Lost and Found

by David Horne

  Their wish-washy coupledom began to irk me terribly. I had the two breaking up for good with Ephraim marrying an exotic dancer he met in an anger management training seminar. What did I do to fill the hole in Mandy’s love life? Nothing. Mandy was a strong independent woman. She did not need a man. In fact, that was Mandy’s simple character arc for the season: single and loving it.

  Barb had contacted me about the script Sal and I wrote together, Cross Country. Over a telephone, her gravelly voice pleaded, “It’s a wonderful script. Funny. Hilarious even. Red Line is still interested. Sal said he is relinquishing all rights to the script. It’s all yours.”

  “I don’t want it, Barb,” I replied.

  Barb heaved a heavy sigh. “Sal wants nothing to do with it either. It’s a phenomenal script. Someone’s got to take ownership of it.”

  “Not me,” I asserted.

  I listened as Barb puffed. “What happened to you two?”

  “I don’t know, Barb. Ask your client.”

  Cross Country was a dead script, and I was almost glad. We’d written that together. It would be painful to see it produced.

  For New Year’s Eve, Tabitha and Ryan were throwing a shindig at their place in Santa Monica. Memories of planning Sal’s party trickled into my thoughts, but I fought myself to not dwell on the past. It had been an entire year since I’d seen Sal, and there was a possibility I might see him at their party. I needed to show him a strong front. That I’d moved on and was happy.

  My evening attire was simple and predictable: a one-button peaked-lapel tuxedo. Between Tabitha and Ryan, their New Year’s Eve party would be a star-studded event. I played it safe by wearing a tux.

  When I arrived at the party, a small part of me hoped Sal would come, but then I knew he likely wouldn’t, just to avoid me. That thought stung, but I pushed it away. It was New Year’s Eve. There was an entire year ahead of me full of new beginnings.

  Except my past still wanted to haunt me. Ryan had given an open invitation to everyone on the latest Marvelous movie. Unbeknownst to him, Gia Reynolds, the model turned actress who played the newest addition to the Marvelous series, Holly Hackett, happened to be Arnie’s wife. It was a small world, but Hollywood was even smaller.

  The latest Marvelous flick hadn’t been released yet, so I had no idea Arnie’s new wife was in it. Ryan had no idea there was a connection between Gia, Arnie and me because he’d never met Arnie when we were dating. It was an honest mistake on everyone’s part.

  I’d been chatting with the actor who played Admiral Pace in the Marvelous movies when Arnie walked up to me, his beautiful wife dressed in a red lace jumpsuit. Her blonde hair was swept in low loose bun.

  “Harrison! I was hoping to see you here!” Arnie beamed. He looked over to his wife pointing at me. “This is an old friend of mine.”

  Gia smiled and chirped with an Aussie accent. “Hi, I’m Gia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Pleasure to meet you as well.” Looking right at Arnie, I quipped, Congratulations! It’s your first-year anniversary, correct?”

  Arnie looked away saying nothing, but Gia exclaimed, “Thank you. It is!”

  “I’m so happy for you both!” Smiling, I grimaced, “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a terribly weak bladder. The Men’s Room is calling.”

  Spinning around on my heel, I quickly trotted to the bathroom to celebrate my victory. Seeing Arnie with his wife wasn’t as debilitating as I imagined it would be. I was glad that I wasn’t given warning that they’d be at the party. Knowing me, I would have built up the event more than it needed to be.

  Arnie and Gia looked picture perfect for each other, both with luxurious long blonde hair. Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I searched my soul for any leftover feelings I had for Arnie.

  I had none. I was happy for them. Arnie had found the one person in his life that could change him and make him an honest man. That person hadn’t been me, but that didn’t mean I was a worthless person. It just meant Arnie wasn’t for me.

  Stepping back from the mirror, I took inventory of myself. I looked quite dapper in my tuxedo that Rupert picked out for me. I gave myself one big smile before stepping out of the bathroom. I felt fantastic.

  When I opened the door, Arnie was right there. Looking around with shifty eyes, he pushed me back into the bathroom. He locked the door behind us.

