“I need to talk to you about something,” he told her, wishing he could have summoned grander or more poetic words. But his facility with dialogue escaped him, and he wanted to get to the point. He felt as anxious as a teenager on his first date.
“Oh, Jeremy,” Annabelle said with a melancholy sigh as she smelled the bouquet again. She studied her eager, handsome suitor with his neat outfit, carefully combed hair, and earnest smile.
“Can we go inside?” he asked with a head tilt toward the house.
Annabelle considered him, considered the moment. Jeremy could see her resolve receding in front of his eyes. She turned and walked to the front door as she clutched the flowers. Jeremy followed, his heart thumping in time with his steps.
He sat on Annabelle’s living room couch—more loveseat than sofa to accommodate the tightish space—as she hunted about for something large enough to contain the explosion of roses. She came back with two ceramic vases and split the bouquet between them, placing one on a copper and glass coffee table, the other on a birch accent table next to the loveseat, though it meant removing a lamp to make space. She stood there, lamp in hand, unsure where to put it.
“Sorry to make you redecorate your living room on such short notice,” joked Jeremy, trying to cut the increasing tension. Annabelle crossed into the adjacent dining room, stuck the lamp on the antique farmhouse-style table, and returned to the living room. She eyed the open cushion next to Jeremy and sat in the bentwood rocker across from him instead.
“Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful,” she said stiffly, her customary sparkle in hiding. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Jeremy observed her as she rocked lightly in the chair, hands tightly gripping its narrow arms. She wore the same coral tunic blouse as the last time he had seen her, but the red ended there. White cotton sailor pants, low-heeled black strappy sandals, and a silver-and-turquoise amulet with matching bracelet rounded out her outfit. Her hair looked longer and wavier than usual; she was as adorably sexy to Jeremy as ever.
“How have you been?” he asked, realizing he should probably ease into the discussion.
She mulled his question, weighed her answer. “Better, I think.” There was the faint hint of a smile. Jeremy could feel his shoulders relax. “Melinda and I have been doing some good work.”
“Good. That’s good,” Jeremy said brightly. He waited to see if she was going to elaborate. She wasn’t. “So—some exciting news: I sold a movie pitch to Paradise Pictures.”
“You did? Oh, Jeremy, that’s fantastic!” Her smile broadened. She looked more alive, more genuine.
“Yeah, it was kind of a long shot, but they went for it. Did we ever talk about the movie The Honeymoon Killers?”
“No, but it sounds familiar.” She thought a minute. “Or maybe I’m confusing it with Wedding Crashers.”
Jeremy burst into a grin. What were the chances?
“What?” Annabelle wanted to know. “Why is that so funny?”
“Just that one is about serial killers and one is about serial crashers.” He didn’t want to mention Juliana also mixed up the two; Annabelle always thought his agent sounded a little flaky.
“Well, whatever, I’m really happy for you.” She was still smiling as she shifted in her seat, sensing a bigger agenda at work. “You deserve it.”
“Anyway,” he said, turning the three syllables into five, “I have something else for you.”
Annabelle looked wary.
“No more flowers, I promise,” Jeremy kidded. He dug into his jeans pocket, took out a koala bear keychain (a lucky find at a Hollywood Boulevard gift shop), and handed it to her.
Annabelle examined the keyring and the triangular brass key dangling from it. She seemed perplexed.
“Remember? You were wearing that koala bear T-shirt the day we met?” Jeremy sat up straighter in the loveseat. She gave a faraway nod. He gestured at the keychain, smiled. “I thought it’d be … appropriate.”
Annabelle gazed at the key again, looked back up at Jeremy. “I don’t understand.”
He went to her and knelt by the rocker. He took a deep breath, reached for her hand, and held it in his. She didn’t pull away, just watched him as if in a trance.
“This is the key to my house,” Jeremy began. “I want you to have it. I want you to live there with me. I made a deal with Cassie, and I’m staying there. And I know you’re still working things out, and I’m sorry if all the good between us became complicated and overwhelming. And even though I can’t pretend to fully understand what you’ve been feeling, I know how I’ve been feeling, which is that I think of you all the time and miss you every minute, and I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you. So please come be with me, and I swear to everything I know to be real and true that I will make you the happiest woman ever. And if you need time to decide, take as much as you need because I’m not going anywhere. And not to be presumptuous, but I have a kind of cool idea of what you can do with this house to preserve its place in your life and honor Gil’s memory but only if you do decide you can leave it, which I realize may not be possible, but I’m hoping and praying it will. And I never pray so you have to know how incredibly important I think this is.”
