Between Now and Always: Forever Trilogy Book 3

by Allen, Dylan

  I hand Hetal back her phone with a trembling hand. “Wow. So, she does these for people?”

  She nods. “Completely for free. And it was only yesterday when I scrolled all the way to the bottom of her feed to see the first picture that I realized she’s making the kind of difference that our organization seeks to. To help people find a sense of self that’s not tied to the way the rest of the world sees them. And these paintings, if she sold them, would cost a mint. I mean, this should be in a museum. I’ve never thought I was beautiful, until I saw my heart.” Her eyes mist over and she stares at the painting with pride.

  Oh my God.

  Beth. She’s in New York and I’m looking at a painting she made with her beautiful hands.

  “Yeah, so yeah.” I’m at a loss for words.

  “So, is it okay? If I nominate her? I mean, we have some amazing nominees already, but I think she’ll win.”

  “Yes, do it. She will absolutely win. I know she’s got my vote,” I say eagerly.

  “I will. But, she’s completely anonymous. No one knows who she is. A least I think she’s a she. I have her address though. I can mail the invite. But who knows if she’ll attend? Maybe her anonymity is something she needs to maintain.”

  “Well, I think we should at least try. And maybe she just needs a good reason to show her face. And I have feeling an organization like ours recognizing her contribution to the mission we serve might do the trick.”

  “Okay, I’m so glad you agree.”

  The door to the library opens and Ryan sticks his head in.

  “Hey, your mama’s here,” he says before his eyes land on the painting. “Damn, that’s nice,” he drawls, his eyebrows raised in appreciation before he ducks back out.

  “Come on, let’s join the party. They’ve been waiting to eat.”

  I spend the rest of the evening watching the clock.

  I left as soon as we’d been there long enough not to look like we were eating and running. And then I’d locked myself in my studio, gone to Hetal’s profile and used it to find Beth’s again.

  I clicked on the profile @thefreebeth. My jaw dropped when I saw she has 500,000 followers. For an anonymous account with nothing but paintings, sketches and stories, it’s a lot. One look at the art, though and it’s clear why she’s so popular.

  The mission behind the profile is as compelling as the art itself.

  Her profile description read “What would people see if your heart was reflected on your face? Tell me your story and I’ll paint it. Currently booked through December 2020.❤️❤️ #thefreebeth #LiveFreeOrDieTrying

  I scrolled to the bottom of her feed so that I could see her first post. It’s a video. I press play and sag with disappointment when she doesn’t show her face.

  “I started this account because I want a place to show the world who I am with some anonymity. I know what it’s like when the face you show the world doesn’t reflect the real you. This painting is my face reflecting my heart. Those stars in my eyes are the dreams inside me that refuse to die. The wings on my mouth are the beautiful words that my less than brilliant brain won’t let me express. The red clover is the stain on my soul that I know I should lament, but that I think is the best thing that ever happened to me. And the tears are just that— tears I cry every day, but only when no one can see. I’ll use this portrait as a mirror when I need to be reminded of who I’m fighting for. Do you have a secret self? One you wish the world could see? DM me your story and your picture and I’ll paint it.”

  I play it repeatedly. It’s been so long since I heard her voice and I want to absorb it.

  I make myself move on to the next picture. It’s her profile thumbnail. Now A headless woman’s naked torso covered blue paint, except for a sliver of skin on her rib with writing on it. I zoomed the picture and almost had a heart attack. Scrawled on her ribs in loose script were the words “Between Now and Always, I will love him.”

  I run my fingers over it and my heart swells with the knowledge that she’s talking about me.

  The second picture is a self -portrait. She has stars for eyes, blue butterfly wings for lips, and a red metallic four leaf clover on her left cheek. And silver teardrops on running down both sides of her face.

  The rest of the pictures on her profile are extraordinary portraits with each person’s story in the comment. The account is four months old and she has fifteen portraits and stories up.

  I’m scrolling when I see a painting of myself. I know it’s me, but I’m not worried that anyone else would.

  I don’t look like that anymore. Not even when I’m playing the piano.

  The last few months have erased the peace I used to find in my music. So while my career has taken off, I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole of frustration.

  I’ve learned to live with the worry and longing, but there’s not a morning I don’t wake up wishing it away. I grimace when I think of the ways I’ve tried to find solace.

  Hetal’s timing couldn’t be better. But it hurts to know she’s in the same city and hasn’t tried to get in touch.

  She said she wanted space and distance in her letter. But, if she comes to the award ceremony, I won’t let her leave without trying to reconnect. I need to see her again. Even if it’s just long enough to know she’s okay, I’ll live with it.

  I just can’t live like this anymore.

  I look at the pictures and marvel at her talent, and pray like a mother fucker that Hetal’s plan works.

  Serious Voodoo

  CARTER

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe how excited I am.” Nadia’s exultant voice cuts through the comfortable silence in the car.

  “Well, we can. You’ve told us every five minutes since you got in the car,” I say in a dry, annoyed voice.

  “Easy man, you’re killing her vibe,” Ryan says.

  It turns out that Ryan was actually very interested in Nadia. They have been inseparable since that evening at Dean’s.

