The Paradise Box Set

by Leslie Pike

  Caprice screams. I’m sure she gave someone in the next room a heart attack.

  “What the fuck?!!!” she hollers.

  As the narrator speaks, we see five pictures scrolling across the screen. Each one worse than the one before. Two nude selfies posing unsuccessfully provocatively, bits blacked out. Two unattractive family photos where her untethered rolls of flesh hang over her waistbands. And the sagging boob fiasco. Every picture that should have been rejected as part of her gallery. Why this woman saved these photos I don’t know. Is she actually insane?

  The narrator speaks.

  “In a related story, who is this woman? Can she really be co-starring with Jack Alden and Finn Kennedy? You know her as the sexy Italian star, Caprice Avanti. What happened to you, Caprice? Oh oh! She’s not going to be happy about this. Apparently her phone has been hacked, and five photos posted to the Internet!! Oh no, Caprice! No more Pasta Faggioli for you!”

  She’s screaming in Italian now. She’s trying to get the remote from Bliss, who actually accidently dropped it and kicked it under the bed.

  “Oh my God, Caprice! This is an outrage!” Jack says convincingly. What an actor. I’m nominating him for an Oscar this year.

  Caprice is on the hospital floor under the bed. She finally gets the remote and turns off the horror show playing before her. Her voice is so loud, I’m waiting for the nurse to come in and kick her out.

  And that’s exactly what happens next. An angry nurse enters.

  “Please stop that right now! Don’t you realize you’re in a hospital?”

  Caprice ignores the nurse, completely.

  “How could this have happened? I deleted all those pictures! Oh my God. I’m going to find out who did this and kill them. KILL THEM.”

  Jack has a blank look on his face.

  “I don’t understand computers or the Internet. Hell, I’m not good with my phone. I have no idea how this can happen.”

  He brings Caprice to his breast and buries her head against him. He looks up at Bliss and me, and mouths the words “the cloud.”

  Jack releases the wildcat.

  She’s screaming now, and kicking the wall. It takes all we have not to laugh. Now the nurse makes an executive decision.

  “OUT! All of you out!”

  Jack is a genius, and my personal hero. Even with all that’s happening, this is a great moment. For the first time in two days, I’m smiling.

  I look at Bliss. She’s smiling too. Then she catches herself, and puts her outraged face back on. “Horrible, just outrageous.”

  I follow suit.

  “How terrible for you, Caprice. But remember what you said, no publicity is bad publicity.” I say it very kindly, so as not to tip our hats.

  She goes crazy at my words. She’s practically spitting her response. “You don’t consider this bad publicity?! I can never get these pictures off the internet, moron!”

  “Well, you don’t have to take it out on me,” I say, feigning hurt.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. BUT SHIT!” She starts screaming again.

  “Come on honey, I’ll take you home,” Jack says.

  She walks out of the room with Jack’s arm around her. She doesn’t say goodbye, she doesn’t wish me well. She just walks out in a haze muttering in Italian under her breath.

  Bliss follows after giving my hand a squeeze and my cheek a kiss.

  Once they’re gone, I lie here playing the scene over and over in my head. Each replay becomes funnier. He got her. He got her for me and for Bliss. And I’d bet the farm that she’ll never figure out it was him.

  * * *

  I wake up abruptly from a dream. I was running from a driverless truck that was aimed right for me. No matter where I ran, the truck followed. There was no escaping being run over. I fell, and right when the truck was about to hit me I startled awake.

  Clearly Freudian, obviously symbolic. Even in my dream world, I’m not in control of what’s happening to me, and I’m about to be run over.

  Surgery day.

  I look over to find Bliss curled up on the miserable couch. She’s sound asleep. I look at her beautiful face and her sweet body. How can I be without her? How can I do without her?

  I touch my cock, just to see if any life has returned. It hasn’t. Even with her as my motivation, life is nowhere to be found.

  She wakes. “Morning, baby.”