For a fleeting moment Jeremy thought he’d pass out. Instead, he gulped some air and, for some reason, sneezed. He also had a crick in his knee from bending like that and wasn’t sure he could immediately stand. But he could, and the few cracking sounds were masked by the sound of Annabelle’s noisy weeping as she rose from the chair and into his arms.
“I never thought you were crazy,” Annabelle finally said when the tears stopped, “but now I’m thinking maybe you kind of are.” She gazed at him and added, “You know, just a little. Just enough to be interesting.”
Now Jeremy thought he’d start to cry, but he held it together. “I’ll take that as a compliment then,” he said with a hopeful smile. “So … is that a yes?”
Annabelle clutched the koala keychain. “It’s not a no,” she said, which Jeremy took as a win for the time being and a definite sign of progress. As he said, he could wait.
EPILOGUE
It was a year to the day of Jeremy’s fiftieth birthday debacle, which also meant that he and Cassie had been separated for 364 days—though officially divorced since the day before Thanksgiving, which had made for a kind of strange if cathartic family holiday at Jeremy and Annabelle’s house with Joyce, Matty and Gabe, and Cassie and her new boyfriend, the exceedingly tall and agreeable veterinarian Peter Piper. (Yep, the Piper parents picked that one for poor Peter; the pickled pepper jokes abound.)
Today, however, at the site of Jeremy’s last birthday party, a different sort of gathering of family and friends was underway on a picture-perfect spring afternoon. The backyard, which Jeremy and Annabelle had replanted together (yes, a new grapefruit tree!) in the months since she rented her house to Matty and Gabe, now held dozens of padded white folding chairs split by a lane of red carpet and bounded by strands of yellow and white carnations. A floral canopy or, as at least half in attendance would have it, a chuppah, fronted the seating area that had slowly filled with well-dressed well-wishers as a string trio played gentle versions of familiar pop hits.
Jeremy stood tall and proud in a new royal blue suit and purple and gray tie; Annabelle wore a subdued ecru lace midi dress with silvery slingback heels. She looked like a million bucks; Jeremy maybe four hundred grand. Either way, they looked like they belonged together, which, luckily, seemed to be the prevailing wisdom.
Joyce, who turned eighty-five years young in March, stood nearby. She was fit and healthy again after months of careful eating and exercise, full of her usual high spirits and puckish charm. She was blissful to be among her loved ones on this special day, one that she would tell you she saw coming as early as last summer. She was leaving on a cruise to the Greek Islands the next week. Jeremy
wasn’t thrilled, but her doctor approved it, so what’s a concerned son to say? “Opa!” seemed best.
Cassie and Peter Piper (Jeremy always called him by his full name) were standing with the others, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings—or maybe criticizing the outfits. Even if Peter towered over Cassie, they seemed to make sense together, and Jeremy was happy if she was happy because, really, what would the point of their breakup have been if she were still miserable?
Matty and Gabe made a dashing couple that day, to no one’s surprise. They wore hip blazers—Matty’s was a deep burgundy, Gabe’s a shimmery gray paisley—with skinny black pants and Italian black leather sneakers. They were loving living in Annabelle’s old house, keeping it as intact as possible while finding ways to make it their own. Matty went off and opened his own special events company (staff of one), while Gabe was starting chiropractic school in the fall. As Joyce exclaimed when she heard, “Finally, a doctor in the family!”
Jeremy cried like a baby when Rabbi Lynn Rosenberg rattled off the whole “in sickness and in health, till death do you part” bit because it always sounded so damn eternal when, really, whoever knew what the future had in store for any couple? Annabelle cried seeing Jeremy cry but maybe also because those words cut a little too close. And even though she’d made great strides in moving on from Gil (she and Melinda had called it quits the month before), he’d always be there—as he should be.
But everyone wept or sniffled or applauded when Rabbi Rosenberg said: “I now pronounce you husband and husband.” Matty and Gabe stomped on the glass, kissed like they were on their third date, and got more than a little teary-eyed themselves but managed to keep beaming. That’s what you call happiness.
Later, the string trio added a feisty bass guitar player and jammed out some foolproof party anthems that packed the makeshift dance floor. Jeremy, tipsy father of the groom that he was, merrily rotated among dance partners, but saved the last dance for his best girl, who had earlier dispensed with her silvery heels, let down her pinned-up waves, and was having such a joyful time you’d think it was her own wedding. Speaking of which:
“So when are we going to say ‘I do’ and file a joint tax return?” Jeremy asked with a sly smile, holding Annabelle close as the quartet played a lovely version of Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a romantic proposal?”
