Five for Forever

by Ames, Alex

  “Oxnard, where the fuck is Oxnard?”

  “Oxnard, Ventura County, California? Half an hour west of Malibu.”

  “There is no life west of Malibu! What’s in Oxnard?”

  “Rick and the kids.”

  “Rick! Kids? You are throwing away twenty-two million guaranteed and two points of box office revenue for Oxnard, California, suburbia? Mind you: twenty-two million in two years and as much from the points in four! During that time you can get married and divorced twice!” Izzy stared at her.

  “Izzy, all good things come to an end. I know that we are also talking about you losing your 15 percent, a lot of money for you. I hate to tell you . . . No, actually I do not. I like to tell you, your cash cow has decided to step back.”

  “You’re retiring at thirty-six? I have to sit down.” Izzy sat and got up again right away. “I need a drink.” He headed toward the office door and then came back and picked up the phone. “No, I need to call my sponsor.” He put the receiver back. “This is a nightmare. I need another Red Bull. Arielle, give me another RB!” he shouted through the closed door.

  “I’m not retiring. I will only work locally; ideally I’ll produce in Oxnard to be home in the evenings. And there is one more thing,” Louise said.

  Izzy’s assistant Arielle, a reed-thin blonde, came in with a sweating can of Red Bull on a tray. Izzy snatched it off before she could hand it to him, cracked it open and downed it one gulp, crushing the can in his fist. It appeared to Louise as if he had just asked for a drink to be able to destroy something, anything. “One more thing? Steve Jobs always said that before he unveiled the next revolution in technology and killed three industries at once.”

  “I will also tell our publicity agency, but I’ll tell you all the same: I’m stepping out of the spotlight as of today.”

  “You are worse than Steve Jobs! You are single-handedly laying off 10 percent of the TMZ staff.” Izzy groaned. “Same thing happened when Lady Gaga went swing!”

  Louise sat down in the guest chair opposite Izzy. “No more engagements, no more photo ops, no more parties. No more home stories, no more interviews.”

  “You’re making me very unhappy. You’re making your fans unhappy. And many other powerful people. But most of all, me, myself, and I,” Izzy said. He leaned forward, his long fingers flat on the tabletop.

  “I’ll fulfill all signed agreements that we can’t get out of, don’t worry. But we will wind them down one by one. Same with the charity work. I’ll select something closer to home.”

  “What about advertising?” Another lucrative endeavor.

  “Let it all run out. If there are exit clauses, please prepare a cost overview.”

  “Including the Fellow Cosmetics renewal?” Louise had been the face of the brand’s global campaigns for years.

  “It’s time to give someone else the honor. It has been a great time, but maybe it’s for the best. The animal testing bit was always a thorn in my side, anyway,” Louise said.

  Izzy looked at her. They’d known each other for a long time, and Izzy knew and loved her like a daughter. She was no Hollywood newbie; she was the real deal, the $20 million lady. In short, she was the boss.

  “Believe it or not, I can read your mind,” Louise said.

  “I doubt that!” Izzy said sourly.

  “You are so angry with me and the loss of current and future revenue that you’re planning to delegate the cancellations and winding-downs to your assistant or one of your junior associates.”

  Izzy looked stumped. “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you. You are a wheeler and dealer and spinner by heart. You live for the next deal and the next contract. Dismantling my career is not your thing. And tell you what, to sweeten the deal: you have my blessing.”

  “I do?”

  “Just one condition: keep me on your roster. I might have a comeback one day if things go differently than planned.”

  Izzy jumped up and shouted, “Arielle!”

  The thin blonde popped her head in. “Master is in pain, master would like another Red Bull, master would like a back rub?” she said with mock servility.

  Louise immediately liked her. That eight-hundred-calories-a-day girl had spunk.

  “Louise is your client now!”

  Arielle genuinely beamed, “No shit? What’s the catch?”

  “The lady is retiring!”