  “Arnie, what the hell are you doing?” I asked irritated.

  Arnie sauntered to me. “You know what I’m doing. I need you right now.” His hands reached for my zipper, but I batted him away. “What? Come on. Let me suck it,” he pleaded.

  I looked at him in horror. “You’re married, Arnie. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Arnie protested, “I’m married. So what? Gia will never find out.” He put his hand on my waist. “Let’s fool around a little.” He attempted to kiss me.

  Brushing his hands off me, I fumed, “No!” I stepped away from him to the door. “Go back to your wife and try to be a better person for her sake. Whatever fucked up thing we had is dead and gone. Good bye, Arnie.”

  Arnie looked at me in shock. I didn’t let him speak. Charging out of the bathroom, I was in no mood to hear the countless excuses Arnie always gave for his shitty behavior.

  Determined to not let Arnie’s behavior ruin my night, I walked out of the bathroom back into the party. I’d stupidly assumed that Gia had changed Arnie, but I was wrong. It hit me more than ever that our failed relationship wasn’t my fault. It was always Arnie. What if we had gotten married? I’d be in the same crappy situation as Gia. I thanked my lucky stars that Arnie had never become my husband.

  At eleven, Ryan and Tabitha stood from their stairway that overlooked the party. Tabitha, of course, was stunning in a black floral-printed chiffon gown with a plunging V-neckline and long blouson sleeves. Ryan, just as gorgeous, wore a steel gray tuxedo.

  Tabitha held her champagne flute up, “Thank you all for coming! We have an announcement to make!” She looked at Ryan and giggled. “I don’t actually have champagne in this glass. It’s apple juice!”

  Ryan rejoiced, “We’re pregnant!” He looked every bit of the doting husband with his arm around Tabitha.

  The guests clapped and cheered happily.

  Tabitha beamed down on all of us. “Let’s celebrate the new year and new beginnings!”

  The crowd clapped again as Ryan and Tabitha climbed down the stairs. Ryan and Tabitha were having a baby! It really was going to be a fantastic year. My mind turned to Sal. It was too bad he wasn’t there to share in the celebration.

  I wondered where he was and hoped that whatever he was doing he was happy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sal

  After that night with Harrison, I made a commitment to myself to try to work through my emotional barriers. I’d done a terrible thing taking advantage of Harrison when he was shaken over Arnie’s marriage announcement. It was just as bad as taking advantage of someone who was drunk. Harrison was in no shape to make any decisions with a clear head. What Harrison needed that night was a friend. I failed him.

  My emotions got the best of me. I’d never felt that way about anyone before. It was overwhelming. Greg never got under my skin like Harrison did. Why? Greg wasn’t a genuine person. His heartfelt reconciliation was all for show.

  After I’d rejected him, I saw in the tabloids shortly after that Greg was dating the seventy-two-year-old director Carlton Bradford. He was conveniently starring in his upcoming film. Of course, my assumptions were all conjecture, but I was sure there were ulterior motives to Greg’s renewed interest in our relationship.

  Many CW actors couldn’t find jobs after their beloved shows were off air. I’d been Greg’s attempt to find a way back into the limelight. Good thing he found Carlton, who was probably just happy to have a young piece of ass around even if it meant hiring a third-rate actor as his male lead.

  I’d mucked up everything with Harrison so badly. First, by sleepin
g with him in his despondent state. Second, by running out on him when he was asleep. To make it up to him, I asked Barb to transfer all rights of Cross Country to Harrison. Barb reported back to me that Harrison wanted nothing to do with it. Neither did I.

  Professionally, I laid low for most of the year. I actually fiddled around in the, writing room in my house aimlessly writing a memoir about my early rise in the film industry from Magical Mountains to my first box office failure, Budapest Sunset. The memoir was largely about my inability to feel like I really fit in Hollywood even after years of working, living, and breathing the lifestyle. I called the memoir, The Inside Outsider Looking In.

  After months of haranguing me that it was shameful to let Cross Country wither away and die, Barb finally gave up and let it go. She nagged me about how I was spending my time and how I needed to get back to work. Finally, to stop her from bugging me, I sent her the memoir. The book was unfinished, but it got Barb off my back for a while.

