Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3)

by Torrest, T.

  He tipped my chin to his face, bent down and gave me a sweet kiss along my lips.

  A very real, very sincere kiss. A Trip Wilmington kiss.

  The gesture thawed me out and allayed my concerns. And thankfully, by the time we got back to his house, we’d both decided to table the incident.

  It was easy to overlook almost anything when Trip was intent on making me forget.

  He made leisurely love to me for hours, and after that, I couldn’t even remember my name.

  Chapter 20

  COME AWAY HOME

  We had a couple free weeks to take it easy, considering Slap Shot wasn’t due to start filming until the end of March. We went out into the world sometimes, but mostly, we just enjoyed staying in. It was easier to relax when we were able to take up residence in our own, private cocoon.

  Because going out was always a spectacle.

  In spite of the baseball cap, Trip was stopped everywhere we went; people asking for autographs, tourists snapping pictures. He took it all in stride, but it was a little overwhelming for me. I was astounded at the attention he attracted. I mean, I knew he was famous and all, but knowing something and living it were two totally different things. I watched his interactions with awe, seeing “Trip Wiley” the way the world saw him, the pieces of this public figure they thought they were entitled to. Who was this sexy, urbane man that had emerged from the clunky (but okay, yeah, still sexy) teenager I once knew? When Trip was being him, he carried himself with an inflated confidence which managed to come off as almost… graceful.

  I spent some of our time in seclusion getting some writing done, and thank God, because I had barely thought about work since the moment Trip walked back into my life. Aside from that notable distraction, it was just simply too hard to get back into the grind out there. California was so laid-back. Content. Peaceful.

  At first when I’d taken over Trip’s office, I spent more time staring out at the sunshine than doing any work. I daydreamed. I called Dad. I called Lisa.

  My best friend was such an enabler during that time. She’d call every few hours with questions about the Academy Awards. Who was hotter in person; how tall was so-and-so really? I told her a few stories, but kept most of the slimy stuff to myself for the time being. I didn’t want to tarnish her impression of the glamorous Hollywood façade that she’d come to know; the shiny, star-studded lifestyle of her imaginings. Besides. Lisa was never one to let me get more than a few words in edgewise. I was saving the details for when I got home.

  I was also, apparently, saving my productivity for another time. I did everything but work during those first days.

  I watched every one of Trip’s movies that I hadn’t yet seen, then I watched the ones I already had. I collected all the entertainment magazines that had covered the Oscars and clipped any pictures I found of Trip and me together.

  I swam. I cooked. I organized my notes.

  I was totally stalling.

  Finally, out of nowhere, inspiration struck and I spent three solid days banging away at my keyboard, barely coming up for air. Trip was busy preparing for his movie, so I was able to get some words down without feeling too neglectful. But even so, when an idea for a book finally sets off a creative spurt, I have no choice but to run with it.

  My big epiphany had come from that read-through the other day. After meeting Patrick Van Keegan, I’d come up with a story about a washed-up Hollywood actor in the days leading up to his suicide. I’d hardly call Patrick Van Keegan a has-been, but seeing him that day gave me the idea. You just never know when a muse will present itself. I’d already titled it “The Last Act,” and the ideas for it just wouldn’t stop flooding my brain.

  I’d called Diana with the pitch, and she just went nuts for it. That added motivation was what had me tapping away on my laptop the past few days, practically nonstop. Which was a good thing, because between the fiction novel for Diana and the memoir for Trip, I had a lot of writing to do.

  I was starting to burn out.

  But I had to keep going. Not only was I on a self-imposed deadline, but I truly loved it. I knew, though, that I had to find my balance between loving it and loving Trip at the same time. It was too easy to get lost in him, and I didn’t want that to happen.

  Trip seemed to be stressing a bit as well. I had walked in on another heated phone conversation that morning and quickly realized it was Bert coercing Trip into doing his film. It wasn’t the first call like that, and I knew Trip was tired of the incessant pressure and schmoozing. My impression of Bert at the Oscar after-party still lingered, and I felt it was pretty insane that either of them would even consider working together after almost trading fists.

  But this was Hollywood. Things were a little different out there.

  Bert was a complete ass, but a talented director, and Trip thought that the script was amazing. The whole situation was absolutely crazypants to me. Where else on Earth can a potential employee threaten to beat the shit out of a potential employer and still be pursued for the job? I thought the man was a skeeze and I hoped Trip would flat-out turn him down. But it wasn’t my decision to make. Trip wasn’t even surprised to find that the guy still wanted to work with him, which was more than a little disconcerting. He’d become almost used to the way things were done in that city. I didn’t think I ever would.

  His moody outbursts had become more frequent over the past few weeks, but I made a point to remind myself that it wasn’t personal. The old Layla would have assumed she had done something wrong; the new Layla trusted that he would come to me if I were the source of his frustrations. Striving for better communication wasn’t always easy, but our recent efforts had been an improvement between us, and that certainly counted for something.