  “Shall I drive you back to Bel Air?”

  Louise put her head down in laughter, and Izzy snorted. “Miss Waters is not tired, she is ending her career. Stepping off the gas. Mothballing the arts.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.” Arielle seemed to be happy with the assignment, even though it was completely unclear what it entailed. “Thanks!”

  “Welcome!” Izzy turned to Louise. “Do you want us to run any formal announcements that you’re stepping back?”

  They discussed various strategies for the next half hour. After Louise left Izzy’s office, she noticed that Izzy had not once asked her about her feelings and whether she was happy. She smiled sadly. Hollywood, inventor of emotional Teflon.

  She was free. A ton of stones had been lifted off her shoulders.

  Rick

  “You are what?” Hal asked incredulously. “My ears think they heard it, but my brain refuses to process.” He was back from Surinam. Dishelved, jetlagged, but happy and in the office.

  “Louise Waters and I are an item.”

  “Item as in together, in a relationship, lovers, Mrs. Richard Flint . . . ?”

  “Not that stage, yet.”

  “Could you please wipe that shit smile off your face? Are you serious?”

  “Very.”

  “Man, I am really happy for you. For both of you. If there is anyone who deserves a break of this size, it’s . . . well, technically, it would be me, since you are ahead with twenty years of Bella and various dates, including hot Cheryl.”

  “Hal, you are simply too lazy to commit,” Rick said.

  “You’re right when you’re right. She’s moving in with you guys?” he asked. “Then you need to rack up your security.”

  “We haven’t discussed it yet. She will stay over most of the time. Get to know the kids and vice versa.”

  “You are aware that Louise Waters is not really homemaker material? Do you have any idea how busy she is? Her schedule . . .”

  “It’s crazy. I know, we know. She’ll stop.”

  “What do you mean by ‘stop’?”

  “She’ll stop doing films internationally. And promotions. And most of her charity work.”

  Hal got out his phone and fiddled with it.

  “What is it?” Rick asked.

  “I am putting up a TMZ text alert on Louise to get the latest and greatest as it happens when it happens.”

  “That’s another channel’s tag line.”

  “I give you guys one day, then your secret will be out,” Hal said.

  “Since when did you become an expert on the tabloids?”

  “Duh, since forever! Look how well you know me!”

  “More like a desperate single, spending his time online,” Rick mocked Hal.

  “Come here, my friend!” Hal hugged Rick. “All the best to both of you. Hope it works out the way you’ve planned it. You must be terrified by all of this.”

  “You have no idea. When we sorted things out on the weekend, it felt like jumping off a skyscraper.”

  “Do the kids know?” Hal asked.

  “There was a running commentary in the background while we worked our relationship out.”

  “Is Bella’s ghost all right with this new relationship?”

  Rick stepped back from his friend and stared at the dismantled Madonna, not really seeing it. “You know what, the ghost of Bella has been absent since Saturday. And even now, when I think about her and imagine what she might say about the situation, she remains quiet.” He turned back to Hal. “Do you think that’s a sign?”

  “It is some sign,
” Hal conceded. Then he patted Rick’s back. “Think of it this way: Any other girl, like Cheryl, would always stand in Bella’s shadow. Louise Waters is so much larger than life and so out there that there is no point of reference. Both Bella and Louise stand on their own.”

  “Since when did you become so philosophical?” Rick asked, scratching his head.

  “Binge-watching twenty episodes of Friends does that to you, my friend. Oh, that Jennifer Aniston! She made my twenties endurable . . .”

  “Shall Louise set up a date?”

  fourteen

  Meet the Flints

  Louise

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Rick was panting. They were all over each other on Louise’s couch at her Malibu home. The sun was about to set, and there was an unspoken agreement that this was supposed to be the night. He pulled back from Louise’s embrace.

  “You’re not doing your I-am-scared-routine on me, again, lover?” Louise asked.

  “Can we try something that will not give me a heart attack, nor put the pressure on me more than necessary?”

