”

  “Lou, baby, don’t be a sore loser. You were young and adorable. Adorable! Any news is good news. Aren’t you curious about the project I have in mind?”

  “Do I have a choice not to hear it?”

  “A mother-daughter body-switch comedy.”

  “I fear the worst, but for now I hope that I’m the daughter and Meryl Streep plays my mother?”

  Izzy stopped a second, confused. “Meryl Streep as your mother? Very funny—don’t be silly. You don’t need to cover the same target group twice. No, Miley Cyrus is the daughter and you are the mother.”

  Watershed day: I am offered my first mother role!

  “I have Josh calling on the other line. Have to go, Iz! Talk to you tomorrow.” Louise closed her eyes again.

  “Is that a no?” was the last thing she heard Izzy calling out.

  She took Josh’s call.

  “I haven’t laughed that hard for a long time, Lou,” were his first words.

  “Why are you all so cruel?” Louise sighed and switched off the TV. “Izzy is high on ratings and social-media indicators, and the USA had a good late-night laugh.”

  “Come on, we all have these reels in our closets. You should have seen some of my first stuff. I might even publish it myself, come to think of it. You set a new trend.”

  Louise switched off the lights in the living room and went to the garden bay window, the city shimmering below her. Usually the city lights felt like a companion; now they looked far away.

  “Are you really concerned about this, Lou?” Josh asked when she had stayed silent.

  “You know, I am. Not sure why I’m not above these jokes, actually. Am I ten miles high and rising so that I can’t relate anymore? Not even to my own past?”

  “Lou, go to bed before you drown in your self-pity. Hang up the phone. See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

  She ended the call, caught herself staring at the caller list, but then turned again to look into the dark garden toward the city that had made her famous.

  four

  An Unexpected Trip

  Louise

  Louise’s Madge Hardy roast and the Fallon skit were the talk of the morning on the set, accompanied with a lot of backslapping and descriptions of own sins-of-youth, which made Louise feel a little better. But she was astonished by her negative reaction to those testimonials of her past.

  Roger had a creative brainstorm before lunch and canceled the afternoon shootings, and Louise found herself with a rare hole in her otherwise packed schedule. She was sitting with Josh and Emile over lunch when the production assistant told them the news.

  Emile immediately started browsing through his iPad, which always held a long list of requests, for interviews and various celebrity appearances, but Louise waved him off. “What’s on tonight?” she asked instead.

  “Party at Studio on Sunset, JLo’s fortieth birthday, once more,” Emile said. “Donatella had asked that you wear her new black one.”

  “Cancel it.”

  Emile looked shocked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Louise raised her hand. “I know what Izzy and you are going to say: Every appearance for press and public is another hundred grand in honorary and continues to feed my social-media exposure. But after last night, I . . .” Louise stopped. She was Louise Waters; she didn’t need to explain herself to her assistant.

  Josh saved her with a well-timed interruption. “Twelve hours to spare, sounds like heaven to me.”

  “You want to go home?” Emile asked and speed-dialed the car service to arrange transport and then Izzy to reshuffle the evening.

  “I guess. Maybe I’ll find something spontaneous to do. Actually, Emile, I’ll head to Malibu, not Bel Air. And take the afternoon and evening off yourself.”

  Josh laughed when he saw Emile’s face. “Now, that put you in a spot, right? Got any clue what to do?” He clapped Emile on the back and got up. “If you fancy, Louise, I’ll drive past your house around two o’clock. Send me a text if you want to accompany me to Oxnard.”

  “What’s in Oxnard?”

  “My boat thing?”

  “I thought that was in Portland?”

  “The boat, yes, but the shipbuilder I plan to use to restore the boat resides in Oxnard.”

  “Thanks for the offer, Josh. But no, thanks.”

  The drive to Malibu took them an hour; Emile had gone back to the Bel Air house, while Floris accompanied Louise. During shoots in town, Louise preferred to stay in Bel Air, as the studio commute was much shorter—that or the helicopter from the Malibu helipad—but the house in Malibu had the ocean view and the beach.