  “Morning.”

  She stretches her sleep out, then rises and folds her blanket.

  “No food for you today, but can I bring you your toothbrush just to get a fresh feeling?”

  “That’ll be good.”

  She brings me my things, and a spit bowl and towel. I get to it.

  She makes conversation while I attend to myself.

  “So, Nicki told me the wrap party has been postponed.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They’re going to have it when you’re recuperated. With you and Finn out it wouldn’t have been the same. They’ll have it before the film comes out.”

  I just raise an eyebrow. I don’t really care when they have the party.

  The nurse and an orderly comes into the room. “Ok, Mr. French. We’re ready for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  BLISS

  These past few days have cost me, but they’ve paid me too in emotional strength. Not just Steven has been tested. To stand firm against his will, his stubbornness, and his male ego, has made me into a fighter.

  I wear the armor of a woman in love.

  It doesn’t matter what he says, or thinks. It doesn’t matter that he pushes me away. I’m not going anywhere.

  Get used to it, my love. You’ve captured me.

  And every day I give myself the pep talk. I tell myself all the reasons for his bad behavior. He’s scared. He’s mad. He’s processing. But I can’t run away from what I know may also be a truth. He may have permanent damage. And that damage may become my loss too.

  I’ve found it important to think about this, because then my decision to stay with him comes from an intelligent stand. Not a pie in the sky, Pollyanna view of things. “Everything’s going to be alright,” is just a bumper sticker slogan. I may say it to him, but I’m thinking beyond that. I will not look away. I believe this is the path to real love.

  I’m waiting for him to wake up from his surgery. He’s back in his room, resting comfortably I think. I can breathe now, because everything went well. Doctor Bennett made an after-surgery appearance and said Steven didn’t have any complications. He said if he follows instructions, things should go well for him. As far as sexual function goes, only time will tell.

  Then he went into a dissertation on penile function.

  I was surprised he spoke to me about that, as I’m not Steven’s spouse. It never fails to amaze me what lines will be crossed when a man wants to impress a woman. Dr. Bennett was showing off for me with his vast knowledge of pricks. That’s a new one.

  “Bliss?” Steven says.

  “It’s over. The surgery went very well. How’re you feeling?”

  “Good. I’m feeling pretty damn good. A little groggy, but my pain level is better.”

  “You’re going home tomorrow. Dr. Bennett said you should be able to walk out of here. And, with a little help from me, the next six weeks or so should be manageable.”

  “We’ll see,” he says.

  I don’t know why, but that last comment made me feel a little uneasy.

  I spend the afternoon attending to my issues, talking with various executives at HBO. Scott and I had a private conversation, then a conference call with the President of HBO Miniseries Programming. A meeting is set up for day after tomorrow in New York.

  I will be there.

  I’ve already arranged for Ben and Melanie to spot me at the cottage. I told Steven about it and he was very agreeable. I thought he’d put up more of a fight so maybe we’re making progress.

  I’m going to take that as a step forward. But he�
�s still quiet. We need to get out of this place. I’m grateful for all they’ve done to heal him, but it’s depressing here.

  The incessant beep beep beep of IV machines gone wrong, the middle of the night wake ups to take blood, the bright sterile shock of the overhead lights, it gets to you. Even after three days. Just one more night, and we’ll be back in our nest. I can’t hardly wait.

  About three o’clock, I tell Steven I’m going down to the cafeteria. What I’ve left out is that I’m going to make a phone call to Finn. It’s just infinitely smarter not to be having a jolly conversation with the guy he blames for his troubles.

  And I want to talk with Finn about our future relationship.

  I sit at the table with a cup of coffee and press Finn’s number.

  “Good afternoon, darlin’.”

  “Hi, Finn. I’m just calling to check on you. How’s everything?”

  “Everything hurts. Want to make it better?”

  This is exactly why I wanted to have a private conversation.

  “No, I don’t. Listen, Finn. I want to talk about what happened between us.”