  “Uh-oh,” Louise said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Two things: can we agree to do it slow and simple? I mean, the first time . . .”

  “All right, slow and simple the first time. What about the second time?”

  “I don’t dare to think ahead that far. And there is one more—”

  “Hang on, didn’t you say two things? You are already at three.”

  Rick closed his eyes. “Can you stop the comedy routine for one second? This is hard for me. First request was slow and simple.”

  “Now I understand. It was not slow and simple, it was slow as in being simple.” Louise nodded to herself.

  “Not exactly, but anyway, number two is more serious.”

  “Spit it out, Flint! It is your girlfriend you are talking to!” Louise said. She was on the brink of exploding, she wanted this man so badly!

  “I almost don’t dare request this. But, could we do it . . . in the dark?”

  “In the dark, as in . . .”

  “An absence of light.”

  “Can’t you close your eyes instead?” Louise had to hold back a laugh. That would have killed the mood for sure. Poor baby!

  “Nope, won’t work. Because I know that you will see me,” Rick explained.

  “So you want it to be a mutually no-light experience. Slow. And simple . . .” Louise summarized on her fingers.

  “If you bring up the third finger, I will break it. Stop making fun of me and my insecurities.”

  Louise looked at him and used all her experience as an actress to keep a serious face, her right hand fingers frozen at a count of two and a half.

  Think about the saddest thing you can think of. A child dying, a cat being drowned, a lonely old lady, all alone on a park bench who needs to pee . . .

  Louise couldn’t hold back and her laugh exploded into Rick’s face.

  His shoulders slumped, but Louise took his head into her hands. “You moron, shut up. Slow and simple in the dark coming right up. Get your sexy ass upstairs.”

  “All right, I’m going!” Rick said, turning beet-red as Louise pulled him from the couch.

  “And Rick?” Louise said when they were halfway up the stairs. “It will be the slowest, simplest, and darkest first time ever! You’ll be begging for at least two things to change before five minutes are up!”

  Sunday at the Flints became Sunday at the Flints with Louise. She stayed over on weekends whenever she could, which somehow made them into a full family again from Friday night dinner until Sunday night. As it was spring, they would usually hit the beaches, take hikes in the mountains, or go sailing on Harrison. Louise introduced one variation to Sunday’s options: a very nice seventy-foot motor yacht, shiny, powerful, and white.

  “With all the trimmings,” Britta said, inspecting the huge living room.

  “And fiberglass,” muttered Rick. But even he had to admire the various amenities, like big-screen TV with the latest model Xbox, full-size living quarters, and a real kitchen. The boat was big enough that they weren’t on top of one another, and most importantly to the kids, you didn’t have to jump around all the time to adjust sails, course, or side on the command of your father.

  Emile stood on the mooring with a rope in his hand. “You sure don’t need me with you guys?”

  Louise looked at him, feeling almost sorry. “No, take the rest of the day off and I’ll see you tomorrow. We have everything we need.”

  “See you then,” he said, circling the rope dutifully, then giving a small wave.

  Britta and Charles stood beside Louise while Agnes made a super careful takeoff; it was her first time with this boat, and she wanted to make a good expression.

  “Isn’t that a bit strange to have a person taking care of personal things for you? It’s as if the babysitter were doing my homework,” Britta said while Emile’s silhouette grew smaller and smaller.

  Louise shrugged. “At first, yes. But Emile lets me concentrate on the important parts of my job and not worry about anything nonessential, like shopping or keeping my schedule. He is my personal assistant, but he is not my husband.”

  “Thanks! Where would that have left my dad?” Charles said.

  “It drives like a car,” Agnes said, when Louise came into the cockpit. “Just not that agile.”

  “You are aware that we make our living from boats that do not sail like a car, most of which don’t even have a motor?” Rick said, standing beside her.

  “But you restore wooden motor yachts, too,” Agnes pointed out. “Admit it, you don’t like the fiberglass hull.”