“The mushy ones haven’t worked on you so far so I thought I’d cut to the chase.” He surprised her with a dip and she whooped with delight.
Annabelle straightened up, landing eye to eye with Jeremy. “All I’ll say is if I decide to marry anyone, I promise it’ll be you.” She smiled in that loopy way that melted Jeremy’s heart every time.
“I’m going to keep asking, you know,” he said as the song ended. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve become a very persistent person.” He was joking, but they both knew there was a kernel of truth there. And that Jeremy would be the first to credit Annabelle for its existence.
As the other couples drifted off the dance floor, Jeremy and Annabelle stayed in their spot and shared a spectacular kiss beneath the canyon’s burgeoning ceiling of stars.
It was the best birthday he’d had in a long, long time.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It may not seem so when you’re in your head, sitting and writing a book alone day after day, but it really does take a village to help bring a novel to life and find its way out into the world. My joyous journey creating The Last Birthday Party is no exception and I have many people to thank for their love, support, generosity, insight, and inspiration along the way.
So let’s name names--starting at the beginning.
My mother, Natalie, who instilled in me a love of books and movies and theatre and always fostered my creativity and individuality. I would not be who am I today without her integrity, guidance, friendship, and deep, abiding love. Mom, I think of you every day.
My father, Leonard, who, as a self-made man, taught me that if you don’t do something yourself, it may never get done. He didn’t realize he was talking about the life of a writer. Miss you, dad. Thanks for giving me so much good “material.”
My sister, Lynn: cheerleader, ready ear, co-witness to family history, and dear friend. I’ve been so lucky to have you and am thankful for all we’ve shared over a lifetime, now including writing. Even if, when we were kids, you told me “they could send me back” until I was ten.
Bill: My life-mate, soul-mate, laugh-mate, and best friend. Thank you to the moon for all your love, kindness, patience, and unwavering belief in me every day—and through each step of my creative endeavors. Your input on this book, as always, was invaluable. You’re my hero.
To my extended family members, including my nephews, nieces, cousins, and in-laws: I am so grateful to have you all in my life. You mean more to me than you can know.
To my Aunt Eppie, whose warmth, optimism, and lovely, lilting voice lives on in Joyce. You said “don’t forget me” and I didn’t.
I’ve been blessed with so many wonderful, longtime friends: you know who you are. You have provided me with so much love, care, camaraderie, fun, and great memories over the years. I’m beyond happy to share this achievement with you.
My many friends and compatriots at the Writers Guild of America West who bring sanity, perspective, humor, and a shared sense of purpose to this wild ride we’ve all undertaken—and could not live without. It’s been an honor to be on the trip with each of you. Special thanks to Bruce, Cathryn, Susan, and Ken for sharing your unique wisdom about the book world.
To the terrific trio at Hadleigh House: Allison, Alisha, and Anna. It’s an understatement to say that I couldn’t have done this without you, but I will anyway. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your amazing collaboration and support and I wish you endless success.
To my editor, Kate: I am in awe of how you helped trim and shape the book with such elegance, intuition, and precision. I know so much more now because of you and greatly appreciate your efforts.
To Amanda, who swept through the manuscript with her crack editing skills before it ever went out to the world and helped make me look like I actually knew what I was doing.
Kevin, my editor at the L.A. Times, who is the anti-Lucien, a dream to work with, and has an uncanny sense of which films to assign me. Keep those Holocaust docs coming, dude. And to the rest of the folks at the Times (Hi, Elena!) who’ve been such smart, encouraging, and considerate colleagues.
Thank you to David Dean Bottrell, Jennifer Dorr-Moon, Barbara Graustark, J. Todd Harris, Beverly Kopf, Mark Sarvas, Barbara Speiser, and Mark Temple for your generous assistance. Did I say it takes a village?
And finally to the readers, without whom none of this would make much sense. I hope you’ve enjoyed Jeremy’s twisty journey and have seen a bit of yourself in his life and those around him. And don’t forget: you never know what’s going to happen when you wake up every morning. Who knows? You might decide to write a book.
ABOUT GARY GOLDSTEIN
Gary Goldstein is an award-winning writer for film, TV, and the theatre with more than 30 produced screen and stage credits. The New York native and longtime L.A. resident has also been a contributing film reviewer and feature writer for the Los Angeles Times since 2007. The Last Birthday Party is Gary’s first novel.
Visit him at GaryGoldsteinLA.com or follow Gary
on Instagram and Twitter @GaryGoldsteinLA
(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The Last Birthday Party Page 27