  “Whatever you say, Bliss.”

  “Here’s the thing. When we met at the Highlands Inn, I thought Steven and I were over. I made a rash decision, and although I didn’t go through with it, and didn’t end up doing anything wrong, it wasn’t exactly right either. I gave up on him too soon.”

  “Well, sometimes we make mistakes,” he says.

  “But let’s agree to go forward strictly as friends. It’s the only way it can be. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. But it hurts my feelin’s a little, that you’re never going to climb my ladder,” he laughs.

  “And that’s another thing. No innuendos or private jokes. I’m with Steven. It wouldn’t be respectful. You have to agree to this, or it’s done between us.”

  “I agree, Bliss. I was just teasin’ you. It won’t happen again. I value your friendship more than you know.”

  “Ok. Good.”

  “Tell me this, though. Is he blamin’ me for what happened to him?” And is he right? I mean in your opinion.”

  “I think he’s blaming you for causing him to have to lift the beam. But Finn, it was an accident. There was no intent on your part. He’ll come to see that. Just give it time.”

  “The problem is, I’m leaving tomorrow. We don’t have time to let things work themselves out. And that bothers me because I’ve come to consider him a friend. Do me a favor, remind him of that alright?”

  “I will. I promise. Give my love to Da. I’ll be calling him after the

  HBO meeting. His story may be coming to the small screen.”

  “Wonderful. You deserve success my girl.”

  I could have told him to quit referring to me as his girl, but I figure he’s heard enough today. So instead I just roll my eyes and say goodbye. You can change some things about a man, but others are carved in stone.

  It takes the rest of the afternoon for the doctor to complete his paperwork ordering Steven’s release. Also, for the nurse to prepare his instructions for follow-up doctor appointments, and to collect prescriptions for him to fill at the pharmacy. It takes a village apparently to leave a hospital.

  Steven’s getting antsy. His girlfriend is too.

  By the time he’s being wheeled out, it’s almost dark.

  But we’re going home. That’s all that matters.

  I’m careful all the way home, not to go too fast over the bumps in the road. Of course, it seemed we hit every pothole and got behind every bad driver in town, each one riding their brakes. I could hear Steven wince more than once. He popped a pain pill when we got in the car, so I’m hoping it’s bearable.

  “You ok?” I say, as we pull through the cottage front gates.

  “I’m feeling better now that I’ve got the Vicodin in me.”

  We pull up to his cottage. I can see Ben at the window, watching for us. Home.

  Melanie has prepared a wonderful welcome home. The refrigerator is stocked, and the linens changed. There’s a bouquet of flowers, and a fruit arrangement from Steven’s friends. Renee sent the flowers, and Albie the fruit.

  A huge 24 x 36 selfie of Jack and Nicki hangs framed on the wall. They are on a private jet drinking champagne and eating caviar on their way to Paris. They made it look like they’re completely nude, holding the champagne bottles and caviar bowl in front of their bits. They’re toasting us. It’s hysterical.

  Leave it to Jack, who must have sent the picture to his assistant, and had her frame and deliver it by the time Steven got back home.

  “Look at that! Those two were made for each other.”

  Steven barely looks it over.

  “I’m going to take a shower”

  “Ok, let me get everything ready. I’ll help you.”

  He puts his hand out to stop me.

  “No. Thanks, but my dad’s going to help.”

  I can see that’s news to Ben.

  “You can’t bend. Don’t you want me to dry you off?”

  “No. But thanks. My dad will do it. I think I’ll just shower and get to bed. You’ve got an early drive to the airport tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up all night. Just sleep at your place. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  What? What the fuck? Ben and Melanie move like mice to the kitchen to give us some privacy.

  “You don’t want me to stay here tonight?”

  “No. I’m going to need a strong arm to help me up if I have to pee. Dad can stay for a few nights. But thank you for all that you’ve done. It was wonderful, Bliss. You really stood by me in the hospital.”

