The Last Birthday Party

by Gary Goldstein

  “You’re right,” Cassie admitted. She sat up straighter, repositioned herself in her chair, composed her thoughts. “I’m sorry. You deserved better.” Then, with a catch in her voice, she added, “The thing is … I miss you.”

  Jeremy was at a loss. He hadn’t known what to expect from this meet-up but it sure wasn’t this. He swallowed hard. “What are you saying?”

  She paused. “I heard you and Annabelle hit a rough patch.” Before he could ask the obvious, Cassie answered, “Matty may have told me.”

  A Range Rover pulled up in front and dropped off a trio of giggly teenage girls in shorts and crop tops who barreled past the outdoor tables and into the restaurant. Jeremy hoped they stayed inside to eat.

  “Cassie, this beating-around-the-bush thing isn’t you. What are you doing?”

  She sighed, twirling a twisted silver bangle bracelet on her right wrist that Jeremy didn’t recognize. “I wanted to talk to you about getting back together. About trying again.”

  Jeremy sat stunned. “You do know that we already sold our house.”

  “Yes, I’m aware,” she said. “A new place to live could be part of our starting-over plan.”

  This was making less than no sense. “You already have a new place to live,” he reminded her.

  “I’m sure we could figure something out.”

  “We have lawyers working on our case.”

  “So they’ll stop and we’ll pay them for their time. It’s just money,” she reasoned, unreasonably.

  If someone approached Jeremy that very second and said, “Sir, this is all a dream,” he wouldn’t have been anywhere nearly as surprised as he was by this crazy turn of events. There was so much to say, so much to ask.

  He then realized he was forgetting a little something. He wasn’t in love with Cassie anymore—he was in love with someone else, “rough patch” aside.

  But before he could mention that, his phone rang. He was about to let it go to voicemail until he glanced at the caller ID: Encino Hospital. Jeremy gave Cassie a “one second” finger as he answered. Unless it was a wrong number, this wasn’t going to be good. Especially given who lived just a few blocks from that hospital.

  CHAPTER

  34

  Unlike Larry’s fatal heart attack, Joyce’s was relatively mild. But a heart attack is a heart attack, at least in Jeremy’s medical book. He should have seen it coming. Or maybe he did and just didn’t want to face it. Or maybe he’d been too caught up in his own shit to pay proper attention. Didn’t he wonder if she was okay when she mentioned taking that afternoon nap? Why didn’t he follow up on that? And hadn’t he found his mother more low-key, the lilt in her voice fainter during their last few phone calls? Joyce rarely complained, always said she was fine, even if you asked her outright. Still, Jeremy felt tremendous guilt as he barreled over Coldwater Canyon en route to Encino Hospital.

  “You’re a fantastic son, Jeremy, please don’t beat yourself up over this,” said Cassie, who offered to accompany Jeremy. He was too wigged out to say yes or no so she just hopped in his car and off they went.

  They were largely silent on the ride over. When they did talk, it was idle chatter about Jeremy’s script rewrite, Cassie’s job loss and new work prospects, their son (Jeremy had left him an urgent voicemail). Jeremy’s head was swimming. Would Joyce be okay? Did Cassie really say she wanted “to try again?” What the actual fuck?

  Joyce was in a room resting comfortably when Jeremy arrived. Cassie had the good sense to wait in the floor lounge for the moment; no need to give Joyce another heart attack.

  “Boy, some people will do anything for a little attention,” Jeremy joked, with a lump in his throat. He leaned down to hug his mother, who felt thin and fragile beneath her hospital gown. A beeping monitor stood guard behind her.

  “That’s me, a real attention hound,” Joyce said, smiling up at her son. “You didn’t need to come all this way, darling, I’m doing fine.”

  She actually looked pretty good, all things considered. Jeremy felt heartened, his waves of guilt subsiding. “You obviously weren’t doing so fine when you called the paramedics.”

  “A little indigestion, I didn’t think much of it,” she said. Jeremy shot her an impatient look. “You’re a nudge, you know that?” she smiled. “Okay, so I also had some chest pain and my jaw felt like someone socked it. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic,” answered Jeremy, “that you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you?”