  When they arrived, Floris went into the fitness room while Louise tinkered in the kitchen. She had thinking to do. Though she’d had an exceptional career, she had enough self-awareness to know that she had reached the apex. Her last guarantees were already below twenty million dollars. They had done well at the box office, but Louise felt that was due to lack of competition. Louise drank a glass of fresh orange juice from a pitcher the fridge and wondered suddenly how much fresh orange juice had gone to waste in the past because she hadn’t shown up at the Malibu house. Her phone gave a ping.

  Josh. Oxnard adventure? Last chance.

  Louise’s finger lingered over the screen. She had an afternoon off. And the evening. And a fridge full of fresh orange juice. She didn’t know what to do with herself already. And couldn’t envision herself with a book or a movie, or in-house doing chores.

  Another glance at the display. Oxnard adventure? Last chance.

  Sounded like a promise.

  When she hit “yes”, it felt like an accident.

  In 15 came the swift reply.

  Now what do you wear for a trip to Oxnard? Louise thought.

  Josh drove a 1950s Porsche 356, cream white, top down, something you expected a sophisticated movie star to drive. Louise had sun-screened her face and brought a scarf to protect her hair from bleaching and blowing too much. Josh drove within acceptable limits—he enjoyed taking his toy out for a ride—the Tahoe with her bodyguard Floris somewhere behind.

  Josh noticed Louise’s silence. “The blues?”

  “Kind of. At lunch I thought it was a great idea to have a day off without any obligation. But then at home it suddenly felt . . . Well, I’m not sure how it felt.”

  “Adrenaline junkie. When was the last time you had time off and simply stayed home, read a book, watched The Simpsons?”

  “No idea. Ages ago. Five years. Ten. Never?”

  “Been there in my twenties and thirties. Always an excuse not to do nothing.”

  “Why?”

  “My psych lady and I are working on it,” Josh admitted.

  “Has it gotten better?”

  “Yes and no. I picked up hobbies. Like working on this beauty.” Josh patted the wheel. “Did most of the work myself.”

  “I didn’t know you had this practical streak. And you can pick up sailing again. Now that you inherited a boat.”

  “Maybe. Haven’t seen her yet. All I have is a video and pictures, but it didn’t look too good. First let’s hear if the specialists can salvage it.”

  They rode on in silence, the infinite Pacific to the left, sparkling in
the afternoon sunlight.

  “It’s rare to see you so quiet, Lou. Sure you are all right?”

  “Do you think we’re friends?” Louise asked. “No jokes or flippant answer, please.”

  Josh almost gave a We-went-to-bed-once quip but held his tongue and thought about the answer. After a few minutes he said, “No, I don’t think we are.”

  “Hm. Now that was honest,” Louise said. “Still, I decided to spend my first time off in ages with you.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Lou. I enjoy your company, too. I like working with you. And for the short while we were at it, we had great sex, too. But maybe I have a wider definition of friendship.”

  Louise said nothing.

  Josh went on. “A true friend for me is someone who I’d drop everything to help if they were in trouble. No matter the financial consequences, the reactions of others, the press, I’d be there. And that’s why I didn’t answer right away—that’s the reason I think we are not real friends. There would be too many situations where my reaction would be to call someone else to help you. I’d offer advice or resources but no personal help.”

  Louise nodded slowly. It was probably also her way of viewing the topic. She had to think hard about a person in her life for whom she would drop everything. My sister? Not since the last four times she had substance-abuse troubles. I indeed sent someone else, like Josh described.

  “Do you have people in your life you consider friends?” she asked.

  “Two. If at all.”

  “And you think they feel the same way about you?”

  “I think so. Actually, I know. Because they did come through in times of dire need. No questions asked.”

  “You are lucky, Josh.”

  “I think so. I know. And I need to be.”