  The man is dismissing me. I look him right in the eyes. There’s no smile on my face.

  “I want to stand by you here. I’ve got a strong arm. Please let me help you, Steven.”

  “I’ve got to get in the shower and get to bed. My back’s hurting. Dad, bring my pills. They’re in the duffle.”

  He turns and walks toward his room.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Good luck, Bliss,” he says over his shoulder. Ben and Melanie look uncomfortable. I can tell they feel sorry for me, and for Steven.

  This isn’t over. But I’ll slay this dragon when I get back from New York.

  All night I try to turn off what’s playing in my head. It’s impossible. So by the time the alarm sounds, I’m already up. I had to distract myself by showering and dressing, two hours early.

  I sit at the window going over my notes. But I can’t help but notice all signs of life at the other cottages are gone. Albie, Jack and Renee have moved on to their next chapter. The shutters are closed. It’s truly over.

  Camelot has evaporated into the ether, as if it all was a product of my imagination.

  I shake off this last thought. Quit it, Bliss. Your Camelot still exists. It’s right next door. It’s just hiding right now.

  When I drive away from the cottages and toward the airport, I force myself to focus on today’s opportunities. This is my big chance. I’ve got to bring everything to the table, including and especially my clarity. There cannot be one sign of lack of concentration or attentiveness because I have other things on my mind.

  They’ve got to see I have something wonderful to offer. It’s not all on the page. I have to convince them of that.

  Be your greater self.

  And so, by the time I step onto the plane, I’m almost certain I can leap buildings in a single bound, and ward off any unwelcome news with my wrist cuffs.

  Flying to New York in First Class is definitely the way to go. The fact that HBO bought my ticket is a good sign. I think. I really know nothing about the intricacies of negotiation. Maybe it means nothing. At least I got a fabulous trip out of the fantasy.

  I listen to music and go over my script. In what seems like only a few hours, I hear the landing gear engage.

  There’s nothing like the sight of Manhattan from the sky. It stands so proud against the ground, showing off what mankind has been able to accomplish
on a small strip of land. The tall buildings remind me of Great Danes posing, vying for best in show.

  And there’s an unnamed something that is obvious in its impression. You know this is New York. It speaks without words. There’s no mistaking it.

  I’m staying at the Plaza. I’ve stayed here ever since my first trip in 2003. Love everything about this place. When the cabbie drops me off, I feel like I can exhale. I’ll stay in tonight and dine in my room. The last week has driven me to this. Here I am in the most exciting city in the world. But all I want to do is lie in bed, watching The Real Housewives of somewhere, while I have a bowl of lobster bisque.

  And by the time ten o’clock rolls around I’m tucked in for the night.

  “Eleven hundred 6th Avenue,” I say to the cabbie.

  “HBO?” he asks.

  New York cabbies are in a category all their own. They have to put up with an enormous amount of crap. I’ve seen “Taxicab Confessions.”

  He takes me to the dark green glass, seventeen-story high rise at the Bryant Park Arcade Building.

  Midtown Manhattan is buzzing with people. Hemingway had it right about the beauty of a “Moveable Feast.” No other two words could so aptly describe the scene, so I steal the idea for my own perception.

  At twelve forty-five I walk into the building. And at four thirty, I walk out. My throat is dry from all the talking I did. It’s most assuredly a life-changing moment in time for me. I’m floating, I’m giddy, I’m teary and stunned. They’re buying my story, and they’re going to make it into a six-part miniseries. But the best part … I’m going to write it. They said my writing is what makes the story unique. They’ve been approached by countless writers who had stories about that time period.

  And countless stories about Haight Asbury, and communes, and artists. But they loved and understood what I was really writing about. Exceptional love. Mary’s and Carl’s.

  And they said only I could express what I saw. Wow.

  Now it’s my agent’s job to negotiate the deal. He’ll be here later in the week to take a meeting.

  As I hail a cab, I’m calling Steven.