  “If you don’t believe me, ask her,” Joyce said, with a nod to a young woman with a clipboard standing behind Jeremy. “Say hello to Dr. Chang. Isn’t she lovely?”

  Jeremy turned to Dr. Chang, who was indeed lovely and looked not much older than Matty. They shook hands and she updated Jeremy on Joyce’s condition. A small artery blockage brought on the attack, though it likely caused little if any damage to the heart. (Yes, Joyce had already gone chapter and verse with Dr. Chang about Larry’s killer heart attack; Jeremy hated that she had to relive that just now, but how could she not?) They administered oxygen therapy, treated her with nitroglycerin to boost blood flow and put her on several heart meds including blood thinners and beta-blockers. Standard stuff, if it’s someone else’s mother.

  Jeremy was far more unnerved than Joyce—or Dr. Chang, for that matter, who confirmed that Joyce should be just fine, though they’d be keeping her in the hospital another forty-eight hours for monitoring.

  “Not exactly my idea of a vacation, but at least I won’t have to do dishes for a few days,” Joyce quipped.

  When Dr. Chang left, Jeremy told Joyce that Cassie was outside. That got quite the eyebrow raise from his mother. Jeremy said it was a long story that he’d explain later, even if he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

  “Well, I’d love to see Cassie,” Joyce decided. “I miss her, you know.”

  Jeremy wondered if that was the drugs talking. Either way, Jeremy left to get Cassie and ran into Matty as he exited the elevator onto Joyce’s floor. They hugged, and Jeremy assured him that everything was okay. He also told Matty that Cassie was there, though, from his non-reaction, Cassie had clearly gotten to him first.

  They collected Cassie and, doing their best to resemble a family, spent about twenty minutes with Joyce until she started to yawn and said, “Don’t take it personally, but I need to sleep a little.”

  Cassie had been mostly quiet, letting Jeremy and Matty carry the conversation, though she piped in now and then like someone who’d never walked out on Joyce’s son. Jeremy was thankful that nothing came up about his and Cassie’s split or her sudden backtracking. Joyce kept to herself whatever she was really thinking, and just seemed appreciative that her ex-daughter-in-law had shown up.

  Outside the hospital, Matty, perceptive boy that he was, offered to drive Cassie back to West Hollywood on the pretense that he lived closer to her—which he did—but also because, as he later told Jeremy, he was getting the vibe that his dad wasn’t buying whatever it was his mother was selling. If Cassie was disappointed that they couldn’t pick up their conversation where they’d left off back at Joan’s on Third, she didn’t let on. Instead, she gave Jeremy a quick hug goodbye and left with a simple “We’ll talk,” though there was nothing simple about it.

  That night, Jeremy tried hatching a few new screenplay ideas he could pitch to the phantom development execs Juliana had promised he’d meet. But aside from a remake of The Honeymoon Killers, a lurid old crime-thriller he was obsessed with about the famed Lonely Hearts Killers, he was drawing blanks. His mind ping-ponged instead between thoughts of Cassie and Annabelle.

  If there were no Annabelle, would he take Cassie up on her bombshell bid for a do-over? Could Annabelle ever get past Jeremy’s misguided offer of shared domesticity and return to what they once had? And if she could—and did—was there a chance they could ever live together and, if so, where? If Cassie wanted Jeremy ba
ck in her life did that mean he wasn’t really the detached, unfeeling clod she’d made him believe he was—and which the episode with Annabelle sort of reconfirmed?

  Good questions all, he felt, though he came up short on definite answers. He returned to his laptop to pound out the pitch for his Honeymoon Killers redo when he received a text, as if on cue, from Annabelle: “Heard about your mom from Gabe. So sorry, but glad she’s OK. She is, isn’t she? Are you OK?”

  Jeremy gazed at the message, so happy to hear from her, so sad that she wasn’t there to share the feelings he was feeling. She’d know just what to say and just how Jeremy should handle it.

  He immediately texted Annabelle back with an update, thanked her for checking in, and said he hoped they could talk soon. He knew if she wanted to talk, she would have called and not texted. Out of respect—and maybe a bit of fear that she’d end their relationship for good (if it wasn’t over already; it was hard to tell)—Jeremy held back phoning Annabelle and let the text speak for itself.