  I’m starting to see how wrong it was to judge them opposites because of their strikingly different senses of style. She’s a total glamazon - never without a splash of sequins somewhere on her body. He’s a southern gentleman who lives in chinos and dress shirts. Dressing up for him means donning one of his wackier bow ties and suspenders on top of his chinos and dress shirts.

  It’s almost comical when they’re side by side. But there’s nothing funny about how well they fit. They are the two sides of the same coin. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her. She’s never been calmer or happier. And he smiles a lot more now than he did when I first met him.

  “Hey, how you doing, brother?” Ryan asks me in his quiet, deep voice that reminds me of a river moving over stones.

  “I’m fine, why?”

  “Because you’re not excited,” Nadia answers for him.

  “Maybe because you won’t stop talking. And why would I be excited?” I tug my collar, and wonder if I put on an old shirt. My neck size has gone up this year and this shirt feels too tight.

  “Because, she’s going to be there tonight. That Instagram artist,” Nadia elaborates.

  She shoves her phone in my face. “You remember the portrait Hetal brought to the party?” She waves the phone with a picture of a colorful flier printed on it.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I glance down at her phone and nod, as nonchalantly as I can even as my heart drums in my chest.

  “Are you okay? You look a little green,” she whispers and puts a hand over mine. I look down to find her blue eyes full of worry as they roam my face.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry…I’m nervous. Nominations are coming soon.”

  Understanding dawns on her face and I’m relieved when she takes the bait and pulls us away from the conversation about tonight.

  “Oh yeah, of course you are. But you have to know that you’re going to get nominated. In several categories, too,” she grins excitedly. She tucks an arm through mine, scooting closer to me to comfort me w
hile our car crawls uptown in rush hour traffic.

  I don’t need comfort, I need a fucking drink.

  I take a deep breath and she pats my thigh absently.

  “She’s right, C. You’re a shoo-in. And tonight’s going to be easy. You won’t do any press on the carpet and there’s just two quick interviews after the event.” Dean says as he hangs up his phone and slips it into his suit pocket.

  He’s sitting next to Ryan on the other side of the car and I’m grateful for the dark’s camouflage. It’s let me hide the anxiety that’s got a white knuckled grip on me right now.

  Dean has a sixth sense about everything, but he’s wrong thinking it’s the awards that have me tied in knots.

  Not that I shouldn’t be nervous. And ordinarily, I might be.

  Last year, I co-wrote a song for the score of a movie called Throw Away The Key. It was based on a book written by Lucia Vega-Carras. That film is expected to clean up during the award season, and it’s already won several top prizes at the major film festivals this year.

  I got the gig on a lark. Dave is close friends with the studio head, Reece Carras. Lucia Vega is his wife and even though this was a smaller budget film for the studio, he wanted the music to be original, both fresh and ageless.

  Dave threw my name into the hat and Reece hired me and gave me free license to create something that matched the gritty, honest, deeply emotional story told in the film.

  I brought my band into the studio to record it.

  The song, Live Free, is some of the best music I’ve ever written and the response has been mind-blowing.

  It’s been nominated for as many awards as the movie. It won an MTV Music award for Best Song from a Movie this summer.

  Jenn, my publicist, wanted me to walk the red carpet, but the limelight holds very little appeal for me. Also, I didn’t think we would win.

  I knew the song was amazing, but to win an award that Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Bryan Adams and fucking Aerosmith have also won - seemed completely out the realm of possibility.

  I didn’t want to be one of those people caught by the camera scowling when someone else’s name was called. I stayed in New York and was in my studio working when the call came that I’d won.

  I’m on the edge of the kind of fame and recognition most artists dream of.

  But tonight, all of that fades into background noise to the riot of nerves this evening has induced.

  I’m about to see the woman I love again for the first time since we found out we couldn’t be together.

  And I’m afraid of what I’ll do.

  What if she’s with someone?

  What if she doesn’t want to see me?

  “I heard she’s been nominated for the Visionary Hero award by Vogue Magazine. Her star is on the rise, and no one even knows who she is. I need her publicist. That’s some serious voodoo.”

  “She’s a darling now, but it won’t last long,” Dean chimes in.

  “Why not?” I ask, and my tone is sharper than I intended. But, the certainty of his answer, when he doesn’t even know her personally is irksome and shallow. And Dean Orleans is neither of those things.

  “Because, she’s been put on an impossible pedestal. They’ve attributed her with all sorts of superhuman levels of wisdom and foresight. Once they know she’s just an average human, they’ll enjoy tearing her apart more than they enjoyed helping make her famous.”

  I snort in disgust at how wrong how he is.

  “She’s not even close to average. And she’ll eat the tabloids for lunch, she’s dealt with worse than them,” I say absently, as I stare out of the window at neon white and red light of the sea of metal and rubber we’re moving up Central Park West.

  The car is dark, lit only by the lights that comes in from the outside. We’re all cast in shadow. But even through all of that, I can feel the energy in the car change. I can feel all three of my fellow passengers tense.

  “What?” I ask, my neck prickling with worry.