  Between his dealings with Bert and his preparations for his upcoming movie, Trip was burning out, too. He must’ve finally decided to take a break from studying his script as he made his way into the office and slumped down in a leather chair across from the desk. I looked up just long enough to acknowledge him as he shot me a contented smile. He didn’t interrupt my frenetic pace and just sat there watching me for a while. It was nice having him there, his silent presence a cozy encouragement.

  I was in my zone and had barely registered that he was even still in the room when he asked, “Hey. You in the mood to catch a concert? The Chili Peppers are playing at the Bowl. I can get us tickets.”

  I had a pencil between my teeth and didn’t even look up from the keyboard. “Can’t. Writing.”

  “How ‘bout some dinner? You want to go out or stay in?”

  “Hmm. Sounds good, hon.” I registered that I wasn’t really paying attention to whatever it was that he was asking, but whatevs. We’d talk about it later. Tapatapataptap.

  “You want to move in with me?”

  I was still pounding away at the keys, and wasn’t even sure what he’d just said. It took an extra minute for his words to finally sink in, and when they did, I stopped dead in my tracks. My hands went motionless and I looked up to meet his eyes. The pencil dropped out of my mouth as I asked, “What?”

  “Well, that got your attention!” he said, cracking himself up.

  Did he seriously just ask me if I wanted to move in with him? “Wait. Did you… what?”

  He came around to my side of the desk, knelt down on the floor, and swiveled my chair to face him. He rubbed his hands against my knees and said, “I know you’re heading back next week, and I kind of figured you’d be coming back, but I wanted to officially ask you to do so.” He pulled a mini Rubik’s Cube keychain out of his pocket and dangled a silver key in front of his face. “I had this made for you.”

  “Trip!” I shouldn’t have been so stunned. I mean, how did we plan on being together if I lived on the opposite side of the country? But just hearing him actually say the words, seeing the sweet, shy look on his face… my body’s response to his gesture just caught me by surprise. My heart started pounding and my eyes actually welled up as I took the keychai
n from his outstretched hand.

  And then I kissed him.

  Right there on the floor of our office.

  * * *

  Trip’s birthday was on March 15th.

  He had yet another meeting with the Slap Shot crew, as they readied to start shooting in a few more weeks. I was amazed at how much time and work went into filming a movie even before the cameras started rolling. Trip informed me that it was nothing compared to the time and work that goes into a movie after. But at least his bodily presence wouldn’t be required too often during that phase until it was time to start promoting it.

  His meeting was first thing in the morning, so I barely had a chance to wish him a happy birthday before he was out the door. I felt bad that the guy had to go in to the studio on his special day, but he assured me it wouldn’t take very long. It ended up working out great, though, because it gave me a few hours to throw an impromptu “party” together. The guests would only consist of his immediate family, but I figured they were the people he’d most like to spend his day with anyway.

  What was interesting to me was that he had numerous acquaintances out there, but not too many close friends. He was tight with his agent, David, and he’d bonded instantaneously with Carlos, his director from Slap Shot. I saw the way he interacted with all those industry people at the Oscars, laughing and chatting and having a great time. But he wasn’t really friends with any of them. I guessed since he spent most of his time trying to avoid the limelight—and the drinking that went with it—he was kind of insulated from the social aspects of that world.

  He’d been talking to Pickford pretty regularly since the wake, though, and I was glad that between his old buddy and his new pals, he at least had a small handful of people to make up his inner circle, a reliable group of friends that would make sure not to lead him astray.

  I was just putting the finishing touches on the dining room table setup when Sandy arrived to help me decorate the house. She put the baby down in her bedroom, the pink-and-white space that her uncle had painted himself in anticipation of her arrival months before.

  Sandy and I got to work decorating, and we really pulled out all the cheese to do so. She actually picked up some crepe streamers and balloons on her way over to the house. Sandy started in with hanging the streamers, and I took over balloon duty. But since we didn’t have a helium tank, I just blew them up and piled them all along the bar.

  It was ironic that Trip had a fully-stocked bar in his home, so huge it took over an entire wall of his living room. I mean, not only was he a recovering alcoholic, but he didn’t do much entertaining. I couldn’t quite grasp why it was even under his roof, much less in the most lived-in space in the house.

  I had just finished with the balloons and recovered from my lightheadedness when I decided to join Sandy with the rest of the decorating. Out of nowhere, she took a deep breath and blurted out, “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?” I asked absently, balancing on a step ladder.

  Sandy rolled the leftover streamers around the spool as she slumped down onto a side chair. “For not…you know… For not trying to step in and straighten you two out all those years ago.”

  I was startled by her words and came down off the ladder. “Sandy… Why would you owe me an apology for that? We screwed that up, not you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was just difficult, you know? It’s so hard working for family sometimes. I never know when to draw the line between being an employee and being a sister-in-law to him. I really try to separate the two, and normally, I do a good job of it. But that thing in New York… I just want you to know that I know I chose the wrong role.”

  I sat down on the chair next to hers. I was touched that she was taking my life so personally, but I really didn’t want her to keep beating herself up about it. “You were only doing what Trip asked you to do. I wasn’t happy about it, but I never blamed you.”