  The next afternoon, as Jeremy was driving along Mulholland en route to visit Joyce, Juliana appeared on his caller ID. Cell service was spotty on that hilly stretch of winding road, so he considered letting the call go to voicemail; talking to his agent could be disjointed enough without bad reception making it worse. Then again, agents didn’t just call to shoot the shit, so he’d better pick up. It could be important. Turned out it was. Very. He shouldn’t have answered.

  “I’m just gonna rip off the Band-Aid here, dude, because I find that’s best,” Juliana said, not even preceded by a hello. She wasn’t fucking around.

  Jeremy’s mouth went dry and his belly did a quick flip. He knew: his rewrite. “What is it?”

  “Monolith is bringing in a new writer.” She flung the words out like the seven little knives they were.

  “Say again?” Jeremy asked, as if that would change what she had just said.

  “They thought you did a great job, but they want to bring in someone to do a tone pass.”

  “How ‘great’ a job could I have done if they want to replace me so quickly? And what the fuck is a ‘tone pass?’”

  “Honestly, it means different things to different people,” non-explained Juliana. “The good news is they’re paying off your next step, and you don’t even have to do the work.”

  Jeremy pictured Laz cursing his fookin’ head off while he read the rewrite.

  “How is that good news? I want to do the work. I want to take the script as far as I can. That was the whole point!”

  Jeremy turned into a scenic overlook and pulled up next to a tour bus: “Hollywood Sights,” presumably a play on the Bob Seger classic, “Hollywood Nights,” or maybe not. Not everyone thought like Jeremy did.

  “Jeremy, if you want to have a career in this business you’ve got to put on your big boy pants, be grateful that you sold your first screenplay in forever, and move on to something even bigger and better. It’s out there, I promise you.” She left out “Plus you’re fifty years old, for fuck’s sake!” but he was pretty sure that was implicit.

  As he took in Juliana’s pep talk, Jeremy eyed the dozen or so tourists taking pictures of the sprawling San Fernando Valley that rolled out beneath them like a vast, sun-kissed carpet. If Jeremy hadn’t seen the view a million times, he would be as taken as these goggling out-of-towners; like so much in L.A., it was truly impressive.

  “I hear what you’re saying, but it makes no sense. They had the script for, like, two days and they make that kind of move? Without even talking to me? I know writers are dispensable, but don’t you think that’s kinda pushing it? And where’s Ian in all this?”

  Jeremy got out of his car. He needed air.

  “Ian thinks you’re really talented and says he’ll keep you in mind for another project.”

  “I won’t hold my breath.” Jeremy didn’t mean to overreact but somebody had to.

  Juliana stopped typing, sighed. “If you’re looking for logic or fairness or basic human decency you’re in the wrong business, my friend.” She continued her reality check: “And not to say I told you so, because I’d never do that, but you could have taken a much bigger payday, skipped the rewrite, and jumped right into banging out a whole new script we could be out selling this very minute.”

  Jeremy wasn’t sure what world his agent lived in where he could “bang out” a saleable screenplay that fast, but it sure wasn’t his.

  He felt his pulse calm as he watched the tourists gazing out at the knockout view. Was he really that surprised at what happened? He did good work, he got paid, they moved on. With luck, the movie would get made, and he’d at the very least share credit. If he was really honest with himself, the whole thing was a fluke anyway, hardly part of some master plan. Without Cassie’s exit—and the chain of events that followed—Jeremy never would have unearthed his old script and found himself chasing a dream he’d forgotten he had.

  Besides, his mother had just survived a serious health scare. Let’s prioritize, folks.

  “You’re right, it’s all good,” Jeremy told the agent he realized he wanted to keep. A family of three that could have passed for Jeremy, Cassie, and Matty a dozen or more years ago took a selfie in front of the brightly painted tour bus as the other sightseers filed back on. It made Jeremy smile as he said goodbye to Juliana, but not before asking her to please set up those pitch meetings she’d mentioned.

  For a fleeting moment, he wished he were just a tourist.