  Writing the memoir had been therapeutic for me. It also gave me a chance to review my history with Harrison from a removed perspective. Harrison had meant a lot to me. He still did. It also gave me time to analyze myself, and I realized my aversion to relationships and love were from my parents’ rocky relationship. Taking a trip up to Berkeley to specifically investigate my childhood memories, I stayed with my parents for a couple weeks.

  Over dinner, I interrogated them wanting to get to the bottom of why they were even still together. “Are you two happy?” I asked cutting into my meatloaf.

  My mother declared looking at my father dubiously. “Of course.”

  My father talked with his mouth full. “I’m happy enough.”

  My mother snorted. “Happy enough, huh? You’re happy over there eating my meatloaf, aren’t you?”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “What? I’m happy I said. Happy!”

  I broke in. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Why are you two still married? Get divorced already.”

  My mom’s fork and knife clattered onto her plate. She gasped, “Salvador, why would you say such a thing!” She made the sign of the cross.

  My dad pointed at me with his fork. “You apologize to your mother. Why in the hell are you talking about divorce, son?”

  My mom gasped again, “Do not say hell at the dinner table!” She made the sign of the cross again.

  I flung my knife down. “Why? Because you two constantly bicker! You’re miserable with each other.”

  My mother and father both protested at the same time, “We do not!”

  Squinting my eyes and rubbing my forehead, I suddenly had one of those stress headaches I used to get all the time when I was a kid. “You’ve always fought during my entire childhood. I want to know why you are still together.”

  I took a gigantic gulp from my red wine. “Salvador!” my mom screeched.

  “You two never seemed happy.” I looked down at my half-eaten plate.

  My dad retorted, “We are happy. I love your mother.” He looked away uncomfortably. “We fight. Yes. We fight! But, that’s just us.”

  “What about when I was a kid?”

  “When you were a child…” My mother looked at my father tears and welled in her eyes. Taking a slow deep breath, she elaborated, “I’d tried to get pregnant again, but I’d had several miscarriages.”

  My father cleared his throat. His eyes also brimmed with tears. I’d never seen my dad so emotional before. I’d always thought my dad was only capable of three emotions: annoyance, anger, and joy. Joy was mostly only reserved for when Manchester United won a football match. “It was hard on both of us,” he said quietly.

  My mom continued, “We’d wanted to give you a sibling. We worried you were too shy and too reserved. You always seemed to prefer your own company.”

  My dad interjected. “It seemed like you hardly even wanted us around.”

  My mother wiped her tears from his cheeks. “I was very depressed back then. Your father put up with a lot.”

  My dad smiled at my mom. “Still do.”

  They both laughed. My mom put her hand on mine. “After the years, bickering is just how we talk to each other. It’s not perfect or ideal or anything that is close to how marriages should be in the movies, but this is our relationship.”

  My dad broke in. “It works for us.”

  After that visit, I’d gotten a new perspective on my parents’ marriage and marriage in general. Aside from the romantic comedy I wrote with Harrison, none of my films had been about relationships. It was true what my mom said, most Hollywood movies depicted perfect storybook relationships. The reality was relationships could take shape in many forms.

  I returned to Los Angeles more heartbroken than ever before. Maybe Harrison and I could have made it work despite my tendency to shy away from real emotion. I’d been mistaken to think I was not worthy enough for something real.

  By the time I’d made that realization, it had been nine months since I’d last seen Harrison and left that cryptic note with no real explanation. I could have handled it better. Talking about my feelings might have helped, but I’d never done that before. There was no excuse for how I treated Harrison, but in my defense my panic attack drove me to vomiting. I ran out of there as quickly as I could.

  Even if there was no chance of being with Harrison, I’d hoped that I could work through my emotional roadblocks to be in a healthy relationship with someone one day.

  Barb referred me to a therapist, Dwayne, who talked to me about my parents, Greg, Harrison, and my feelings in general. Dwayne helped me develop strategies for managing my anxiety. It felt good to just talk to someone.