  “Do you know her?” Nadia is the first to speak.

  I stiffen and replay what I just said and realize I nearly gave myself, and her, away.

  I can feel the weight of their expectant gazes on me and I know that I said can’t be unheard. So, I tell them the truth.

  “Yeah, I know who it is. At least… I think I do. Her art is distinctive, I’m pretty sure it’s the same person,” I tell them as nonchalantly as I can.

  “Oh my God, you know her and you didn’t say anything. You know I’m obsessed with her Carter,” Nadia, shrieks and shoves me playfully and then, claps her hands together.

  “You have to ask her to paint me, Carter. Oh my God, can you imagine?”

  She waves the phone at me again, this time it’s open to Beth’s Instagram and I look away from it.

  “Who is she, Carter?” Dean’s quiet question is loaded with demand and suspicion. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Or burst into tears. Or both. So I cover with a smile I don’t mean.

  “Well, if you weren’t the biggest talent agent in the world and Nadia here wasn’t the world’s biggest gossip, I’d tell you. But clearly she doesn’t want anyone to know. So…lips are sealed.” I waggle my eyebrows and smile and hope that it’s enough.

  Since I found that she lives here, or at least was here when she mailed Hetal her painting, I’ve been low key freaking out. If she doesn’t show tonight, then I’m not sure what I’ll do.

  It’s a big city, there’s no reason our paths should cross while she’s here. And yet, I already know that I will find a way to make it happen.

  Between Now and Always, I will love him.

  She still loves me, too. She’s tattooed it on her body that she always will.

  How the hell will I be able to walk away from her again if she doesn’t want to see me again?

  “We’re here. I can’t believe it,” Nadia’s excited voice pulls me back to the present.

  We climb out of the car. This is the foundation’s official fundraiser. It’s not a major event red carpet, but there’s press in attendance. I’m their highest profile board member and they’re counting on me to help them make this evening successful in terms of fundraising. I do the obligatory interviews. I stop to grant one more to a young woman who tells me she’s twelve years old and is a budding YouTube journalist.

  We’re inside in less than half an hour and are seated right away. I scan the room twice before I see her. Her back is to me, and she’s blond again. But I know it’s her.

  The long fall of it is swept over one shoulder and I’d recognize the constellation of freckles that span her shoulders anywhere.

  I spent so many nights tracing them with my fingers and my tongue and my eyes.

  I start to stand when the lights flash and the master of ceremony announces that dinner is served. That’s when I notice a man next to her. His hand moves to wrap around her shoulders and he leans into whisper in her ear.

  My heart sinks.

  The intimacy between them is unmistakable. Jealousy grips me, knuckle white and red hot and for a second I can’t breathe.

  “Oh my God, do you think she’s here?” Nadia whispers urgently next to me.

  “We’ll find out soon enough, I guess,” I say with a tight smile.

  She looks askance at me. “I wish you would lighten up, you’re starting to get on my nerves. Maybe if you smile, you’ll meet someone tonight.” She winks at me.

  My phone rings. “Saved by the bell,” I say. I leave the table walk out into the small reception area to take the call.

  “Yo, my guy came through,” Dave says as soon as I answer my phone.

  “Oh, fuck yes. I owe you, man. Next time we’re in the same city, drinks are on me,” I say, relief cutting through some of the tension that’s been plaguing me all day.

  “Dude, it’s a private visit to helicopter ride over the city. On a Sunday night. Last minute. Next time we’re in the same city, everything is on you,” he says dryly.

  I laugh,
but don’t disagree. But now that I’ve seen her with that man, I’m not sure I’ll have any use for the tickets.

  “She’s going to flip,” I say, trying to stay optimistic.Friendship is our only option…right? I can’t expect her to be like me and stay alone forever.

  “Can’t wait to meet her. Hopefully you’ll finally get your shit together and I can.”

  “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what is, D. You still fucking someone else’s wife?”

  He groans as if in pain. “Touché. You better be glad I like you, Carter. Talking shit before you have those tickets in hand, takes a lot of nerve, asshole.”

  I laugh and stick my head back into the room. The servers at our table. Beth is no longer at hers.

  “I gotta go. The event’s starting and I don’t want her to see me. This whole night is a surprise”

  “I’ve got a performance in the morning and I’m fucking wasted. I need to go to sleep. Let me know how it goes. Hope the pussy’s worth it.”

  Dave is our generation’s greatest violinist. And he looks like he just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad, but lives like he’s trying to set the world record for most debauched rock star.

  “That’s not why I’m doing this. It’s not like that…she’s a friend. I want to do something special. That’s all,” I say it to convince him as much as myself.

  “My man…all grown up and shit,” Dave chuckles. We say our goodbyes and head back inside and pray like a motherfucker that I haven’t hoped for too much.

  Destiny Manifest

  BETH

  “Joe, I think I’ve made a mistake.” I grip his hand, and he squeezes mine back.

  “The only mistake you’ve made is hiding for so long, angel. You’re going to be great.”

  “It’s not that… I mean, no one’s going to see this little ceremony. It’s just I’ve never spoken to a large crowd. And I don’t know…what if they don’t understand?”