  “Or the Xbox,” Rick mumbled.

  “We heard that,” Britta and Charles chimed over from the TV set, where their Lego Leia was slugging it out with the Brick Emperor.

  Agnes

  Louise was preparing the Flints for the inevitable media discovery. Their under-the-radar existence wouldn’t last, even though Lady Luck had been on their side for the first weeks of Louise in their lives. She had arranged a training session for the kids on how to handle the media. Louise warmed up the gang with highlights of some hilarious interviews she had experienced over the years, and then introduced them to a soft-spoken fellow named Serge, sanguine, with tight brown curls, who could play-act five different reporters and various media victims from sneakily mousy to in-the-face arrogant, all at once. The first half hour with Serge was hilarious when they met him on Tuesday evening in Casa Flint’s living room. Then Serge got down to business and asked Agnes to step forward. “Let’s pretend you run into a journalist who is waiting for you right in front of the school. I am the journalist, and you are you.”

  Agnes stood opposite him, grinning at her siblings.

  Dana, who hadn’t fully gotten the concept yet, yelled at her, “Kick the bad repota!”

  The other Flints laughed, and Serge smiled at her. “Now, that would get you lots of news. Just not good news.” Turning to Agnes, he morphed into a hectic repota. “Agnes, Agnes, what do you have to say about Louise as your father’s new girlfriend?”

  “I think it is great, thank you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Um, I said awesome!”

  “Do you think she will be a good mother to you and your siblings?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I mean, we hardly know her. She’s with us . . .”

  “No? I would have never thought that! She’s not good with kids, right?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” Agnes was on the defensive. “She is good with us, and I never said that she is not a great ersatz mother.”

  “Give it to him!” Charles cheered her on, and Dana and he were doing a mock ‘the wave’.

  “All right, let’s stop here.” Serge smiled. “You see what I did?”

  “You twisted Agnes’s words,” Britta said from behind her hair.

  “And you looked like an a...” Charles started but stopped when he saw Agnes’s look.
>
  “So, objective number one: don’t let them do that. Objective number two: don’t come across like a naked bottom.” The kids giggled. “Any ideas?”

  “No idea,” Agnes admitted. “Be more firm?”

  “No, no, no, my lovely. Much simpler. First rule of survival: Ignore the question. Answer your own question. You are not at school, right? So there are no teachers expecting a correct answer.”

  “But isn’t that rude?” Charles asked, adjusting his glasses.

  “No, this is the media; there are different rules. Just give them something to show or to print. They won’t waste time repeating a question on TV. They’ll only show your answer. So you can say what you want. No one will ever notice as long as you look good.” Turning again to Agnes, he said, “Do you think Louise will be a good mother?”

  “Eh.” Agnes stopped and thought for a second before answering. “Louise is great to be with. And she makes our dad very happy.”

  “Excellent.” Serge applauded. “What about you, Britta?”

  She didn’t look motivated; she got up but didn’t show her face from behind the mountain of black curls. “I understand the first rule. What’s the second one?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Ah, that is easy. Rule two of survival: Talk positive. Ignore what you really think or feel, instead give a positive answer. The questions and answers are not about you, they are about making the TV viewer feel good. Britta, what do you hate about Louise?”

  Britta’s hair wagged left and right. “Um, there is nothing to hate . . .”

  “Beep.” Charles played a buzzer. “Remember rule number one, sister!”

  “Oh, you’re right. Okay, here is my answer: We all adore Louise. She has the best jokes around and can tell great stories.”

  “Awesome answer. Good catch, Charles. Now it’s your turn.” Charles got up and stood opposite Serge. “Charles, as the only boy in the family, are you in love with Louise?” The girls started to giggle, and Charles turned red.

  “No, a little bit. Maybe? What was the question?” he stuttered.

  “Beep!” Britta returned the volley. “Rules one and two, brother!” Charles held his head in both hands.