  The phone’s navigation app directed them into Oxnard’s yacht harbor area, where a sign made out of old boat planks welcomed them to “Flint and Heller Fine Wooden Boats.” The yard held some weather-protected wood storage, a small boat body on a trailer, and a two-story building with large sliding metal-doors that stood open, giving a view into a big workshop and some smaller boats in different stages of construction. A big athletic guy in his midforties—ex-jock from the looks—wearing jeans and an AC/DC shirt greeted them.

  “Hal Heller. An honor to meet you, Josh.”

  “Thanks, Hal. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from Ned McConnaugh in Maine.”

  “Yeah, he told us that your assistant had contacted him. My partner will be right along.”

  “This is Louise.” Josh introduced his companion. “She came along because she’s never seen Oxnard before.”

  “Great to meet you, Louise. Once you’ve seen us, you’ve seen all there is to see in Oxnard. Are you also interested in wooden boats?” Hal didn’t show any recognition.

  “Maybe in pirate movies.” Louise smiled and shook hands.

  “Yeah, those too. Our sign at the yard entrance, that is from a movie, by the way. Remember the big flop, Pirates, that almost killed Gena Davis’s career? It’s from that . . . What do you call it?”

  “A prop. Or set. In case of a boat, both should work.” Josh smiled. “Anywhere to sit down and watch a video?” He held up a memory stick.

  “Yeah, sure, come on up into the office. My partner wants to join.”

  The little entourage drew some curious looks from the staff as they walked through the workshop. One guy in his early twenties who looked like a classic surfer bum stood with a piece of wood in his hand at a screaming machine, mouth agape.

  “Styler, don’t fall into the band saw and splatter the floor!” Hal shouted as they went up the stairs.

  “Waters!” was the only word Styler coughed out.

  “Then go get a drink, but don’t mess up the wood!” Hal replied. Then to Josh, he added, “Never has seen a movie star in person.” Hal nudged Josh, and Louise followed them, giving Styler a wink. The other two workers, a gray-haired Laurel and Hardy pair, laughed and high-fived each other.

  They climbed the stairs and entered the office overlooking the workshop where another guy rose up to meet them. Now . . .

  five

  Universes Collide, Not!

  Rick

  Rick hadn’t had a good day so far. First he had to talk to Styler about his absences and lack of work ethic, again. That had gone well, but it left Rick stressed. Then a planned maintenance for a big yacht coming in from Marina del Rey was postponed at the last minute because the owner had decided to take a longer cruise down the Baja into Mexico. Delayed revenue, direly needed. And Dana had developed a fever that morning and only by sheer luck was Agnes able to pick her up. And two accounts were thirty days overdue, no reaction from their clients. This was as crappy as it got.

  “Let’s see how the movie business goes,” he muttered to himself as he watched Hal from the gallery with Josh Hancock and a blonde woman in jeans and huge sunglasses in tow. Rick saw M&M high-five each other, and Styler looking dumbstruck. At least he had stepped back from the saw. Disaster avoided.

  Hal showed their new clients into the office. “And here is the brains of our operation, Rick Flint. Josh Hancock and . . . what was your name again?”

  “Louise,” the woman said and smiled brilliantly while Rick and she shook hands.

  Rick had to laugh out loud.

  “Are you okay?” Hal asked.

  “No, yes, I am. Just had to think about a commercial I saw last night . . .” Rick said, shaking his head to suppress the laugh.

  Josh started a coughing fit, and Louise grew beet-red. But she caught herself and then had to smile, too. “Those were terrible.”

  Rick held up his hand. “I’m sorry if I offended you. Last night I saw the Jimmy Fallon skit and now you flash that brilliant smile of yours in our office. This is just too much.”

  Hal looked left and right between them, while Rick fetched a cup of water from the cooler to help Josh settle down. “What am I missing here?”

  Louise made a face, and Josh rubbed her back gently. “See, Lou, I told you, people loved yesterday’s reel. You should be proud even of your lows.”