  When New Year’s Eve rolled around, Dwayne warned me that the day might be a trigger for me since the last New Year’s Eve had been an emotional roller coaster with Greg popping back into my life.

  During the session before New Year’s Eve, Dwayne urged, “Sal, you can always pick up the phone and call Harrison yourself. You have unresolved feelings still there.”

  I grunted. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  Dwayne listened and nodded before he said, “You don’t know that for certain.” He paused. “Take care of yourself tomorrow and the first of the year. Be gentle and kind with yourself. If you contact Harrison and he rejects you, at least you tried. Part of your anxiety right now is not knowing.”

  I broke in, “But knowing is going to hurt.”

  Dwayne shook his head. “But not knowing may hurt even more.”

  Tabitha and Ryan, of course, invited me to their shindig on New Year’s Eve, but I opted out of going because, like Dwayne suspected, the thought of their party directed my thoughts to my own party I’d thrown a year before.

  At the beginning of my party, I’d been at my happiest; by the end, I was a puddle of self-deprecating emotions. I tried sitting around my house for the first part of the night, but I kept thinking about Harrison.

  Taking a quick drive, I pulled over to the first bar I saw, Café del Rey, a swanky Mediterranean establishment. I’d driven by it tons of times before, but this was the first time I’d ever gone in. Since Café del Rey was a restaurant bar, the New Year’s Eve vibe was way low key. Just what I needed.

  Camping out at the bar, I ordered chilled tiger shrimp, ceviche, truffle pizza, salmon toast, and grilled Spanish octopus. The bartender, a guy around my age with hair faded on both sides and a voluminous pompadour on top, took my order. “Anything to drink?”

  I shrugged. “Water is good.”

  The bartender nodded, his pompadour swayed. “Is anyone joining you?”

  “No. Just me,” I replied.

  The bartender nodded again looking at the order he’d jotted down. “Tiger shrimp, ceviche, truffle pizza, salmon, and octopus? You haven’t even looked at the dessert menu. You might want to order twenty things on that too.”

  Chuckling, I realized my habit of over ordering struck again. “I don’t need the pizza, the shrimp, and the toast.”

  The ba
rtender grinned. “Got it. Still water?”

  I sighed thinking it over. “House red is good with me.”

  He winked at me. “Be back with that red.”

  The bartender was ruggedly handsome and most likely an actor like everyone else in this town. I scrolled through Instagram looking for Harrison’s updates. I’d been stalking him through social media for the last year. It was a habit to check up on his status updates, Instagram pics, and tweets.

  The bartender came back and slid a glass of red wine in front of me. He leaned in and whispered, “Not our House Red, but a Pinot Noir from Sonoma County. He gave me the OK sign with another wink. “My favorite red here.”

  Looking down at the wine glass, I mumbled, “Thank you. Sonoma County Pinot Noirs are fantastic. Good call.”

  He spun around, “That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

  When he walked away, I went back to my stalking. Tabitha had just posted a pic of a bird’s eye view of the party. I scrutinized the photo looking for Harrison, but it was difficult because of the filter she’d chosen.

  I flipped to Twitter hoping Harrison had posted something on there. There weren’t any tweets from his personal account, but the Cubicles twitter account had an image of Mandy and Ephraim standing back to back with the words, “Reunited and It Feels So… Weird.”

  When Mandy and Ephraim broke up seemingly for good it was a sad episode. As a big Cubicles fan, the severing of their romantic arc was painful. I wondered if Harrison felt pressure from the network to rekindle Mandy and Ephraim’s relationship.

  The bartender came back with the ceviche, but I was too busy flipping through all the social media channels for clues to what Harrison was up to. The bartender knocked on the bar getting my attention. “Are you just going to be on your phone on a night of all nights?”

  Noticing the ceviche, I dipped a tortilla chip into the bowl scooping a hefty amount of fish and onion on the chip. I shoved the whole thing in my mouth. I confessed with a full mouth, “Probably.”

  The bartender leaned forward and whispered, “That’s too bad, but I’ve got something else you could fill your mouth with.”