  “But I should have told him to get his head out of his ass. I should have told him to at least speak to you.” She played with the roll of streamers in her hands before adding, “You should know that I came right over here as soon as he got back and tried to talk some sense into him. But he said if I ever even so much as mentioned your name to him again, he’d not only fire me, but cut Claudia off as well.”

  That sounded a bit extreme to me, but I was sure he was only lashing out at the world because I’d hurt him so deeply. It didn’t make it right, but I understood the feeling. All too well.

  She put the streamers on the table and met my eyes. “I knew he didn’t really mean it, assumed he was simply too raw to discuss it at the time, and just figured I’d give him a few days to cool down about it. But then I made the mistake of trying to talk to him one day when he had a few in him. He shot me a look—God. I’d never seen that look on his face before or since—it just froze me in my tracks. I didn’t want to take the chance of riling him up if it meant he was going to make good on his threat. We’d just bought the house in Santa Monica, we were looking into adopting the baby… we knew we needed his help with those things. I’ve always been ashamed that I didn’t bring it up again.”

  “Oh, Sandy. I’m so sorry you got mixed up in all that! You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you did exactly what he asked you to do. I’m so sorry I turned him into such a monster.”

  “He really was,” Sandy snickered out. “It took me some time before I was able to figure out he was only taking out his hurt on us. I should have known that sooner and stepped in. I should have stepped in anyway.”

  She looked so guilty sitting there, but I truly didn’t want her to hold herself responsible for Trip’s and my stupidity. “No. Please don’t question yourself about it another minute. Please stop being so hard on yourself! Really. Everything is working out exactly as it was supposed to. I just feel bad that you’ve been so stressed out about it all this time. If anything, we owe you the apology. Did he ever…?”

  “He did. A while back. Took me out for dinner and apologized for being an evil ogre. Still didn’t want to talk about you, but he was in a better place by then, at least.”

  We were in the midst of sharing a teary-eyed hug when Claudia came in with Mrs. Wilmington. She’d flown in for the occasion, and the two of them had spent the whole day house hunting. I guessed now that her husband was gone, Mrs. W. could make that long-anticipated move out west.

  Sandy sobbed, “I’m just… I’m just so glad you’re here right now. We all are. Trip’s never been happier.”

  I hugged her even tighter. Her words carried more weight than she could ever realize. “Thank you for that.”

  Claudia stood in the living room, watching as Sandy and I swiped our eyes. She knew full well what we’d been discussing, because she put her hands to her hips and busted, “Sandy. What the heck did you do to the poor girl now?”

  That made us laugh. Claudia threw an arm around my shoulders and said, “She really couldn’t get over it for the longest time. I didn’t really understand until I saw you two together, but I gotta agree; it’s good to have you around, kid.”

  The approval of Claudia Wilmington. Jesus. Now I knew Trip and me were doing something right.

  Mrs. W. came into the room then, bouncing Skylar in her arms and sing-songing, “Look who’s up from her nap!”

  Claudia released her arm from my shoulders and said, “Yeah right, Ma. Like we don’t know you just went in there and woke her up.” She rolled her eyes and announced she was going to the kitchen to heat up a bottle.

  It was really pretty awesome to have the Wilmington women in my life. I’d always been surrounded by men. And actually, after growing up with so many male relatives, it was a breath of fresh air to have some female family members around, even if they weren’t my own.

  Chapter 21

  BACK IN THE DAY

  By the time I pulled the meatloaf out of the oven, Trip had come home. He walked into the kitchen to find all his women standing there, ready to celebrate his thirty-sec
ond birthday.

  Jesus. Thirty-two. Remember how old you used to think that was when you were a kid? I remember as a little girl, doing the calculations until the millennium. I figured on New Year’s Eve of 2000, I’d be twenty-six, married, and with four kids by then.

  We all know how that turned out instead.

  Trip had a shy smile on his face as he entered the room. He was only partially surprised to see his mother there and went over to give her a hug, before kissing Claudia, Sandy, and Skylar hello. Then he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist as I stirred the creamed spinach at the stove. You’d think with his money, his tastes would have gotten more extensive. But when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday dinner, he immediately requested meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and the aforementioned spinach. After the diet and exercise binge I’d gone on leading up to the Oscars, I was more than happy to indulge in a little soul food. At least for one night. I still had an entire city of beautiful women to keep up with.

  He nuzzled his face against my neck and said, “Mmm. Smells great.” I didn’t know if he was talking about me or the food until he asked, “Did you make everything yourself?”

  “I did. Used your mom’s recipe for the meatloaf, though.”

  “Perfect. Can’t wait to dive in.” At that, he bit my earlobe, and I knew he was talking about me that time.

  “Okay, kids, that’s quite enough,” Claudia snarked as we laughed. “All this cute is making me a little sick to my stomach, and I haven’t even eaten Layla’s cooking yet.”

  * * *

  After dinner, we retired to the living room for dessert. Sandy had made a phenomenal brownie cheesecake, and I was only slightly annoyed that she had picked something even more fattening than Trip’s dinner selection. Et tu, Brute? Again, I tried to ignore the calories. It was my boyfriend’s birthday, and I justified the sliver of cheesecake.