  “Josh is right,” Rick added. “It was a very funny but at the same time a very sweet piece. You must have been scared to death when you delivered the lines.”

  “Hello, can someone please tell me what is going on?” Hal insisted.

  Louise gave Hal a glance and then extended her hand once more. “Nice to meet you Hal, my name is Louise. Louise Waters.”

  His eyes widened, and the jaw went slack. “Ohmygod-ohmygod-ohmygod,” Hal uttered. “You are Louise Waters! I think I am going to faint!” He drank the water intended for Josh. “I am so, so sorry I didn’t recognize you. Meeting one movie star is already too much for me.”

  “No problem. Josh and I are used to that.”

  “Let me tell you,” Hal started, “that for years you’ve been my favorite movie star. I think I have you on VCR, DVD, special editions, Blu-ray, and USB sticks. I love your work. I love you!”

  “Thank you, you are very kind.” Louise took the fandom onslaught with grace.

  “Shall I fetch a bucket of cold water?” Rick said, and Hal shook his head. “I am fine. I am more than fine. I will never feel better in my life.”

  “Let’s pretend nothing has happened, and we’ll start over,” Rick said. “Josh, you want to talk about a boat with us?”

  Josh cleaned up his tears from laughing with a tissue that Louise had handed him and held up the memory stick. “Let’s have a look at the stuff that is on there and I’ll tell you my story.”

  Hal turned his computer monitor to the small group and inserted the USB drive while Josh recounted his early East Coast sailing days, the legacy of his trainer, and the inheritance of a rotten wooden boat stored in Portland, Oregon. “My trainer’s name was John Scott. The pictures were taken by John’s grandson a week ago, after the will was read and the existence of the boat became known to the family. The son was kind enough to tak
e a lot of pictures and a walk-around video with his smartphone. Let’s start with that.”

  Hal double-clicked the video file and maximized the picture. It showed the dusty and dark surroundings of a shed or garage, with a lot of boxes, metal sheets, and rusty machine parts blocking the view. The angle became better, and they recognized that the shed was pretty long, maybe a former production floor or boathouse. “It’s a long-term rental, they say, on a private estate,” Josh said. “Direct deposit, every month for the last thirty years. Thirty years! Isn’t that crazy!”

  “Know the size of the boat? Judging from what we see here it must be over forty feet,” Hal estimated.

  Josh checked in his email. “John’s son said about sixty feet. Quite a big boat. For a wooden one, I guess.”

  “Size doesn’t matter when it comes to wooden boats. Much longer boats were in existence,” Hal remarked.

  “Wow!” Rick said, and Hal held his breath. As the video panned out and the grandson climbed onto some ladder or big box to change perspective, they saw more of everything. The space was almost completely filled with a yacht made of brown wood. Even though the picture was not optimal quality, you could see rotten wood, holes in the hull, and everything metal either rusted or covered with some sort of sheen. What excited the two wood builders was the design. A sixty-foot yacht with a shape that couldn’t be described as anything other than unique—the way the keel line ran from the bottom as thinly as possible up to where the main body became wide for the last sixty inches or so.

  “I guessed right. You guys know a beauty when you see it,” Josh said, observing their reactions.

  Hal pointed at the screen. “Elegance, pure elegance. It was made for one thing only: speed, speed, speed.”

  “This baby is big, but it will react like a boat half its size,” Rick said. “The slightest pull of the rudder will turn it around; it will dance over waves instead of fighting them.”

  Louise

  Louise listened to the boat talk while sitting behind the other desk in the room, which clearly belonged to Rick Flint. Where Hal’s desk was pure post-tornado, Rick’s had a clear structure of clean heaps of paper, probably one for each current project. She studied the family pictures beside the big computer monitor. Four kids, can you believe it? So sweet, especially the little one. And a lovely wife. You are a long way away from that picture at thirty-six, Lou-baby, she thought.