  CHAPTER

  35

  Jeremy stopped at a Ralph’s supermarket near the hospital and picked up a giant vase of sunflowers for Joyce. He was playfully hiding behind the festive blooms when he entered her room, only to be shocked at who he saw when he moved the flowers away from his face. It was Annabelle, sitting in a padded metal chair next to his mother’s bed.

  “Jeremy, look who came to see me!” Joyce squealed, pointing to her visitor. “It’s Annabelle!” she added, in case her son had come down with a bout of hysterical blindness.

  Jeremy put the vase on a small table, then leaned down and kissed his mother.

  Annabelle was a vision in red: coral tunic blouse, crimson stretchy jeans, maroon canvas slip-ons, scarlet lipstick. She smiled back sweetly, evasively.

  “This is a surprise,” Jeremy told her, as if it wasn’t ridiculously obvious.

  “I hope it’s okay. I’ve been really concerned.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Joyce asked before Jeremy could formulate an answer. “You’re an angel for coming all this way.”

  Annabelle blushed, adding yet another shade of red to her ensemble. “I had a client in Studio City, so I was kind of halfway here,” she explained. “Another guy who had rotator cuff surgery.” She turned to Jeremy. “Though it was nowhere near as bad as yours.”

  “Happy to hear I still hold some distinction,” he said. Annabelle visibly flinched. Jeremy didn’t mean to sound rude but, happy as he was to see her, he didn’t know where they stood and it was kind of breaking his heart. He also felt powerless to do anything about it; their fate was in Annabelle’s delicate hands, or so it seemed.

  Joyce, who could read a room like nobody else, sat up. “So how do I look for an old lady who was just at death’s door?” Joyce playfully lifted her face and struck a pose, batting her eyelashes for added effect.

  “Like a young lady with a full life ahead of her,” Jeremy answered with more optimism than accuracy. She looked a bit thin and pale but on the mend.

  “Honey, I love you like my own son,” his mother said, amused by her little joke, “but you’re full of shit.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I’d say full,” Jeremy grinned.

  “Joyce, you look absolutely fine,” said Annabelle, studying her, “though a little makeup wouldn’t hurt.” She eyed Joyce’s big purse sitting on the bedside cabinet. “Got any in there?” Joyce gestured a
nd Annabelle found lipstick, a compact, and a small nylon hairbrush.

  “Oh, goodie, a makeover!” said Joyce, already looking better. Jeremy watched as Annabelle dusted his mom’s cheeks with highlighting powder and then carefully applied the lipstick to Joyce’s thin, dry lips. Annabelle stepped back, assessed her handiwork, then ran the brush through Joyce’s short, silvery hair. It puffed up nicely.

  “Take a look,” said Annabelle, holding out the compact’s mirror. Joyce studied her face in it and beamed.

  “You’re an absolute magician, darling.” She looked up at her son. “Isn’t she a magician, Jeremy?”

  He didn’t answer, just gazed at Annabelle as she smiled at Joyce.

  “Oh, where’s my head, I completely forgot!” Joyce clutched Jeremy’s hand. “Whatever happened with your script? Did you finish the rewrite? Did they totally love it?”

  Annabelle glanced at Jeremy, looking curious as well.

  He simply didn’t have the heart—or the energy—to tell the truth right then, and channeled his agent. “It’s in the hands of the movie gods.”

  Jeremy and Annabelle rode the elevator down together in silence. Once they entered the hospital’s buzzing, pastel-painted lobby, she pointed to a pair of empty chairs in the waiting area. “Wanna sit for a minute?”

  “Why, do you want to talk to me or something?” Jeremy knew that came out wrong—again.

  “Look, I know you must be pissed at me or offended or annoyed and I don’t blame you,” Annabelle said, not yet moving toward the bank of seats.

  “I’m not pissed or offended but I am confused and I miss what we had and there’s a lot going on and to top it off Cassie wants us to get back together,” he said in a torrent of syllables.

  “Why would she want us to get back together?”

  “Not you and me. Her and me.” Jeremy searched Annabelle’s face for surprise or worry or betrayal but there was none. Just a sort of calm neutrality.